Essays... ugh...

[Missy Dragonov]

The low hum of conversation mixed with the gentle crackle of the fire in the Slytherin common room as Missy sat slouched at one of the dark wooden tables near the far corner. Her History of Magic essay lay sprawled out in front of her, the parchment still painfully blank except for her name and the title: The Goblin Rebellions: A Turning Point in Magical History. By Missy Dragonov.

She tapped her quill against her chin, leaving a faint smear of ink on her skin, she stared at the parchment with a mix of dread and boredom. The topic couldn’t have been less exciting. Why did it matter what goblins were angry about hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t like they played Quidditch.

Her emerald-green tie hung loose around her neck, and her Firebolt broomstick leaned temptingly against the wall by the dormitory entrance, the family insignia shimmering seductively, as if calling her outside to practice. She sighed, glancing wistfully at it before turning her attention back to the essay. She dipped her quill in ink and wrote a single sentence:

The Goblin Rebellions were important because...

She paused, twirling the quill as she tried to summon any shred of inspiration. Nothing came.

“Ugh,” she groaned, dropping the quill dramatically and letting her head fall to the table. The cool surface was oddly comforting. She peeked up at a first-year who was passing by with an armful of books.

“Hey!” she said, straightening up slightly. “Do you know anything about goblins and rebellions? Or, better yet, how to make a History of Magic essay disappear?”

The first-year just gave her a confused look and hurried away, leaving Missy to slump back in her seat with a huff.

Her gaze drifted toward the magical weather globe, a glass orb about the size of a Quaffle, set on a polished green and silver stand over on the other side of the common room. She liked looking at the globe, since it was enchanted to replicate the weather outside in real time. There was faint golden glow of the setting sun, it just screamed 'perfect flying conditions'. She could practically feel the air whizzing against her hair and face.

Missy sighed dramatically again and muttered under her breath, “I’d rather a Bludger to the face than write this stupid essay.”

Her hand reached out absently, tapping the end of her quill on the table as she debated whether she could convince someone—anyone—to distract her from this torment. Maybe she could sneak out to the pitch for just a quick lap or two...

[Evelyn Darke Goldman]

“If that’s what you want, Dragonov, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

There was no mistaking the owner of that somewhat husky voice: Evelyn Darke Goldman, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and one of the two beaters. Mercifully, she seemed to have neither a bat nor a Bludger with her, though most people would know that she didn’t need any of those to hurt anyone.

As Eve strode into the Common Room, an annoyed expression plastered on her face as usual, she cast her gaze at the homework before Missy. The Goblin Rebellions: A Turning Point in Magical History. By Missy Dragonov. Immediately she understood what was going on, and a lack of interest usually went hand-in-hand with a lack of knowledge. Out of all the subjects taught at Hogwarts, History of Magic was amongst the least liked amongst the students. But, unknown to most people, Eve was amongst the minority who found it interesting and useful, and she didn’t think this was a difficult essay to write.

Curious about how Missy would go about writing the essay, Eve made no move to help outside of introducing some time pressure. “Don’t take too long to finish your homework,” she said. “You don’t want to be late for Quidditch training later today.” Yet, it was clear from the way she lingered at the tables that she wasn’t entirely opposed to offering some form of assistance…

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy jumped slightly, her quill jerking across the parchment at the sudden sound of Evelyn’s voice. She turned to see the Slytherin Quidditch captain standing there, arms crossed, looking every bit as imposing as usual. Missy swallowed hard, her nerves tingling under Eve’s sharp gaze.

“Goldman,” Missy greeted, her voice teetering between sheepish and playful, though her shoulders slumped a little. “Don’t suppose you’re here to tell me that History of Magic essays are optional now?” She offered a weak grin, motioning half-heartedly to her parchment. “No? Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and letting the quill drop from her hand. “Honestly, I’m completely tapped out. Goblin rebellions, pivotal moments, all that—it’s just words at this point.” She groaned softly, running a hand through her hair. “And knowing I’ve got practice looming isn’t exactly helping.”

Her green eyes flicked back to Evelyn, catching the faintest hint of curiosity behind the annoyed expression. “You’re not just here to make sure I don’t skip out on practice, are you?” she asked cautiously, tilting her head. “You wouldn’t happen to have any sage wisdom about goblins... or at least a good pep talk to get me through this before we’re smacking Bludgers around later?” Missy smirked weakly, trying to make light of her desperation but clearly looking for even the tiniest spark of motivation.

[Evelyn Darke Goldman]

“You hardly need my permission to turn in a blank script,” Eve replied with a seemingly uncaring shrug. “But if the professors take you off my Quidditch team because of poor academic performance, I’ll have your hide.”

A hint of a satisfied smile hovered over her lips when Missy accepted that the essay wasn’t optional after all. Though the younger student hadn’t found a way forward yet, it was still a step in the right direction.

“Surely there’s no greater source of motivation than an impending deadline,” Eve continued, piling on the pressure just to see how Missy would respond to that. Would she push through her barriers? Or was she truly as stuck as she said?

Either way, Eve wasn’t going to spoonfeed Missy the answers. It’ll do her no favours at all. Perhaps it would be more useful to get a sense of Missy’s familiarity of the essay’s topic. “Tell me what you know about the Goblin Rebellions.” Eve asked, starting with the most basic and fundamental question. “Who, what, where, when, why, how. Just off the top of your head, whatever you can recall.”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy sighed, leaning back in her chair and tapping her quill against the edge of her parchment. "Off the top of my head?" she repeated, giving herself a moment to dig through the dusty corners of her memory. Evelyn’s sharp tone didn’t help her concentration—it was like being put under a spotlight by someone who didn’t care if you cracked or crumbled.

"Okay, well... the Goblin Rebellions were, like... a bunch of uprisings, right?" she started hesitantly, trying to ignore the weight of Evelyn’s gaze. "Goblins fighting wizards because they wanted equal rights or something. I think they got mad about wands? Like, we wouldn’t let them use wands, and that didn’t sit well with them."

Her frown deepened as she stared at her parchment, willing it to fill itself. "The who is obviously goblins and wizards. The what? Rebellions. The where? Probably mostly in England, right? The when..." She trailed off, chewing her lip. "Merlin, I don’t know. A long time ago? And the why—well, they were treated like dirt, weren’t they? And the how? Fighting. Lots of fighting."

Missy groaned and dropped her quill onto the table with an exaggerated flop of her hand. "That’s about as much as I’ve got rattling around up here. Which is, admittedly, not much." She glanced up at Evelyn, her expression a mix of sheepishness and irritation.

Evelyn’s piercing expression made it worse. Missy felt like she was being dissected for her lack of knowledge. "I’m trying, okay?" she muttered defensively, her tone sharp enough to show her frustration. "It’s not exactly easy to think when it feels like I’m being scolded for not being a walking history textbook."

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing again. "I’m not even sure where to start pulling that into something coherent," she admitted, her voice softer this time, betraying just how overwhelmed she felt under the pressure. Give her something physical to do, she could hold her own. But, when it came to words and papers and study - she can see now why the Sorting Hat didn't recommend Ravenclaw as her house.

[Evelyn Darke Goldman]

As Missy began her answer haltingly, Eve maintained her intense gaze, fully aware of its effect on the younger student. But it wasn’t for her own pleasure that she was pressurising Missy; rather, she was pushing Missy forward, bit by bit, without giving her any time to overthink and procrastinate.

And as the answers came forth, Eve nodded. “Go on,” she prompted, trying (but perhaps not quite succeeding) to sound as encouraging as she could, and gradually a rough picture of the Goblin Rebellions began to form. But there was something missing, and it wasn’t the details that Missy didn’t manage to memorise. Still, Eve couldn’t resist a jibe. “I concur, it’s not much,” she replied with a nonchalant shrug. “But it’s a start.”

The pressure seemed to be getting to Missy as her frustration mounted. For a brief moment Eve wondered if she had overdone it… but right then, Missy somehow correctly identified why she had been struggling with the essay, and a satisfied smile crept over Eve's lips. They were getting somewhere now. “That is precisely what the problem is,” she nodded. “It’s not all about memorising dates and names and events. It’s about understanding their significance, the chain of cause and effect, and most importantly, what we learn from them.”

Eve paused for a moment to let it sink in for Missy, before delivering a more practical piece of advice. “If you haven’t figured out what your answer’s missing, take a look at your essay’s title. What’s the turning point? Why was it a turning point? Or was it not a turning point after all?”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy scowled, the annoyance plain on her face as she stared at Evelyn. “Why does that actually make sense?” she muttered, half to herself and half to the older girl. The suggestion to think about the rebellion as more than just a string of dates and fights wasn’t something she’d considered. It stung to admit it, but Evelyn had a point—an irritatingly good one.

She shifted in her seat, glancing down at her essay title again: The Goblin Rebellions: A Turning Point in Magical History. A turning point. Why hadn’t she thought to focus on that? “I guess I never really thought about goblins as anything other than the ones who guard our gold at Gringotts,” she admitted, her tone begrudging. “Like, I’ve always known they’re clever, but... I didn’t think about why they’d get so fed up with us wizards. I just figured they were troublemakers or something.”

Missy ran a hand through her hair, a flicker of inspiration starting to spark. “But I guess if the rebellion made wizards take them seriously, that would be a big deal. Maybe it’s not about what the goblins wanted, but about how wizards had to change after.” She frowned, her quill hovering over the parchment. “Or... did they even change? Did we just sweep it under the rug and hope they’d shut up about it?”

Her frustration softened as she looked back at Evelyn. “This is annoying. I hate that you’re actually making me think about this.” There was a trace of begrudging humour in her voice now, her irritation fading into reluctant respect. “Guess I should start looking at them as more than just Gringotts clerks, huh?” She sighed, tapping the parchment with her quill. “Fine. I’ll try this your way. But don’t get used to me saying you’re right, all right?”

There was a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, though she quickly tried to hide it by looking back at her essay.

[Evelyn Darke Goldman]

Eve’s response to Missy’s scowl was to roll her eyes in mock disbelief. “When would all of you learn…” But there was no frustration in those words as her expression softened into a wry smile.

Missy’s admittance that she hadn’t really given much thought to goblins resonated with Eve. “Most of us don’t either,” she said. “Why would we? Why should we care?” Be it due to callousness or ignorance, there was neither incentive nor impetus to when wizards and witches occupied positions of privilege in the wizarding world. She wouldn’t even be surprised of most people didn’t even know that there was a problem.

A random thought came to Eve. “Have you wondered what the goblins think of us?” she mused aloud. “Oppressors? Allies of convenience? Mistrusted people to be monitored closely? Or worse?” She doubted that the goblins held any goodwill towards humans, if her family’s misdeeds were anything to go by.

At any rate, this wasn’t the time and place to dwell on the Darke Goldman family’s past. The issue at hand here was Missy’s essay, and fortunately it seemed that the younger Slytherin’s mind was already quickly filling with ideas and even questions. Important questions that needed to be asked. Did wizards sweep the whole problem under the rug and pretend that everything was fine? “To me, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’,” Eve replied. “But don’t take the words of a ‘cynical and prickly grouch’ too seriously,” she added, alluding to her reputation amongst the students, which – she had to admit – was a rather fair assessment of her.

That said, Eve did have a softer side which few ever got to see. And right now, her prickly mask slipped ever so slightly. “Go on, let the hate flow, see if I care,” she countered, the upturned corners of her mouth and the rarely seen twinkle in her eye suggesting that she was starting to enjoy this banter, even as she slipped briefly into her ‘mean Quidditch captain’ persona. “Let’s see if you’ll change your tune after some extra laps at Quidditch training,” she jokingly threatened, before her smile faded and her tone turned serious again. “But in all honesty, I’d rather you find your own method than rely on mine all the time. And one more thing before I forget.”

Reaching into her robes, she retrieved her wand. With an elegant swish and a swift incantation, a thick tome emerged from the dorms and flew straight into Eve’s hand. The title emblazoned on the cover indicated that it was a book about modern British wizarding history, which Eve had borrowed for her own essay on a different topic. “Here,” she said, handing Missy the book in what seemed like an uncharacteristic gesture of generosity, before revealing the catch with a mischievous smirk. “It’s due this weekend, by the way. Could you help me return it?”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy narrowed her eyes at Eve’s sudden show of generosity, suspicion written all over her face. “Oh, sure. I’ll just happily return your book like a good little minion,” she drawled, flipping it over in her hands. “Do you make a habit of tricking people into running your errands, or am I just special?”

She huffed, but there was no real bite to it. In truth, she was still caught off guard by Eve’s approach—both the way she made Missy actually think about her essay, and now this… whatever this was. A peace offering? A sneaky way to test if she’d follow through? Maybe just a subtle reminder that Eve expected her to take this seriously.

Missy glanced at the book again, then back up at Eve. “And here I was, thinking you didn’t care whether I failed or not,” she said, a smirk creeping in. “Guess I was wrong about that, too.”

She drummed her fingers against the book, mulling over everything Eve had said. The idea of how goblins viewed wizards was a whole new perspective she hadn’t considered before, and it nagged at her. Did they just tolerate witches and wizards out of necessity? Did they have their own version of these ‘turning points’ that wizards conveniently ignored?

Missy sighed dramatically. “Great. Now I have more questions,” she said, shaking her head. “You really are insufferable, you know that?” But despite her words, there was a glint of reluctant amusement in her eyes.

Tucking the book under her arm, she rolled her shoulders and leaned back in her seat. “Fine. I’ll return your stupid book,” she conceded. “But if I find a way to blame you for my essay still being terrible, I will.” She pointed a finger at Eve, as if issuing a warning. “This is your fault now.”

With that, she flipped the book open, already scanning the first few pages, muttering something about ‘bloody history nerds’ under her breath.

[Evelyn Darke Goldman]

The Common Room door swung open to admit an unusually cheery Kyle Winters, who gave Missy and Eve a bemused look for a few seconds, until the book and the essay on the table – a familiar situation to him – helped him piece together what had transpired. Walking over to the table, he leaned over to Missy. “‘Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly’,” he cautioned with a regretful shake of his head. “Don’t let her bully you too much, alright?”

There was no malice in his voice. Rather, his matter-of-factly delivery seemed to imply that he had long accepted Eve’s behaviour as something unavoidable.

“Spoken with experience,” Eve responded coolly as Kyle waved his goodbye and strode off in the direction of his dorm. “And it’s ‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a spider to a fly’.” Turning back to Missy, Eve continued with her answer to the younger student’s questions. “No, I don’t make a habit of entrusting my library books to others. And no, you’re not that special either.”

Upon hearing Missy admit that she didn’t think Eve would care about her schoolwork, the older student put on her usual scowl and crossed her arms. “Of course I care if you fail or not,” she began. “Can’t have you tarnish Slytherin’s reputation, can I?” But what came next was not another snarky barb, but an unexpected moment of honesty. “You’re one of the few smart and sensible ones around. Don’t waste that good head you have on your shoulders.”

Her scowl faded into a proud smirk when Missy called her ‘insufferable’. “Of course I do. I take pride in it.” And she genuinely did. She had never seen any point in compromising on her ideals to please others, especially when many were already biased against her to begin with. She was used to being seen as the baddie, and it was a role she didn’t mind playing one bit. Snark and sarcasm came easily to her – too easily, perhaps, that she naturally relied on it even during friendly banter. “Well, go on and blame me then if it improves your mood,” she teased, “because it won’t improve your grades.”

“Why did you allow her to do this to you?” Kyle had returned, this time without his weathered backpack and jacket, and with the sleeves of his uniform rolled up and the green tie loosened. In his arms were a thick stack of books and notes on Ancient Runes, which he set down upon the table with a soft thud and a barely audible but gut wrenching sigh. This was not how he had hoped to spend his day, but he had schoolwork to catch up on and – like Missy – an upcoming Quidditch training session he couldn’t afford to miss.

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy let out an exaggerated groan as Kyle made his grand reappearance, this time looking even more resigned to his academic fate. She shot him a half-hearted glare before turning her attention back to Eve, flipping a page in the borrowed book with unnecessary force.

“I let her do this to me?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow at Kyle. “As if I had a choice. She lured me in with her whole ‘I’m just asking questions’ act, and now look at me—buried under books and thinking about goblins of all things.” She pointed at Eve in mock accusation. “This is what happens when you sit too close. She gets in your head.”

Kyle’s dramatic sigh over his own stack of books didn’t go unnoticed, and Missy smirked. “You look like you’re in even worse shape than me,” she remarked, nudging one of his Ancient Runes notes with the end of her quill. “That bad, huh?”

She leaned back in her chair, watching as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves like he was about to wage war on his schoolwork. “Look at us. The picture of Slytherin excellence,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Books, essays, and imminent Quidditch drills we’re probably not ready for. Bet this isn’t what you had in mind when you walked in here.”

Despite her complaints, there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. She might’ve been ‘trapped’ into caring about her essay, but she couldn’t deny that—annoying as Eve was—this whole ordeal had actually gotten her to think. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t hate that as much as she wanted to.

[Kyle Winters]

“True, Kyle conceded almost immediately when Missy explained how she got caught in Eve’s ‘trap’. “But I gotta say, I thought you’d be smarter than me and not fall for that.” Meanwhile Eve did her best imitation of a sweet and innocent smile – the operative word being ‘imitation’ – which made Kyle shudder and avert his gaze.

“Be good, do your homework, and don’t be late for training,” Eve said, the facade beginning to fade as her usual sarcasm slowly seeped back into her tone. “Especially you, Winters.” That said, she turned towards the dorms with a sassy hair flick and strode off.

Kyle waited till she was out of earshot before he delivered his comeback. “Yes, Mum.” Admittedly that defeated the purpose of the comeback, but he wasn’t going to risk facing Eve’s ire.

The older student blinked blankly at Missy, not even realising that he had sighed yet again. It was becoming a bad habit – or rather, a reflex by now. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, even though the question was rhetorical. “Enjoy your fifth year while it lasts,” he continued with a rueful grin, which faded into a cheeky one as he added, “but I gotta say, I don’t miss History of Magic one bit.” Anything that was heavy on theory or memorisation was tough for Kyle, and that particular subject was amongst the worst offenders.

Missy’s comment about being ‘the picture of Slytherin excellence’ was so heavily laced with irony that Kyle promptly burst out into a hearty guffaw, and it took him several seconds before he managed to compose himself again. “We must be a bloody glorious sight to behold,” he said, still chuckling as he wiped a tear from his eye. “I’m actually fine with Quidditch. Used to play footie so Quidditch was just another sport to me. But the books and essays?” His clenched fists were shaking, not from his frustration at schoolwork, but because he was holding back. “Hate them. But they’re important, innit? Gotta hit the books and pass my N.E.W.T.s so I can find a job, and I’ve got less than a year left.”

He fell quiet for a moment, before he finally addressed the other issue that weighed most heavily on his mind. “Y’know, I didn’t even think I’d be sorted into Slytherin,” he began a little haltingly. “Didn’t even want to, in fact. I mean, look at me,”—he gestured vaguely at himself—“working-class, poor at schoolwork, Muggle-born.” The memories of his first day at Hogwarts came back to him, in particular the train ride with the boy called Rohaan who would eventually become his best friend, and the Sorting Ceremony. And then his first trip to Diagon Alley to pick up his school supplies, where he met the Pure-blood idiot who’d end up feuding with him all the way till the present day. “I didn’t care which house I’d end up in as long as it wasn’t Slytherin. Can’t even begin to fathom what the Sorting Hat was thinking when it put me there.”

Shaking his head to clear his mind of all the sad memories, he turned to Missy. “At least you’re a much, much better fit for Slytherin than I’d ever be.”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy snorted, shaking her head. “Fifth year? Merlin, don’t age me faster than necessary. I’m only in my fourth, thanks.” She jabbed the end of her quill in Kyle’s direction. “That means I don’t have to think about O.W.L.s just yet, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.” She muttered something about how she barely wanted to think about this essay, let alone the looming mountain of exams waiting for her next year.

But as Kyle continued, his tone shifting from casual banter to something quieter, more uncertain, Missy felt her smirk fade. His words struck a chord in a way she hadn’t expected.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossing as she studied him. “Yeah,” she admitted after a moment, exhaling slowly. “I get that.”

She rarely said it out loud—almost never, really—but when she’d first come to Hogwarts, she’d thought she’d be a Ravenclaw. She wanted to be a Ravenclaw, so badly. But in hindsight? That had been spectacularly wishful thinking. She wasn’t book smart, not really. Witty with a pun here and there, sure, but certainly not nerdy enough for Ravenclaw. She only had it in her head because her godmother had been in Ravenclaw back in her day, and young, dumb, first-year Missy had thought it would be cool to follow in her footsteps.

Turns out, the Sorting Hat had known better.

“Maybe the Hat just sees something in us that we don’t,” she offered after a beat, her tone uncharacteristically thoughtful. “Or maybe it just enjoys messing with us.”

She smirked then, but it was softer than before. “And don’t give me that ‘better fit’ rubbish. You’re as Slytherin as the rest of us, even if you don’t want to be.” She shot him a pointed look. “Being working-class, rubbish at essays, or Muggle-born doesn’t mean anything. Plenty of Pure-blood idiots have coasted through life without a brain cell to share between them. And plenty of Slytherins aren’t what people expect.”

She let the words hang there for a second before nudging his arm with her quill. “Now, come on. If we’re gonna be the picture of Slytherin excellence, we should at least look productive.”

Missy let her words settle as she turned back to her essay, twirling her quill between her fingers before finally scrawling out two words—only to realize she’d already lost her train of thought. She sighed, setting the quill down for a moment, tapping it against the parchment as she glanced sideways at Kyle.

“So,” she began thoughtfully, “if not Slytherin, where do you think you should have ended up?”

Her tone was casual, but there was a genuine curiosity in her eyes. He clearly hadn’t expected to be sorted here, and she wondered if he’d ever really settled into the idea considering he was in his seventh year, or if he still thought about it sometimes—what might have been if the Hat had listened him.

[Kyle Winters]

Kyle winced as Missy corrected him about her year of study. “Sorry, my bad,” he apologised. “But trust me when I say you’re very, very mature and sensible for your age.”

That one word response from Missy – that resigned “yeah” – did nothing to improve their situation, but just being reminded that he – or rather, they weren’t alone in their struggles was comforting. Looking away from his homework, he turned to Missy, nodding thoughtfully and chewing on his lip absently when she said that the Hat saw something in him that he didn’t know. Maybe the Hat was right after all. He had to admit, he didn’t really think he had the essential qualities espoused by the other houses.

He let out a weary laugh when Missy suggested that the Hat might have enjoyed messing with them. “The Hat barely even touched my hair before it yelled”—he did his best impression of the Hat’s distinctive voice—“’SLYTHERIN!’”. What came out, however, sounded overly hoarse and scratchy and had none of the gravitas and dramatic flair, like a crude caricature. “Right there and then, my heart sank – I’m telling you, my heart just sank.”

That moment was coming back to him now, that stunned silence from the Slytherin table and the frosty reception he received. And the fact that his newfound nemesis Scranton was already seated at the table made it even worse. “I can still see them faces and hear them whispers. Ain’t pretty. Ain’t pretty at all. Not that it matters anymore.”

And it really didn’t. He had to agree with Missy: with each passing year he felt like he belonged more and more, even if there were folks who still hated his guts for existing. At least he wasn’t without friends like Trent and Missy, or even Eve. The comment about Pure-blood idiots resonated especially well with him, and he found himself nodding emphatically. “Like that bloody popinjay.”

Right after he blurted that out, he glanced around him anxiously, hoping that nobody else had caught what he just said. No names were mentioned (and said popinjay had enough brain cells to trounce Kyle academically) but the ire in his voice made it perfectly clear who he was referring to: Percival Scranton, the beater on the Quidditch team. Their animosity was well known even outside of the team, and in thus far in her short tenure as captain, Eve had done a decent job at keeping the two from from barking and snapping at each other like rabid dogs.

A prod from Missy reminded Kyle of his homework that sat before him. “Oh right,” he said with a sheepish grin before he pulled out a set of hastily written notes he had taken during his Ancient Runes class from the thick stack, and laid out a blank sheet of paper beside it. Blindly copying everything down was easy, but understanding them enough to accurately transcribe the information into a more easily digestible form? That was the tough bit. Unconsciously he began to fidget with his pen, before a sigh from Missy told him that he wasn’t the only one who was stuck almost immediately.

He ceased his pen twirling as he considered Missy’s question. “Definitely not Ravenclaw, evidently,” he mused aloud, gesturing to the still-blank paper to prove his point. “I hope I’m hardworking enough to be in Hufflepuff, but I don’t think I have the ‘fair play’ and ‘moral integrity’ bit.” That left Kyle with one last house to consider. “Maybe Gryffindor? No offence to Gryffindor, but it’s hard to tell the difference between ‘brave’ and ‘stupid’ sometimes, and I’m more than stupid enough to do dumb things.”

On second thought, that answer didn’t feel entirely satisfactory to Kyle. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded, his wolfish, lopsided grin widening. “Maybe I am a proper Slytherin. Say, how about you? Which house do you think you might be in if it wasn’t Slytherin?”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy listened intently as Kyle spoke, her usual smirk fading into something softer. It was kind of sweet, the way he had let his guard down like this, and she could tell—really tell—how much that first day had stuck with him. She couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like, standing there in front of a room full of people who already thought they had him figured out before he even sat down. And yet, despite it all, he’d found his place here. It might’ve taken a while, but he belonged in Slytherin now, whether he’d expected to or not.

She understood that feeling.

When he turned the question back on her, she hesitated, tapping the end of her quill against her lip. It wasn’t a story she told often—or, well, ever. But Kyle had a way of making it easy to talk.

“I, uh…”she started, then let out a breath and laughed quietly to herself. “I actually wanted to be in Ravenclaw.”

She shot him a quick glance, half-expecting some teasing, but there was only curiosity in his eyes.

“My godmother was a Ravenclaw,” she explained, twisting the ring on her finger absentmindedly. “When I was little, I thought she was the coolest person alive—so smart, always had the right thing to say. So, of course, obviously I had to be a Ravenclaw too. She'd often talk about all her cool friends and how well she did at school, and naturally, how it landed her a good job once she had graduated—really making something of herself... I wanted to be just as impressive, I guess...” She rolled her eyes at her own childhood logic. “I was young and dumb and didn’t know any better.”

Missy shook her head, a small grin forming as she continued, “But in hindsight? Yeah, no. I’m not book smart. I mean, I can throw out a half-decent pun here and there, but I’m nowhere near clever enough to be a proper Ravenclaw.” She gestured vaguely at her half-finished essay. “It didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t cut out for the whole ‘wisdom and wit’ thing. And, honestly, if I had been sorted into Ravenclaw, I probably would’ve had a terrible time trying to keep up.”

She let that thought sit for a moment before adding, “I don’t know where else I’d fit, though. Maybe Gryffindor, as well? I can be a little impulsive.” That was putting it mildly. She could already think of about a dozen moments where she’d acted before thinking, sometimes spectacularly so.

But after four years at Hogwarts, the idea of being anywhere other than Slytherin felt strange.

“Nah,” she decided with a firm shake of her head. “I think I ended up exactly where I was meant to be.”

Her lips quirked into a smirk as she nudged Kyle’s arm lightly. “And so did you, whether you like it or not.” She let the words settle before adding, a little softer, “Honestly? I’m glad we both ended up in Slytherin. At least it meant we got to know each other better.” She shot him a grin, playful but genuine. “Would’ve been a real shame if we’d been stuck in different houses—who else would tolerate my nonsense and help me procrastinate on my essays?”

[Kyle Winters]

Ravenclaw sounded like a good match for Missy. Though students from that house were usually seen as academically inclined or nerdy, many of them were streetwise and generally smart enough to know what to do in any given situation. The impression he had lined up perfectly with Missy’s description of her godmother too, particularly about always knowing what to say.

When Missy raised Gryffindor as a potential option, he leaned back and narrowed his eyes, looking up and down at Missy as he pondered over that possibility. “Maybe, maybe,” he surmised, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “But I think you’d be a better Ravenclaw. There’s more to it than just being book smart. It’s about knowing when and how to use the knowledge you have, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

Ultimately, though, Kyle had to agree that Missy seemed most like a Slytherin. Maybe it was objectively true, or maybe he was just so accustomed to that idea that no other house seemed to fit her just as well. He nodded when she expressed how glad she was that they both ended up in Slytherin and got to know each other. The feeling was definitely mutual: she didn’t judge him or his background or blood status or anything, and whether she knew it or not, she had helped to partially fill that gaping void that Rohaan had left behind.

The sudden shift in the conversation from being wholesome and heartwarming to something so utterly random made Kyle crack up again. “Well, I’m sure someone will step up,” he laughed, “but I’m not giving away that pleasure to anyone if I get a say in it. Besides, it goes both ways. Who’s going to take my nonsense, or play along with my daft ideas on the pitch?” Kyle had always been a tactical Quidditch player who could adapt quickly to the changing game state, but his fancy tricks wouldn’t work without his teammates backing him up – especially for his most risky and audacious stunts. “So that’s to say, I’m as glad as you are that we’re both here. Thanks for being my wingman, and know that I’l always have your back.”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy let out a small, amused huff at Kyle’s words, shaking her head slightly. “Wingman, huh?” she repeated, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Well, that makes you mine too. Fellow Chaser!”

It was nice—having someone like him at Hogwarts. She had a big brother, sure, but Caleb Jr. was always off on some adventure, training as a curse breaker, and wasn’t really around. Kyle, though? He was here. And even though he had his own battles to fight, he had this way about him—a certain gentleness that made it easy to be around him. She liked that they had Quidditch in common, that they could bond over both being Chasers for Slytherin, that they both felt like maybe, once upon a time, they were meant for different houses. But they weren’t, were they? Slytherin had ended up being exactly right for them both.

The conversation had flowed so easily between them, the kind of rhythm that came from really understanding someone. Missy liked that. She wasn’t always great at friendship; sometimes her quick wit and sharp quips landed wrong, and people got offended. It could get lonely—but with Kyle, it didn’t feel that way. He got her. She felt her cheeks warm slightly at the thought.

Letting the conversation settle, she turned back to her essay, nibbling on her lip as she scrawled a few more sentences about Goblins. But her mind wasn’t really on it. She could feel the question buzzing at the back of her head, tugging insistently at her curiosity.

Missy hesitated, fingers tightening around her quill. Should she even ask? They were having such a good time—was this pushing it too far?

But the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“So, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…” She faltered, tapping the quill against the parchment, still unsure if she should follow through. But she wanted to know. Needed to know.

“How… how did you lose your leg?”

She looked up at him, her expression open, but cautious—like she was stepping onto fragile ice, unsure if it would hold.

[Kyle Winters]

The casual banter and Missy’s companionship as they each tackled their respective assignments – it was times like this that helped Kyle tough it out when things got difficult. Having benefitted much from the help and frnedship from the older students during his first few years at Hogwarts, this was also a way for him to pay it forward and perpetuate this virtuous cycle. It was something he had learnt over the years: kindness was always in short supply, but there was never a shortage of idiots.

He was trying to figure out a section of text he had blindly copied off the blackboard in class when Missy spoke. Even before she asked her question, the tentative way she raised it made him simultaneously curious and apprehensive. “Go on,” he said, trying to sound casual, but unconsciously he held his breath until the question came.

And when it did, he managed to keep a straight face for a few moments. That incident had taken place quite long ago, and during the intervening years his physical wounds had healed and he had grown accustomed to this new normal of living with a prosthetic leg. He tried not to let it bother him too much, not to let it define who he was.

But it wasn’t the loss of his leg that truly bothered him. Time hadn’t healed all his wounds. It couldn’t. It merely dulled the pain – the pain of losing his best friend and having his family fall apart. In fact, it was only until recently that he realised he hadn’t given himself time to process everything and mourn for his losses properly, and increasingly he was feeling that he could never truly move on until he came to terms with all that happened.

“Oh, I was swimming in the Great Lake when some creature clamped its jaws down on my leg,” he replied, instinctively falling back on the ludicrous story he made up to divert attention away from the truth, and to warn younger students about the dangers of the school grounds. Would he be able to fool Missy? She hadn’t been at Hogwarts when the Headteacher made the announcement about Rohaan’s unfortunate passing as a result of the riots in his homwtown, nor would she know firsthand that Kyle was absent for quite some time at start of the school term and came back to school with a pair of crutches and a missing leg. So as he spoke, he watched Missy’s expression carefully to see if she would actually believe the tall tale. “It was an epic battle… but you’re not buying it now, are you?”

Kyle took a deep breath, before launching into the real story. “There was a fire,” he began, his voice steady and calm. “My best mate was trapped in it, and I tried to save him. Something fell on me, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in hospital with my leg missing.” Somehow or another he managed to stay in control, even when he was coming up to the hardest part of the tale to tell.

“I couldn’t save him.” There wasn’t a single hint of emotion in his voice at all, none that betrayed how he had felt back then, nor the dull ache that had since become his constant companion. “I couldn’t save him,” he repeated, before he needed another deep breath to steady himself.

“The Muggle doctors patched me up, so magic doesn’t work anymore since my leg’s ‘healed’, in a sense,” he continued, pre-empting a potential follow-up question as he shrugged and gave a wry half-smile. “I don’t fully understand how that works, if I’m being honest, but that’s what I’ve been told.”

The full story was a lot more than that, but the parts that he had omitted – particularly about his father – those were his burden to bear. Moreover, the damage had been done, and short of turning back time, there was nothing anyone could do about it if he revealed that other side of the story. Nor did he want to: everyone had their own struggles, and it didn’t feel right to saddle anyone with his trauma.

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy raised an eyebrow when Kyle started talking about the Great Lake and some creature biting his leg. Her lips curled into a half-smile as she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest.

“You expect me to believe that?” she asked, scoffing a little. “I swim in that lake pretty much every other weekend, and I’ve never had anything attack me. A couple of plimpies got stuck in my hair once, but that’s about as wild as it gets. If a creature’s biting legs, I think we’d have heard about it. Seriously, Kyle, you're pulling my leg here.”

She stared at him for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement at how over-the-top his story was.

But then, as if the entire mood shifted, Missy noticed the change in his tone, the way he started telling the truth. Her eyes softened, and her arms slowly uncrossed as she gave him her full attention.

The room suddenly felt quieter, like the air thickened with the weight of the words that followed. Her stomach twisted as Kyle spoke about the fire, his best mate, the tragedy of it all. She could hear the calmness in his voice, but Missy could also feel the depth of pain under the surface, like a raw, festering wound that hadn’t quite healed.

The anger that had flared inside her caught her off guard—she wasn’t angry at him. No. It was the injustice of it all. The helplessness in Kyle’s voice when he said he couldn’t save his friend, that he couldn’t save someone he cared about. That was what gnawed at her.

Missy clenched her jaw, her expression hardening slightly as she forced her thoughts into place. She wasn’t even sure why she felt so frustrated—he wasn’t the one to blame. But something about his story didn’t sit right with her, like there was more underneath it.

“I—I’m sorry that happened, Kyle,” she managed, her voice low and quiet. “I can’t imagine how that feels... losing someone like that.”

Her heart went out to him, but a part of her ached for her fellow Chaser, like maybe he wasn’t fully processing the hurt. Like he was burying it so deep that it wouldn’t come back to haunt him—but it was still there.

She wanted to say something else, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, Missy simply nodded, eyes dropping to her essay again. She sat back in her chair, her eyes downcast as Kyle’s words lingered in the air. Her thoughts drifted away from the present moment, pulling her into a place she hadn’t allowed herself to go in a long while. The mention of loss, of someone close to you slipping away, stirred something deep within her.

She remembered her mother, but only in fragmented glimpses—smells, laughter, the warmth of her embrace. It wasn’t enough to make her feel whole. The memory of her mother had faded, dulled with time, and now, the spaces in her life where her mother should have been were filled with an emptiness she didn’t know how to explain.

Her father, once the strong, dependable figure she looked up to, had fallen apart after her mother’s death. He had turned to alcohol to numb the pain. Caleb Jr. had done what father wanted, following his directions like an obedient puppy, while Missy was sent away to live in Britain, leaving the family disjointed.

She could relate to Kyle’s pain—the ache of losing someone who meant the world to you. But there was a difference. Missy couldn’t remember her mother enough to feel the loss as deeply as she wished she could. She envied the way Kyle had talked about his friend. He had memories—moments with his mate that he could look back on. Those memories, even if painful, were something he could keep with him.

For a moment, it almost felt like his loss was worthwhile, in a strange way. At least he had something to remember. Something to mourn.

But Missy didn’t have that. She had the hole her mother’s absence left behind, but no recollection to fill it. It wasn’t fair, and it gnawed at her, making her feel a little more bitter than she wanted to admit. She pushed the feeling aside, but it lingered, an unspoken weight that pressed down on her chest as her ears started to burn with frustration.

Her eyes flicked back to Kyle, her lips parting to say something, but the words didn’t come out again. She sat silently, nodding, her gaze falling to the desk in front of her and her half finished essay. She wanted to say she understood fully, but there were parts of it she couldn’t touch—parts she wasn’t sure anyone could. Missy wasn't even sure if she could share her story, not that this moment was about her by any means, instead she decided to keep her thoughts to herself. Guarding them once more.

“Thanks for telling me,” she finally murmured, her voice soft, her tone sincere. “Really. It means a lot, you know?”

And it did. It meant more than she could say.

[Kyle Winters]

The mood darkened considerably after Kyle shared his story, and even Missy’s entire demeanour had changed. Her jaw was clenched, presumably in anger at how unfair things were. At least it didn’t appear to be pity she was feeling, and that was something Kyle was thankful for. That was the last thing he needed from anyone, even if said pity came from care and concern for him.

“Life’s not fair. Never was, never will be,” he replied matter-of-factly, too used to suppressing his negative emotions and convincing himself that this was just the way things were. “It’s not like we could turn back time and change anything, so we just have to learn to live with whatever happens.” It sounded a bit… defeatist. But it wasn’t meant to be that way. Rather, he saw it as a way of coming to terms with whatever life threw at him, good or bad. “Just treasure what you have, and don’t take anyone or anything for granted,” he added after a moment, offering Missy a weary smile.

Missy still seemed to be weighed down by something, and judging from her pensive look, it wasn’t because of his sob story. She had her own worries, maybe even a similar episode in her life. But whatever it was, he didn’t want to pry and pick at a scab lest it started bleeding again because it wasn’t properly healed.

He shook his head when Missy thanked him for sharing his story. “It’s not a secret anyway,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. “I heard that Headteacher Rossi made an announcement on the first day of school about my best mate’s passing. That said, I don’t know what he said or if he mentioned anything about me. I was still in hospital then.”

Glancing at Missy, he bit his lip as he pondered about how he could lift the mood a bit. Nothing came to mind – he had never been the optimistic or exuberant sort. So instead he settled for something Rohaan had once said before. “My best mate used to say this: we all have our own demons, our battles that we must fight alone. Sometimes we’re in a bad place, and we’re all alone with seemingly no way out. But no matter how hard things get, no matter how much we think we’ve screwed up, there’s always someone out there who has faith in us, who’s rooting for us, who’s waiting for us to win the fight and come back into the light. So hang in there, and you’ll make it through.”

[Missy Dragonov]

She shifted in her seat, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It’s not fair. But I don’t think we’re supposed to just… accept it.” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful, but there was a stubborn edge to it. “I mean, we do have to live with whatever happens, sure. But I don’t think that means we should just roll over and let the world take whatever it wants from us.”

She wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, only that she meant them. Maybe it was because of her mother—because her family had unraveled before she was old enough to understand why. She never got a say in any of it. Her father had drowned himself in a bottle, her brother had done as he was told, and she had been sent away like an afterthought. No one had fought for anything. They had just let it happen.

Kyle’s story was different, but she recognized that same hollow ache—the same sense that something had been stolen away, and nothing could be done to bring it back.

She pulled her hands into her lap, twisting her fingers together. Treasure what you have. Don’t take anyone or anything for granted. That part hit her in a way she didn’t expect. She had spent years keeping people at arm’s length, convincing herself it was easier that way. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. She wasn’t sure anymore.

Missy glanced at him when he mentioned the Headteacher’s announcement. She had been at Hogwarts by then, but she hadn’t heard it. Probably had her head too buried in her own problems at the time, or picking on some of the stupid first years for shits and giggles. Then Kyle shared Rohaan’s words, and for the first time since their conversation had turned serious, she found herself exhaling a quiet chuckle—not because it was funny, but because it was painfully, stupidly true.

“Your mate was smart,” she admitted, offering a small, lopsided smile. “I think I like him.”

She hesitated for a moment before continuing, her voice softer now. “I don’t know if I believe all that. That there’s always someone out there who has faith in us.” She bit her lip, debating whether to leave it at that. But something about Kyle’s quiet understanding made her keep going. “But I do know what it’s like to fight a battle alone. And… I guess what I’m trying to say is… if you ever need someone in your corner, I don’t mind throwing a few punches.”

It was her way of saying she cared. That she understood. That maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone in his fight as he thought.