Chapter 25
The layer of snow falling over the castle and its grounds grew thicker with each passing day. The students eagerly awaited Christmas. Everyone, except perhaps the fifth and seventh years—who couldn't afford to stop studying for their official exams—began to relax as the holiday approached.
Edith Macready had woken up a couple of times but had yet to speak. Sleep overtook her almost immediately. Madam Pomfrey didn't rule out the possibility that she had been cursed or hit with some strange spell, but there was no trace of magic on her body. Perhaps it was simply her body's way of recovering after being forgotten for so long within the walls of the mansion. Only time, and the nurse's care, would bring them closer to an answer.
Peter, for his part, had begged his siblings to let him share the mysterious parchment with Hermione so she could decipher it. Susan couldn't make sense of the numbers on the parchment and suggested letting Hermione try to interpret them, but without revealing too much. Lucy was the only one willing to let her older brother share the secret, but Edmund remained hesitant.
Peter didn't dare tell any of them that Hermione already knew—at least in broad terms—what he had been looking for in the professor's office.
One afternoon, after a long time without seeing the parchment, Hermione placed it—less than gently—on Peter's desk just before their last Defense Against the Dark Arts class before the holidays. They hadn't talked about it in days, and Hermione hadn't let Peter know exactly what she'd been researching during her long evenings in the library.
However, she had let him keep her company. Peter sat beside her every evening in the semi-silence of the library. It was a quiet broken only by whispers, the soft creaking of wooden floors, and the faint rustle of turning pages slicing through the air.
Even after finishing the massive amount of homework Snape had assigned, Peter found excuses to stay seated beside Hermione—or, occasionally, across from her. He would never admit it, but sitting across from her made it easier to steal glances at her as she buried herself in enormous tomes or quickly jotted notes on her ever-growing stack of parchment.
In this quiet space, the two Gryffindors were beginning to learn how to communicate with just looks and gestures. So when Hermione Granger dropped the parchment onto his desk, Peter Pevensie, with a single quick and subtle yet intense glance, could read in her expression that she had figured something out.
"You have to explain everything..." he whispered as Snape entered the classroom. "...Later."
With a smile, Hermione sat at the desk in front of him, next to Harry and Ron. For once, Severus Snape didn't chastise the murmuring that lingered as he entered the room to begin his lesson. But the room fell silent almost immediately anyway.
The professor delved into the theory of nonverbal enchantments—a topic of undeniable practical importance—but Peter couldn't follow the tedious and meandering lecture given by the Head of Slytherin House.
No, his attention was entirely captured by Hermione Granger's bushy brown hair. He started by wondering what the parchment might reveal—whether Hermione had completely solved its mystery. But his thoughts soon wandered. He began imagining her proud grin as she explained her findings after hours of meticulous library research. The rebellious strand of hair that would slip from behind her ear to frame her sparkling brown eyes. Her excited voice, brimming with joy as she highlighted every detail.
His chin slipped from his hand, causing him to bump his head lightly on the desk and snapping him back to reality. With a great deal of effort, he forced himself to start taking notes on Snape's somber explanation.
The class ended five minutes early—a rarity for such a demanding professor. After delivering a message to Harry Potter and assigning a monumental amount of homework for the holidays, Snape swept out of the classroom, his cloak billowing like a bat's wings.
Hermione turned, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she said goodbye to Harry and Neville, who stayed behind. Peter gathered his books, fumbling slightly in his eagerness. They exchanged a wordless smile before leaving Snape's classroom together.
"What did you discover?" he finally asked as they walked down a quiet corridor.
"I think the subject you wanted me to research in the professor's office is closely tied to his death, to whatever Voldemort is looking for—and to the parchment you gave me."
"You think so?"
"I've been researching interdimensional travel," she replied.
Peter felt a slight twist in his stomach as he recalled how the topic had slipped out back in the mansion. Once again, he wondered if he'd made a mistake.
"That's what you were looking for in the professor's office, wasn't it?" she asked, her gaze sharp as she noticed his growing unease. "It seems to be a taboo topic, but there are references to research on it in many books—though none address it directly. Those references are impossible to trace, at least in the school's library. The bookstores I've checked don't seem to have any records of such books either."
Peter watched Hermione as she spoke. Her tone was decisive, even a bit enthusiastic. He might have been nervous about her coming so close to one of his greatest secrets, but instead, he only wanted to keep listening, admiration shining in his eyes as they rounded another corridor. Hermione sat in the alcove of a window, leaving space for him to sit beside her on the stone ledge.
The sun glowed behind the mountains and clouds, beginning to set in a golden light that bathed the fresh snow on the grounds below.
"But what alarmed me most was the response I got from Dumbledore when I asked to visit the restricted section," she continued. "McGonagall seemed very nervous when she passed on his reply—denied, of course. That made me think it might be a topic the Headmaster is particularly interested in. Or at least, he doesn't feel neutral about it."
Peter said nothing, only smiled.
"I'm not wrong, am I, Peter Pevensie?" she asked, her pride unmistakable.
"You're not far off."
"Then I started piecing things together—the appearance of Professor Plummer, your mother's visit to the school, your trip to the mansion. All of it planned. Honestly, you didn't make it very hard to figure out."
"Oh, didn't we?" Peter asked, feigning offense, though his smile betrayed him.
"No," she teased. "It was obvious you were all involved. The four of you—and Polly. I don't think your parents are entirely in the loop, or at least not as much as they'd like to be. The same goes for Dumbledore and the Order. Whatever the Headmaster discusses with you, it must be entirely separate from what he talks about with Harry. You know something the rest of us don't—and everyone else wants to know it."
"Very perceptive," he said, resting his chin on his knee.
"Did you expect any less from me?"
"No, Hermione Granger," he replied, leaning back against the wall. "But I must admit, you never cease to amaze me."
"The feeling is mutual," she replied, unfolding the parchment.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Though the conversation carried great importance, their thoughts briefly wandered. Peter, for his part, would have loved to continue talking about how much they surprised one another. Something inside him wanted to ask her just how he surprised her, and—if it wasn't too forward—in what ways. Because he certainly wanted to share the ways she amazed him.
But he knew better. Asking would only put her in danger. The price was far greater for her than she could imagine, no matter how perceptive she was—or how much she suspected the answer to the next question she asked:
"Other worlds exist, don't they, Peter?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And you know this firsthand, don't you? Because if that's true, then what's on this parchment is incredibly powerful. It might even be what Voldemort is searching for—the thing keeping both the Death Eaters and the Order on edge."
Lucy gazed around the Great Hall, utterly enchanted by the Christmas decorations that adorned every corner. For a while, her mind drifted as she sipped the hot chocolate in her hands. Feeling the warmth of the nearest fireplace, Lucy Pevensie slowly closed her eyes, listening closely to the sounds of the hall.
The Christmas music played itself on the enchanted piano that floated leisurely through the castle. Cheerful conversations filled the air, mingling with the crackling of the hearths and the gentle clinking of cutlery.
How she loved this castle.
Everything seemed so calm. Yet the feeling of being watched returned to her. That strange unease crept over her again, and she opened her eyes, holding her breath. She knew she wouldn't find anyone watching her.
Except this time, she did. Dennis Creevey smiled at her from between the tables.
"Taking a break?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I needed one," she admitted, trying to push aside the strange sensation that had haunted her once again.
"What could worry Lucy Pevensie so much?" Dennis said, his tone light but with a touch of genuine concern. Then, with a faint smile, he added, "It's not like we're on the brink of another magical war."
"And who would worry about that?" she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't sure if she should joke about something so serious.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked as he sat across from her.
"I haven't been feeling myself lately," she confessed.
"And why is that?" he asked, frowning slightly in concern.
"I can't shake this strange feeling."
"Strange?"
"Yes, it's like... I don't know. Something odd, but it's probably just in my head," she said quickly, avoiding his gaze. "I don't want to seem crazy."
Dennis studied her for a moment, searching for the right words to comfort her. Lucy's gaze returned to her mug of chocolate.
"You know," he began, "there aren't many things that would make me think someone's crazy."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "For you, all this has always been normal—floating candles, wands, broomsticks, pianos playing Christmas songs on their own. But for me? Not at all. In my world, moving things accidentally when you were angry, sad, or too happy wasn't normal. I kept it to myself. My brother did too. Neither of us knew the other was experiencing the same thing. We both thought every strange thing that happened at home was our own fault. Until that letter arrived, and we found out maybe it wasn't so strange after all."
"You're not strange?" she asked, laughing softly, her mood lifting slightly.
"Not for that, at least," he replied, his tone playful. "What I mean is, something can seem strange and turn out to be not so strange after all."
"What if you had the feeling someone was watching you?" she asked, her unease creeping back into her voice.
"Then you'd have to find out who," he said simply, his sincerity disarming.
"I'm glad you don't think I'm crazy," she said, caught between humor and relief.
"You don't seem crazy, that's for sure," he replied with a warm smile. "Maybe a walk would lift your spirits? The snow's beautiful today."
"That's not a bad idea," she said, taking the last sip from her mug. "I love the snow."
Susan Pevensie couldn't stop studying—or rather, working. She wanted to accomplish as much as possible while she still had the focus. She knew that once she got home for the holidays, her time to work would be much more limited. They were spending Christmas Eve with their cousins, who were visiting from the United States.
"You've been quite elusive lately, Pevensie," a voice murmured behind her.
She startled. Alone in one of the Potions classrooms, she had been organizing ingredients after finishing her assigned potion, hoping to turn it in to Slughorn before leaving for the holidays. For a moment, she thought it might be Malfoy, and her heart skipped a beat. But when she turned, she found herself facing Anthony Goldstein.
"Anthony," she said, smiling in relief. "Sorry, O.W.L. year, you know."
"I remember," he said sympathetically. "It's awful—my condolences. But we'll see each other tomorrow at Slughorn's party, right?"
"I'm sorry I turned down your invitation..." she began awkwardly, recalling the uncomfortable moment in the library.
"Don't apologize. You're going with... Henry, right? Davies?" he asked.
"Yes, that's right," she replied.
Henry. She hadn't paid him any attention in days. Between Madam Macready, her studies, all the secrets, and even Malfoy, she had completely forgotten she'd promised to meet with him. And the party was tomorrow.
"Actually, I'm going to find him now," she said quickly, forcing a nervous smile. "We need to settle on a time to meet."
"I need to find my date too," Anthony said easily. "Mind if I walk with you?"
"Who are you going with?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"Astoria Greengrass," he replied with a smile. "She's brilliant, really. We ran into each other in the library that day."
"What day?" Susan asked.
"The day in the library... you know, when you turned me down," he said, scratching the back of his head.
"Oh, that day," she said, her tone unintentionally colder than she'd meant.
As they walked through the corridor, Susan found herself feeling uneasy. It wasn't Anthony's company—quite the opposite. The mention of Astoria Greengrass, however, stirred an unidentifiable emotion within her.
She resolved to find Henry as quickly as possible.
Edmund Pevensie settled into a chair in the hospital wing beside Edith Macready's bed. He was getting used to the routine of taking shifts by her side and was glad to have drawn the evening shift—his favorite. All he needed was a chair, a book, and the quiet of the hospital wing. His life was usually filled with noise and action, but in this corner, he realized just how much he needed silence. Too much was overwhelming, but the lack of it left him restless. These two-hour shifts were perfect.
His peace didn't last long. Just as he finally managed to focus on the pages after several minutes of distraction, a voice broke the silence.
A woman's voice.
The voice of Edith Macready.
"Edmund?" she called, her tone clear but trembling. "Edmund Pevensie?"
"Mrs. Macready!" he shouted, letting the book fall to the floor. "You're awake... Can you hear me? How do you feel? Do you need anything? Don't go back to sleep, please don't—"
"I'm not going back to sleep, boy," she replied, her usual mix of irritation and humor in her tone. "But don't overwhelm me with questions, or my head might explode."
Edmund laughed nervously as he stood, his body moving in every direction as if he couldn't decide what to do first.
"Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled at last. "She's awake!"
"Calm down, boy..." Macready began.
The nurse appeared at once, hurrying over. After checking on Mrs. Macready, she instructed Edmund to fetch the Headmaster. Glancing once more at the former housekeeper, Edmund rushed out as the hospital wing's doors sealed shut with a spell.
Edmund ran as fast as he could.
Susan found Henry Davies near the portrait of the Fat Lady. The boy looked surprised to see her when she called his name before he could even utter the common room password.
"Pevensie?" he murmured, startled.
"Henry..." she said, walking up to him.
Her first instinct was to throw her arms around him, but at the last moment, noticing his curious expression, the intense embrace she had planned turned into an awkward gesture, her arms barely moving.
"Forgive me," she said, her discomfort evident.
"For what?" he asked with a smile.
"For ignoring you lately," she confessed. "And it hurts me."
"Are you always this hard on yourself?" he asked, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"It's a habit, yes," she replied, frowning slightly. "But I think I've earned a scolding—from you and myself."
"I'm not going to scold you," he said with a laugh, brushing her cheek with his fingers briefly. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"Oh, trust me, one day I'll give you a reason to," she replied.
"I can't imagine that," he said. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I was there that day with Malfoy—I know something's going on. If anything, it's my fault for not checking on you sooner."
"You did, but I didn't pay much attention..." she admitted.
"That day with Potter?" he asked, a touch of shyness in his voice. "I... I didn't want to intrude."
"You're too kind, you know that?" she said, her smile softening.
"I hear that a lot," he replied with mock pride, making her laugh.
Susan continued to look at him with a shy smile. Henry, now visibly more relaxed than he had been at the start of their conversation, brought his right hand to his chin as if considering something, then gently lifted her face.
"I'm fine, really," he said, leaning in slightly to whisper in her ear, his voice playful. "In case you didn't know, and maybe no one's told you, but... tomorrow, I'll be going to a party with the most beautiful girl in the school."
Her smile widened.
"Oh, really?" she asked, her voice betraying her amusement.
He nodded, their faces so close that his nose brushed hers by accident. Susan sighed as their eyes locked for several seconds. In that moment, all the unease she had carried through the castle seemed to vanish, if only for an instant.
"Susan!" came the abrupt voice of Edmund Pevensie.
Susan closed her eyes and turned her face away in an instant. Henry also stepped back, and she could have sworn his cheeks reddened. But her brother didn't even notice.
"To the hospital wing, quickly!" Edmund shouted as he started running again. "Macready has woken up!"
Susan gave Henry an apologetic smile, hurriedly.
"I'll see you tomorrow!" she called over her shoulder.
"I'll see you tomorrow..." he murmured, waving as she disappeared down the corridor.