December at Hogwarts always had a way of making the castle feel alive. Snow clung to the edges of the high, arched windows, and floating candles burned a little lower and warmer, their flames dimmed into a golden hush like the castle was whispering secrets to itself. But for me, the real chill wasn't outside the walls.
It was inside, in the quiet corners, after everyone left.
I stayed for the holidays, unsurprisingly. There was nothing waiting for me in Yorkshire Dale except creaky floorboards, old bookshelves, and memories that haunted the silence like ghosts that never stopped pacing. The place might've once been home, but now it felt like a crypt with my name barely scratched in the stone.
So I stayed.
No one asked why. No one really noticed.
And why would they? Not like I have any friends here.
Because I'd made sure of that.
The months leading to December blurred together like ink on wet parchment. Hogwarts was... noisy. Loud in a way that constantly brushed up against my instincts like sandpaper. But I managed.
The Halloween troll incident? Stayed out of it. Let Potter and his two new sidekicks—Granger and Weasley—soak up the attention. Harry saved the day, Hermione earned her housemates' respect, and Ron fumbled his way into loyalty points. The Golden Trio was born under that crumbling girls' bathroom ceiling.
I, meanwhile, stayed in the library.
Under the radar, just like I promised myself.
Potions was my domain, and I made sure to never look too good. Just good enough to earn quiet approval. I let others stumble through ingredients while I worked with steady hands, precise motions, and zero wasted breath. Occasionally, I let a potion boil just a second too long or mismeasure an ingredient by a gram—enough to blend in.
Snape knew. Of course he knew.
He never said anything about it in class, never acknowledged me beyond the minimal teacher-student interaction in front of every one. But every other weekend, when the castle settled into its Sunday night lull, I would slip into the dungeons and knock once on his office door.
No words. Just a nod, and a glass of something old and smuggled would slide across the desk.
It wasn't bonding in the traditional sense. It was silence, punctuated by shared cynicism. Two shadows sipping in the firelight, dissecting the finer complexities of poison, antidotes, and people.
He never asked about my past.
I never asked about his.
Or sometime we talked about engines and other no magical stuffs.
That's what made it work.
Daphne never knew. I never told her. The idea of her knowing—of her seeing that side of me—made something clench in my chest.
Because Daphne was the only part of this new life that didn't feel like an echo of the last one.
We met regularly in the library, sometimes under the pretense of studying, sometimes not even pretending.
Our conversations grew more playful. She learned how to needle at me without pushing too far, and I learned the exact tone to use that made her blush and look away, pretending she wasn't smiling.
By December, we weren't just friends.
She was my best friend.
And that terrified me more than any duel or blood-soaked mission ever had.
And yet... I wasn't entirely bothered. Because I'd built something here—something almost resembling peace. Quiet mornings. Long evenings in the library. Conversations that didn't involve lies or daggers.
And her.
Daphne Greengrass.
The girl I had no business growing this close to.
And today she was leaving.
I sat in the far corner of the library, our usual spot near the enchanted window that shimmered with fake falling snow, though the real thing fell just as prettily outside. My chair creaked as I leaned back, tapping my quill against the edge of a book I wasn't reading.
She was late.
Which was odd, because Daphne Greengrass was never late. Not unless she was doing it on purpose, which she usually did to be dramatic.
A flutter of green and black caught my eye.
She walked in like winter royalty, Slytherin scarf wrapped neatly around her neck, her wand tucked casually behind her ear like a hairpin, and those unmistakable eyes already zeroed in on me.
I didn't smile.
She did.
"Were you waiting long, or were you just pretending to look annoyed so you could guilt me?"
"Is it working?"
She plopped her bag down beside mine, pulling off her gloves one finger at a time. "Depends. Did you save me a seat or am I supposed to fight that third-year over there?"
"You'd win," I said with complete confidence. "But yes, I saved it."
She dropped into the chair beside me and sighed like she was exhaling her entire term. "Gods, I hate packing."
"And yet, you managed to do it with perfectly coordinated luggage."
"A girl has standards, Jon," she said, nudging me with her elbow. "Besides, I'll be stuck with my sister the entire break. I had to give myself some joy."
I pretended to gasp. "The famous Astoria? The one who tried to hide inside your luggage so she can come to Hogwarts?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me. She's already enchanted our tree to sing. Sing, Jon. Every time someone walks past it."
"Festive."
"Tragic."
We sat in silence for a moment. A comfortable one. The kind that only comes when two people don't need to talk to enjoy the other's presence.
"You're really not going home for Christmas?" she asked finally.
I shook my head. "No one to go home to. And I like the quiet here. The halls feel... honest when they're empty."
She frowned slightly, like she didn't like that answer, but didn't want to push.
"I'll send you a gift," she said, too casually. "And I'll write you."
I glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "Promise?"
"On my wand," she said, holding it up solemnly. "And you better write back. And send something, or I will come back early just to hex you."
"You'll get a letter. And a gift. Something... uniquely me."
"Oh great," she deadpanned. "A book about poisons and a sarcastic bookmark."
"Only if I can enchant the bookmark to sigh judgmentally every time you skim a page."
She laughed, warm and unguarded. The kind of laugh that cracked my ribs a little every time I heard it.
Then she surprised me by reaching out and straightening the collar of my robe. "You'll miss me."
It wasn't a question. Of course it wasn't.
"Painfully," I said, without missing a beat.
She stilled, just for a second, her fingers brushing my shoulder a moment longer than necessary. Then she pulled away like it didn't happen.
"Well, don't fall apart while I'm gone."
"I'll try. No promises."
We stood, neither of us wanting to say goodbye.
"You'll be okay?" she asked quietly.
"Always."
She hesitated, then leaned in and kissed my cheek.
It was soft. Chaste. But it cracked something open in me I didn't even realize was locked.
She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and stared at me like she wanted to say something more. But instead, she leaned down and whispered by my ear, "You better miss me so much it hurts."
"Write to me," she whispered.
"Always."
And then she left.
The second she disappeared through the library door, something inside me ached.
Not like before, when I'd lost people and hardened. This was... softer. Messier. Real.
I missed her.
I didn't flinch. But damn did I feel it.
Then she was gone.
And I was alone in the library.
At first, it didn't feel too strange. I wandered through the aisles, skimmed some spellbooks, even borrowed one just to keep my hands busy.
But by dinner, I noticed the silence.
By bedtime, I noticed the way the fire didn't feel warm enough.
And by the time I sat down to write her letter that night, I realized something that I couldn't even pretend away.
I missed her.
More than I had any right to.
More than I thought I could.
And it wasn't just her laugh or her wit or even the way she made me feel a little more real.
It was her presence. The way she made Hogwarts feel less like a castle and more like a home.
I dipped my quill in ink, paused, and wrote:
"Dear Daphne,
You better be miserable without me. Because I am.
Sincerely, Jon (Your future sarcastic bookmark)"
And for the first time in years, I smiled while writing a letter.
Because I knew she'd smile reading it.