XIII
As December continued, the chill of winter settled over the castle, covering the grounds in frost and filling the air with the scent of pine and smoke from the hearths. Thalia found her days taking on an easy rhythm that she hadn’t experienced in years. To her surprise, her grandfather seemed increasingly disinterested in the detailed timetables she provided each week. Instead, he spent much of his time traveling to London for what she could only assume were more of his secretive meetings.
The change in his attention allowed her a surprising amount of freedom, and she took full advantage of it. To her delight, she found herself spending far more time with her Gryffindor and Hufflepuff friends than she’d originally anticipated. Mornings began with warm, boisterous breakfasts at the Gryffindor table, where the twins’ antics never failed to bring laughter. By now, her presence had become such a fixture that even the Gryffindors in her year, whom she hadn’t known as well before, made an effort to sit with her during lessons or save her a seat in the library during study sessions.
Afternoons were often spent in the cheerful company of Nova and Kristen. The three of them would huddle together during classes, scribbling notes and whispering jokes that left them giggling uncontrollably. Lunches were filled with chatter about everything from classwork to Quidditch to Nova’s newest romantic interest, their conversations flowing effortlessly as they built the kind of deep, unshakable bond Thalia had always envied in others. She couldn't quite believe it, but by her sixth year, she had finally found true best friends—and with them, a sense of security she hadn’t known she was missing.
Evenings, however, were her favorite time of day. Whether it was a spirited study session with Hermione, Nova, and Kristen; the air thick with the sound of quills scratching against parchment while Fred and George made futile attempts to suppress their laughter in the background, or a night spent lounging in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room playing Exploding Snap and swapping stories; Thalia was surrounded by warmth, light, and the feeling of belonging.
Dumbledore's Army continued to meet a couple of times a week, a secret ritual that had become a bright spot in Thalia's hectic life. She relished the moments of camaraderie and shared purpose, walking to the meetings with the twins while they plotted and joked, their mischievous energy infectious. Their lighthearted schemes often distracted her from the gravity of their mission, filling the dimly lit corridors with bursts of laughter.
Thalia had devised clever excuses to slip away from the Room of Requirement unnoticed. Needing to use the toilet, retrieving a "forgotten" quill or robe, or any other mundane pretext allowed her to quietly escape. These small acts of subterfuge became second nature, a necessary tactic to ensure she was able to return home before her curfew.
Inside the Room of Requirement, Harry continued to guide the group, his lessons becoming more intricate as their skills grew. Defensive jinxes were expanded upon and refined, with practice dummies and paired duels giving everyone a chance to test their abilities. Thalia frequently paired with Neville, whose determination she found both endearing and inspiring. Patiently, she adjusted his posture and corrected his wand movements, offering words of encouragement that coaxed him out of his self-doubt. The moment Neville successfully disarmed her, his face lit up with such a triumphant smile that she couldn’t help but grin back, feeling a swell of pride for him.
Her favorite session by far had been the day Harry had begun to teach the Patronus charm. The room had filled with glowing, ethereal creatures as one by one, her friends conjured their protective guardians. Thalia stood still, entranced by the shimmering blue forms as they prowled, flew, and danced around the room. Yet, when her turn came, no matter how hard she concentrated, all she could manage were weak wisps of silvery smoke.
Her friends teased her gently, joking that it was the one spell she couldn’t master, but their laughter couldn’t ease the ache of frustration and sadness that lodged itself in her chest. Thalia knew the truth—it wasn’t a lack of skill or effort. It was the absence of a memory bright enough, pure enough, to sustain the magic. Every happy moment in her life had been tainted, overshadowed by the suffocating presence of her grandfather's anger and the endless expectations that had loomed over her for as long as she could remember. She tried to push the thought away, plastering on a smile as the twins reassured her she’d get it eventually; But as she watched the glowing figures flit about the room, she couldn’t shake the nagging emptiness that whispered she might never be able to summon her own.
She wasn’t sure when she had last enjoyed her life this much. The laughter and companionship filled a void she hadn’t realized had been so deep, and even mundane moments seemed special. She wasn’t just a visitor or an observer anymore—she belonged. Every laugh, every shared glance, and every moment of connection reaffirmed that she had finally found her place.
As snow began to dust the castle grounds and the scent of peppermint wafted from the kitchens, Thalia found herself swept up in the festive atmosphere of Hogwarts. For the first time in years, she felt at home.
Even the thought of Christmas, which had always been a bittersweet season for her, began to feel different this year. In the past, the holidays had been marked by a sense of emptiness and isolation, with her grandfather treating the season as little more than a disruption to his work. But now, as the castle buzzed with excitement, she found herself looking forward to it for the first time in years.
Still, there was a pang of disappointment when she learned that the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione would be leaving for the holidays along with her Hufflepuff friends. She had grown so used to their constant presence that the thought of Hogwarts without their warmth and humor left her feeling a bit hollow. However her spirits had been almost instantly lifted when she had discovered that Lee's parents were vacationing in Barbados and Alicia’s family was tied up with a series of work events, leaving the two of them to spend the holiday at the castle.
A strange sort of guilt pleasure coursed through her veins tinged with a sense of relief. She wouldn't be alone.
When she had cautiously broached the topic with her grandfather about spending some of her days at the castle, his reaction had been so nonchalant it almost startled her. With a dismissive wave of his hand and an indifferent nod, he granted her permission without even glancing up from his papers. It was as if the matter didn’t concern him at all—a far cry from the tightly controlled restrictions she had been subjected to during previous breaks.
The guilt that came with her relief was quickly overshadowed by a sense of excitement. The thought of spending quiet mornings in the library with Lee cracking jokes or sharing cups of hot cocoa with Alicia by the roaring common room fire filled her with anticipation. Perhaps this Christmas wouldn’t be so lonely after all.
~.~.~
On a frosty morning, the week before the end of term, as Thalia made her way from Care of Magical Creatures to the greenhouses, she spotted George waiting for her under the eaves. He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his scarf wound snugly around his neck, but his face lit up when he saw her approach.
"I wish we were staying this Christmas," he admitted, falling into step beside her as they walked back toward the castle. "I'd love to spend some proper time with you."
The faint blush that crept up George's cheeks was unmistakable, even in the cold morning air. Though he tried to play it off with a laugh, the anxious edge to his voice gave him away.
Thalia's heart gave a small, traitorous flutter, but she quickly masked her reaction, focusing instead on crafting a believable excuse for her absence over the holidays. "I won’t be here the whole time," she said, keeping her tone casual. "I’m spending some of the break with my grandfather. He has this... arrangement with the headmaster since he lives nearby."
George perked up at the mention of her family, his curiosity evident. "Oh, really? I didn’t realise you had family so close."
"Yep," she replied, forcing a smile and gesturing vaguely. "He lives on the outskirts of Hogsmeade—about halfway between here and Dufftown."
"Will your parents meet you there for Christmas, then?" George asked, glancing sideways at her.
Thalia hesitated, the question catching her off guard. She ducked her head, staring down at the frost-crusted grass beneath her feet. "Um... no," she murmured. "They’re both dead, George."
George froze mid-step, his eyes wide with alarm and his usual easy confidence evaporating. "Merlin, Lia, I’m so sorry—I didn’t know," he stammered, his voice thick with guilt.
"It’s fine," Thalia said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter, though her gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. "I don’t talk about them."
The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that magnified every distant bird call and crunch of their footsteps on the frozen ground.
"I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share that with anyone," she added softly, her voice a little sharper than she intended. Without waiting for a reply, she quickened her pace, slipping in through the front doors of the castle, before George could respond, leaving the awkwardness of the conversation hanging in the icy air.
George stood there for a moment, staring after her retreating figure, a mix of regret and determination flickering across his face.
The chill in the air seemed to linger as Thalia made her way into the Great Hall, leaving George behind. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from the cold, but from the slip of vulnerability she'd just allowed. She rarely, if ever, spoke about her parents. It was easier to keep the walls up, to let people assume whatever they wanted about her family. Most never pressed her on the matter, content with the vague notion that her grandfather was her sole guardian. But George’s earnest curiosity had caught her off guard.
As she slid into her usual spot at the Gryffindor table, she tried to shake off the weight of the conversation. The warmth of the Hall, the chatter of students, and the aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread should have been comforting, but her mind kept drifting back to the look on George's face—apology mingled with concern. She hated how exposed she felt, how the words had tumbled out before she could stop them.
"Hey, you alright?" Ginny's voice broke through her thoughts as the younger girl plopped down beside her, a plate of toast and jam in hand.
Thalia forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah, just cold. Care of Magical Creatures was brutal this morning."
Ginny grinned, clearly buying the excuse. "Tell me about it. I swear Hagrid picks the frostiest days to show us the weirdest creatures. What was it this time?"
"Bowtruckles," Thalia replied automatically, her mind only half on the conversation.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George enter the Hall, his face still flushed from the cold—or perhaps from their earlier exchange. He glanced toward her, his expression unreadable, before making his way over to Fred and Lee. The sight of him made her stomach churn with a mix of guilt and frustration. She hadn’t meant to make him feel bad. It wasn’t his fault he’d asked.
As Ginny continued to chatter about Hagrid’s lesson, Thalia focused on her plate, picking at her food more than eating it. She resolved to smooth things over with George later, to reassure him that he hadn’t crossed a line. But for now, she needed time to rebuild her defenses, to remind herself that vulnerability, however fleeting, could lead to cracks she couldn’t afford.
That evening, Thalia had every intention of finding a quiet moment to talk to George and ease the tension that had lingered between them since their earlier conversation. However, the Gryffindor common room was anything but conducive to serious discussions. The group had erupted into a spirited game of Gob Stones, and George, ever the entertainer, was at the center of it all. His loud laughter and over-the-top antics seemed to mask the lingering guilt she knew he felt.
As the evening wore on and curfew loomed, Ginny took it upon herself to ensure Thalia got back to the Entrance Hall safely. “It’s my turn to accompany you and see you get back to your dormitory safely!” Ginny had whined, her eyes glinting mischievously as she threw a pointed look at George.
Thalia hesitated for a moment, knowing that this would have been the perfect time to have that long awaited discussion. Finally, she nodded, tentatively agreeing. "Alright, Ginny. Let’s go."
As she moved around the circle, bidding her friends goodnight, she lingered a little longer by George. Wrapping her arms around him, she gave him a particularly tight hug. Her cheek pressed against his chest, she hoped the gesture conveyed what she couldn’t quite put into words.
"I’ll see you tomorrow," she mumbled into his jumper, her voice soft and earnest.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything, simply returning her hug with a quiet squeeze that felt far more meaningful than words. As she pulled away and offered him a small smile, she caught the flicker of relief in his expression, though he said nothing.
Ginny, ever observant, smirked as she looped her arm through Thalia’s, dragging her toward the portrait hole. The younger girl tossed George a smug grin over her shoulder as they left, leaving him to watch Thalia disappear into the corridor beyond.
As they made their way through the darkened hallways, Ginny couldn’t help but tease her friend. "You know," she said with a grin, "you’re going to make him crazy if you keep being so sweet to him."
Thalia’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she let herself savor the warmth of the evening, knowing that it would carry her through the long cold night until she saw her friends again in the morning.
~.~.~
As soon as Thalia saw the house at the end of the lane, her heart sank. Every light on the ground floor was blazing, casting an unnatural glow into the cold night. The sound of laughter and deep voices drifted through the still air, the kind of laughter that set her nerves on edge. Something was going on.
Tentatively, she pushed open the heavy front door, the creak of its hinges barely audible over the noise inside. Her senses were immediately assaulted by the sight of a group of men gathered in the grand sitting room, their tailored dress robes immaculate, their polished shoes glinting in the light of the chandelier. The air smelled faintly of cigar smoke and expensive cologne, mingling with the sharp tang of her own unease.
The moment her grandfather spotted her, his lips curved into a forced smile, the kind that never reached his cold, calculating eyes. “There you are,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. Before she could respond, he crossed the room and placed a heavy arm around her shoulders, his grip firm—too firm. Pain radiated from where his fingers dug into her skin, but she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Sorry, Sir,” she stammered, her voice carefully measured. “I had a particularly hard alchemy essay on the oxidation of base metals to test purity. I needed to finish it, and the library had some reference material I couldn’t do without.” She kept her tone even, her excuse practiced but credible. The essay was in her bag, meticulously written, just in case he decided to check.
Her grandfather’s gaze bore into her, assessing her every word. Before he could respond, a broad man with a ruddy complexion and stained teeth interrupted, his booming voice filling the room. “She’s so studious, Polaris! If only all youngsters were as focused on their studies. I heard from Dolores that she’s having quite a time in that school. Half of them are practically feral, apparently!” His laughter was loud and grating, his attempt at charm doing little to mask his condescension.
“She knows what is expected of a Winterbourne,” her grandfather replied, his tone sharp, his grip tightening painfully on her shoulder. Thalia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing. “It sounds as though you’ve worked hard today, Thalia,” he continued, his voice softening but still laced with an edge. “You must be exhausted. Why not head up to bed?”
The words were phrased like a suggestion, but Thalia knew better. His tone left no room for argument. She nodded obediently, her stomach twisting. “Yes, Sir. Goodnight,” she said, her voice steady despite the anxiety clawing at her chest.
As she turned to leave, she caught the lingering stares of the men in the room, their eyes heavy with judgment and curiosity. Her grandfather’s grip loosened, but the weight of his control didn’t lift. She climbed the stairs, her steps measured and deliberate, her mind racing. Whatever was happening downstairs, it wasn’t good.
When Thalia reached her bedroom, she shut the door firmly behind her, trying to block out the muffled voices and clinking glasses that echoed up the grand staircase. She took a deep breath, willing herself to ignore the gathering below. But as the minutes ticked by, the noise only grew louder, the men’s voices rising with the unmistakable cadence of excitement and intoxication.
Her curiosity gnawed at her until she could no longer resist. Quietly, she crept to her bedroom door and eased it open a fraction, just enough for the sound to seep in. The voices swirled around her like smoke, indistinct at first, until her grandfather’s unmistakable baritone cut through the din.
“It should be taking place as we speak,” he said, his tone commanding but laced with an undercurrent of tension.
Another voice responded, lower and rougher, with a fervent edge that sent a chill down her spine. “By morning, we could have the means necessary to turn the tide. They won’t even see us coming.”
The room below erupted in murmurs of approval, punctuated by the clink of glasses. “Imagine his power,” the voice continued, swelling with reverence. “We will all be rewarded!”
A loud cheer followed, the sound reverberating through the house and making the hairs on Thalia’s arms stand on end. She pressed herself against the doorframe, her heart pounding as she tried to piece together what they were discussing. Who was he? What tide were they trying to turn? And what exactly did her grandfather have to do with all of this?
For the next hour, she remained at her post, straining to catch snippets of conversation as the men’s drunken chatter ebbed and flowed. The words were frustratingly vague, full of veiled references and half-spoken plans. But one thing was clear: this wasn’t just a social gathering. These men were plotting something—something dangerous—and her grandfather was at the center of it.
Thalia’s mind raced as she listened, her thoughts a tangled web of fear and determination.
Just as Thalia was about to retreat and shut the door, her paranoia threatening to overwhelm her, the air in the house shifted. A loud pop echoed through the decrepit halls, the unmistakable sound of someone apparating. The tension downstairs instantly spiked, electrifying the air and making her pulse race.
“News?” her grandfather’s voice boomed, sharp and commanding. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the heavy thud of footsteps signaled the men surging toward the newcomer. Chaos erupted below, a cacophony of voices overlapping in a flurry of urgency. Thalia pressed her ear closer to the crack in the door, desperate to catch the conversation, but by the time the noise settled, she had missed the beginning.
“—they knew and were waiting. A guard directly on the door! Apparently, they were mortally wounded, left there to rot. He wants your opinion, Polaris, on next steps. They're waiting at the manor.”
The response came swiftly, a roar that chilled her to the bone. “Let them die!” The declaration was met with cheers and jeers of agreement, voices rising in a grotesque symphony of bloodlust.
“Enough!” her grandfather barked, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. The room fell silent. “Who? Is there any point in taking them, making them talk? I hear some of our friends can be quite persuasive.”
“One of the Weasleys,” the newcomer replied, his tone harsh and dripping with disdain. “He thought it was Arthur, but there’s no telling if it was one of their older spawn. They all look the same—covered in their own blood and reeking of fear.”
“Blood traitor!” someone yelled, the insult reverberating through the house like a war cry.
“Almost as bad as Mudbloods in my book,” another voice sneered, eliciting a chorus of agreement.
Thalia froze, her hand clamped tightly over her mouth to stifle the sound of her rapid breathing. The house seemed to vibrate with the charged energy of the men below, their voices a toxic mixture of triumph and cruelty. Her mind reeled as she pieced together the fragments of their conversation, each word a dagger of dread.
One of the Weasleys… covered in their own blood and reeking of fear.
The words echoed in her head, making her stomach churn. She could see George’s face vividly in her mind, his mischievous grin, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Her other friends, too—Fred, Ginny, even Ron, who she didn’t know as well—all of them flashed before her eyes. The thought of anyone in their caring and loyal family in danger made her chest tighten painfully.
“I can’t imagine they would tell that bumbling idiot anything,” her grandfather’s voice sneered, icy and calculated. “But this is an opportunity to bring those Weasley traitors to their knees once and for all.”
More cheers erupted, but Thalia barely registered them. Her thoughts were spiraling, consumed by fear for her friends. She clutched the doorframe, her nails digging into the wood as she fought to stay silent.
“We will all convene at the manor,” her grandfather continued, his tone taking on an uncharacteristic edge of worry. “We can discuss the next steps there. I fear there may be a traitor in our midst.”
The room below erupted again, voices layering over one another in a frenzy of accusations and speculation. Thalia stepped back from the door, her chest heaving. Her grandfather’s final words lingered in her mind, heavy with implication. A traitor? She didn’t have time to unpack the layers of deceit and danger in his statement. All she could think about was the Weasleys—her friends—blissfully unaware of the threat looming over their family.
Her hand brushed against her wand, and for a fleeting moment, she considered rushing downstairs, demanding answers. But the rational part of her mind screamed against it. She needed to act carefully, gather more information, and—most importantly—warn George and the others before it was too late.
She leaned closer to the crack in the door, straining to hear as the men began to shuffle out of the room, their voices growing fainter as they moved toward the front of the house. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the sound of boots thudded heavily on the wooden floorboards.
“Come, gentlemen,” her grandfather’s voice called out, colder now, with an edge of finality. “We’ve lingered long enough. He awaits.”
Thalia stood frozen, her ear pressed tightly against the crack of the door. The soft popping sound of apparition, which had been echoing like distant fireworks, had ceased about five minutes ago. Yet, she couldn’t get her feet to move, it was as if they had been rooted to the floor by her mounting dread. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat pounding in her ears like a drum. The silence in the dank house pressed on her like a weight, thick and oppressive, until a sudden thought jolted her from her paralysed daze. The Weasleys were in trouble.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she carefully eased the door open, cursing as the hinges groaned in protest. The hallway stretched out before her, cloaked ominously in shadow. The house was deathly quiet, save for the faint trickle of water rushing through the ancient pipes and the mournful whistle of the wind dancing through the skeletal, barren trees outside.
Tiptoeing forward, Thalia placed each step with calculated precision, intentionally dodging all of the creaky rotting floorboards. The dim moonlight filtering in through the murky windows painted jagged shadows along the corridor walls, twisting and shifting with every flicker of movement outside. She kept her breathing shallow, her pulse hammering in her throat as she crept closer to the staircase.
Reaching the top of the stairs she froze. Below, a lone candle flickered in the hallway, its flame dancing causing the light to sway and stretch across the floorboards below like ghostly fingers. The draft from the open front door teased the flame, causing it to sputter and weave. The eerie sight sent a freezing chill racing down Thalia’s spine.
Descending the stairs carefully and silently, she kept her body pressed against the wall, hiding in the shadows as her head swiveled. Her wand was clutched tightly in her clammy grip, her hand shaking rhythmically as she walked. The house felt abandoned yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Poking her head into the parlour, then her Grandfather's study, she found both rooms strewn with the remnants of a hasty departure- abandoned glasses and plates cluttered every surface, the lingering scent of charred magic hung in the air.
The realisation struck her with a jarring weight: she was utterly alone, abandoned without a second thought.
Suddenly, the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight, the sound reverberating through the stillness like a thunderclap. Thalia flinched, her heart lurching as her wand instinctively snapped up, aimed at the clock's ancient ornate face. For a moment, her breath caught, somewhere between a startled scream and terrified sob.
Once the chime had faded, and the house was silent once more, Thalia exhaled shakily. Rolling her shoulders and loosening her white knuckle grip on her wand, a grip so strong she thought she would snap the piece of wood clean in two, she took a couple of seconds to compose herself.
Glancing towards the front door, still ajar and creaking in the winter breeze, she knew what she needed to do. The Weasleys needed her.