VIII
VIII
Thalia found herself marveling at how different her days had become. Was this what it had always been like to have friends? Genuine friends who sought her out, included her, and made her feel part of something bigger than herself? The thought was both heartwarming and bittersweet, a glimpse into a life she hadn’t realized she was missing.
That Monday felt like a turning point. Thalia began to notice just how little she had done alone. Every moment of her day had been filled with the presence of others, and she was surprised to find that she didn’t mind—it was a welcome change. The twins, true to their word, had walked her to every single class, their banter keeping her spirits high even when the early morning cold had left her cheeks pink and her nose numb. They joked about everything, from the quirks of their teachers to Fred’s dramatic claim that Thalia's punctuality was ruining their reputation as troublemakers.
At lunch, she sat with the Gryffindor group again, tucked between Ginny and Hermione as they all chattered about the upcoming Quidditch match. Even Ron and Harry, who were engrossed in their own conversation about Chudley Cannons’ strategies, occasionally pulled her into their discussion, asking for her input with a casualness that made her feel like she’d been sitting there for years.
Later, during her free period, Hermione had whisked her off to the library. Hermione had been thrilled to have someone as dedicated to academics as she was, and though their session was productive, it was also peppered with quiet giggles and Hermione’s endearing tangents about magical history. For the first time, Thalia realized studying didn’t have to be a solitary endeavor—it could be something to bond over.
Even the most unexpected moments felt brighter. When Thalia hesitated near the entrance of the girls’ bathroom, Angelina and Alicia had practically dragged her inside, declaring it was the perfect spot for a "proper gossip." Katie joined them soon after, and the four of them ended up laughing so hard over Alicia’s dramatic reenactment of her disastrous Potions class that they had to muffle their giggles to avoid getting caught.
By the end of the day, Thalia couldn’t help but reflect on how much companionship had changed even the most mundane parts of her routine. Walking to class wasn’t just walking anymore; it was an opportunity to laugh until her sides hurt or hear about Fred’s newest harebrained prank idea. Studying wasn’t just about books and notes—it was about sharing ideas and encouragement. Even lunch had transformed from a hurried meal to a lively hour filled with warmth, laughter, and a sense of belonging.
Thalia had never realized how much she’d craved this, how much brighter her days could be with people by her side. She found herself smiling more, laughing more, and even looking forward to the simplest things because they were no longer done alone. It was a revelation she hadn’t been prepared for, but one she now clung to with everything she had.
This newfound companionship posed its own unique set of challenges. As the day wound to a close, Thalia’s mind raced, plotting various ways to slip away from her friends unnoticed. She couldn’t afford to be late home again—not after the last time. The thought of her Grandfather’s sharp rebukes and his almost gleeful satisfaction in doling out punishments made her stomach churn. She needed an escape plan, and fast.
Salvation came in the form of Professor Sprout. Just as Lee Jordan—bursting with energy—grabbed her arm and attempted to steer her toward the Great Hall for dinner, the familiar, comforting voice of the professor called her name from across the Entrance Hall. Relief flooded Thalia as she quickly waved off her friends, her shy smile not quite masking her gratitude for the perfectly timed interruption.
“Miss Winterbourne, how lovely to see you looking so happy and surrounded by friends,” Professor Sprout said warmly, her eyes twinkling as she glanced toward the group of Gryffindors still lingering a few paces away.
Thalia followed the professor’s gaze and couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Her friends were not even attempting to disguise their curiosity, openly staring at the exchange. When Professor Sprout turned her gaze to them, they collectively jolted, tripping over each other in their haste to shuffle into the Great Hall. Mumbled excuses and half-apologies echoed through the corridor, drawing an amused eye-roll from Thalia.
“I thought I’d let you know I sent your Grandfather a letter this morning,” Professor Sprout said gently, drawing Thalia’s attention back. “Hopefully, you’ll be able to discuss it with him this evening?” There was a note of encouragement in her voice, but also a hint of concern.
“Thank you, Professor,” Thalia replied, her voice brimming with genuine appreciation. “I’ll be heading home now, actually.”
“Well then, have a lovely evening, Thalia,” the professor said kindly, giving her a reassuring smile before bustling off toward the greenhouses.
Thalia glanced around the Entrance Hall, her heart pounding slightly as she ensured no one was watching. Satisfied that her friends had all disappeared into the Great Hall, she slipped out of the castle and into the cold, dark night. The sharp chill of the evening air bit at her cheeks, and the frosted grass crunched softly under her hurried footsteps.
As she walked the familiar path back to the village, her mind raced. She couldn’t help but wonder about her Grandfather’s reaction to the letter. She knew Professor Sprout’s words would have been kind, her tone warm and encouraging, but Thalia knew her grandfather well enough to suspect that he would not see the gesture in the same light.
Would he dismiss the letter as meddling, an unwanted intrusion into their affairs? Or would he take it as an insult, a suggestion that he wasn’t providing properly for her education? Both possibilities churned in her stomach, making her steps quicken as though hurrying could somehow prepare her for whatever was waiting at home.
The road back to the old manor was dark and eerily silent, the only sound the crunch of frost under her shoes. Thalia tugged her cloak tighter around herself, both for warmth and comfort. Her mind replayed the events of the day, moments of light and laughter mingling with the shadow of what she was returning to.
Her grandfather’s temper was as unpredictable as it was cruel. Sometimes he let small slights slide with a mere glare, but other times, the smallest perceived offense could ignite a storm. A letter from her professor, no matter how well-intentioned, might be exactly the kind of spark to set him off.
As the looming silhouette of the manor came into view, Thalia hesitated at the gate. For a fleeting moment, she considered turning back, hiding out in the village until morning. But the thought was quickly dismissed—her absence would only make matters worse.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the gate open, the creak echoing through the still night. The house seemed more foreboding than usual, its windows dark except for the faint flicker of light coming from her grandfather’s study. He was waiting.
Steeling herself, Thalia stepped through the door and hung her cloak with practiced silence. The faint hum of voices confirmed that her grandfather wasn’t alone. A meeting? She paused, her ears straining, but the muffled tones were indecipherable.
On tiptoes, Thalia crept toward the parlour, intending to set the table for dinner before her Grandfather could summon her. The quiet clinking of cutlery and her bustling about helpfully had often been enough to keep him from lashing out—at least on occasion. But just as she reached the door, a booming voice echoed through the house, making her freeze mid-step.
“I don’t care for your excuses!” her Grandfather roared, his tone laced with fury. “I want eyes and ears in that department, and I want them now. Our plan is in action!”
Thalia’s breath hitched, and her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She hesitated, torn between her curiosity and the looming threat of what would happen if she were caught. Her feet, however, seemed to make the decision for her as she inched closer, shrouded by the shadows just outside the doorway. She pressed herself against the wall, willing herself to remain unseen.
Another voice, quieter and trembling, replied, “I—I assure you, sir, I’m doing everything I can. It’s just—”
Her Grandfather cut him off with a harsh bark of laughter, one that chilled Thalia to the bone. “I don’t think you want me to report your lack of flexibility or competence, do you? He is not as forgiving as I am.”
The air in the room felt heavier, more oppressive, as his voice dropped to a threatening growl. “I would hate for others to pay the price for your inaction. How is your wife, by the way? Still recovering from dragon pox, I believe?”
Thalia’s stomach twisted as the threat hung in the air, palpable even to her as an outsider. Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides. Whoever was in the room with her Grandfather sounded terrified, and it was no wonder why. She had grown up witnessing his manipulation, his ability to dig under people’s skin and find the pressure points that would bend them to his will.
She dared to lean slightly closer, hoping to catch more of the conversation, but the voices dropped to a quieter, urgent tone. All she could make out was the rhythmic tapping of her Grandfather’s cane on the floor, a habit he had when deep in thought or scheming. The faint sound of another man’s labored breathing made her stomach clench.
Thalia barely had time to collect herself before she heard the ominous scrape of chairs against the wooden floor in the adjoining room. Her pulse quickened as she tiptoed away from the doorway, trying desperately not to make a sound. Sliding into the parlour, she quietly shut the door behind her with a soft click, leaning her forehead against the cool wood. Her chest heaved as she struggled to calm her frantic breathing and slow the incessant pounding of her heart.
A loud pop echoed from the other room, signaling the abrupt departure of her Grandfather’s guest. The oppressive weight in the air lessened slightly, but Thalia knew better than to think it was truly safe. She quickly busied herself, sliding plates into place on the table with trembling hands. Grabbing a handful of cutlery from the nearby drawer, she began arranging it methodically, letting the routine ground her.
The sound of deliberate footsteps announced her Grandfather’s approach. Thalia straightened instantly, her shoulders snapping back as he entered the parlour. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but the tension in the air was unmistakable.
“Dinner is in half an hour,” he said curtly, his voice cold and devoid of any warmth.
“Yes, Sir,” Thalia replied automatically, her voice steady despite the roiling emotions beneath her calm exterior.
He gave a slight nod before turning on his heel to leave. “I wish to be undisturbed in my study until then,” he added sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Yes, Sir,” she repeated, watching as his figure retreated through the doorway.
As soon as he was gone, Thalia let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her hands trembled as she finished setting the table, her mind racing with questions.This was the second tense meeting she had overheard, and yet, frustratingly, she was no closer to uncovering any answers. The weight of the unanswered questions hung heavy in her mind. What had her Grandfather entangled himself in? The sheer menace in his voice and the cryptic references to plans, eyes, and ears left her uneasy.
Steeling herself, she forced her focus back to the task at hand. Dinner was the next hurdle, and she had no choice but to face it with the same practiced stoicism that had kept her safe all these years.
Half an hour later, the pair sat across from each other in the dimly lit dining room, a succulent, golden-brown roast chicken between them. The aroma of rosemary and garlic filled the air, but the usual sense of comfort the meal brought was absent. Thalia mechanically moved her fork, each mouthful tasting like cardboard and feeling like sawdust in her throat. Across the table, her Grandfather sat stiffly, his plate untouched. Instead, he nursed a large tumbler of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the flickering candlelight as he swirled it continuously in his hand.
The oppressive silence stretched on, broken only by the faint clink of Thalia’s cutlery against her plate. Every so often, she risked a glance at him, but his expression was inscrutable, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her, as though lost in thought.
When he finally spoke, the sound of his voice made her jump. “I received a letter this afternoon. From one Paloma Sprout,” he said, his tone cold and clipped. “A professor of yours, apparently?”
Thalia froze mid-motion, her fork hovering in the air as her mind raced. So, the letter had arrived. She forced herself to place the utensil down carefully, keeping her hands from trembling. “Yes, Professor Sprout is my Herbology teacher,” she replied evenly, doing her best to sound neutral.
Her Grandfather’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and assessing. “She seems to have taken a peculiar interest in you,” he said, swirling the whiskey again before taking a slow sip. His words carried an unspoken accusation, making Thalia’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
“She’s a kind woman, and my Head of House” Thalia said carefully. “She looks out for all her students. She must’ve written because I mentioned wanting to spend more time at school to study.”
There was a long pause as he studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And why would you need to stay at school longer?” he asked, his voice lowering. “Are my accommodations here insufficient?”
“No, Sir,” she answered quickly, a bead of sweat forming at her temple. “It’s just...the library at Hogwarts has resources I can’t access here. And the professors often hold study groups in the evenings.” She hesitated, then added, “I thought it might help me keep up with my workload, especially with my NEWTs approaching.”
He didn’t respond immediately, leaning back in his chair and taking another measured sip of his drink. The weight of his silence pressed heavily on her shoulders, the air between them thick with tension.
Finally, he spoke, his words cutting and deliberate. “I will consider it. But understand this—if I agree, it’s not because I trust the meddling of some kindly old professor. It will be because I expect results from you, Thalia. Exceptional results.”
“Yes, Grandfather,” she murmured, relief mingling with dread. She hadn’t received a definitive answer, but the very fact he was considering it was unexpected.
"You will not stay at that wretched school full-time, however," her Grandfather continued, his voice growing colder. He leaned forward slightly, the light from the candelabra casting harsh shadows across his angular features. "I’ve seen those Hogwarts children running amok in Hogsmeade on the weekends, behaving like common rabble. I refuse to have my granddaughter corrupted by such...frivolity."
Thalia’s heart sank, though she worked hard to keep her expression neutral. “Of course, Sir,” she said softly, her fingers tightening slightly around her fork. “I understand.”
“Do you?” he asked, his gaze sharp as a knife. “Because I won’t tolerate excuses, nor will I have you wasting time on unnecessary distractions. The only reason I’m entertaining this absurd idea of yours is for the sake of your education. It’s a privilege, Thalia, not a right. Remember that.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Good,” he said curtly, leaning back in his chair once more and picking up his whiskey. “If I hear even a whisper of foolishness from that school, if I find out you’ve been associating with troublemakers or losing focus on your studies, I’ll have you pulled out of Hogwarts immediately. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Sir,” Thalia replied, keeping her gaze fixed on her plate.
"You will give me a timetable of study groups you wish to attend each week," her Grandfather continued, his voice sharp and deliberate. "Include a reason for each one and why it is necessary. If I see it as pertinent, I will sign off on it."
Thalia bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from responding too quickly, knowing any sign of defiance would worsen her already tenuous situation. “Yes, Sir,” she said quietly, her tone carefully even.
"You will also be expected home by 10:30 each night," he added, his gaze piercing as he took a deliberate sip from his glass. "No exceptions. Do not expect to eat from my table upon your return. You will come in, and it will be straight to bed. Am I clear?"
“Yes, Sir,” she repeated, her stomach sinking further.
His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile as he set his glass down with a resounding clink. “I hope you understand, Thalia, that this leniency is a reflection of my generosity, not your entitlement.”
She nodded, her throat tightening. "I understand."
“Good. I expect the first draft of your timetable on my desk by Wednesday evening,” he said curtly before standing up and adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “Now, I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Without waiting for a response, he left the dining room, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hallway. Thalia stared at the half-eaten food on her plate, her appetite long gone. The chance to stay longer at Hogwarts was a small victory, but the strings attached were suffocating.
As she cleared the table and set to tidying up, her Grandfather’s words echoed in her mind: I refuse to have my granddaughter corrupted. Thalia felt a bitter laugh bubble in her chest but swallowed it down. If only he knew how much she’d already been shaped by the friendships she’d forged there—how much they had started to free her from the heavy chains of his expectations.
A small, defiant spark flickered in her heart, barely enough to warm the cold that had settled over her but enough to keep her moving forward. I’ll figure out a way to make it work, she thought, clinging to the hope that Hogwarts still held some semblance of freedom for her.