Hermione and Hylan lost themselves in the grind.
Before they knew it, dinnertime had arrived.
They packed up and headed for the Great Hall.
The morning’s apology rumor was still spreading, growing more ridiculous by the hour.
Hylan didn’t care.
Students this age had endless energy and wild imaginations.
A stray whisper turned into earth-shattering drama in their mouths.
Lockhart’s storytelling skills probably couldn’t compete.
The moment Hylan and Hermione walked into the Great Hall, heads turned.
Some students leaned toward their neighbors, murmuring.
“What are they saying?” Hermione asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” Hylan eyed the food on the tables.
“Where should we sit?”
The stares were getting to her.
“Maybe we should grab food and eat outside?
Down by the Black Lake.
The evening light’s probably beautiful.”
“Works.”
They took food from their respective house tables and left the hall.
“A Gryffindor hanging around a Slytherin.” Ron watched Hermione’s back with a sneer.
“Sorting Hat probably got her wrong.”
“Slytherins aren’t all bad.” Harry looked up from his plate.
Ron jerked his chin toward Malfoy, who was shoving someone aside.
“I really wish you’d look at Malfoy before saying that.”
“You don’t think Hylan’s different?”
“Didn’t realize you two were on a first-name basis.”
Hylan and Hermione had the carefree confidence of people who didn’t give a damn.
They carried their food to the edge of the Black Lake and started making sandwiches.
Hogwarts sat in the Scottish Highlands.
The weather wasn’t like London’s perpetual fog.
Evening had arrived, and the sunset lit the outlines of the low hills.
The Black Lake lay still as a sheet of dark glass.
They picked a spot with a good view, sat down, and made sandwiches for each other.
Then they ate slowly, with the green hills, the sunset, and the Black Lake spread out before them.
A breeze rolled over the low hills, ran down the slope, and skimmed across the lake.
It stirred a sheet of ripples, then sent wave after wave through the tall grass.
After the sandwiches, they didn’t leave.
They lay back on the grass together, talking.
“You know, Hylan?
I’m really glad we came to Hogwarts together.”
“Me too.”
“We go to class together, do homework together, eat together, talk.
Just like before.”
“It’ll stay that way.”
“So you’ll stay with me, then?”
“Of course.”
The sun sank behind the hills.
The sunset slowly faded.
Arthur Weasley came home after a long day’s work.
He was a thin man.
A little bald on top, but the hair he had left was as red as his children’s.
He wore a slightly worn green robe and looked a bit travel-worn.
He carried his briefcase in one hand and cradled a paper bag in the other.
Muggle items he’d brought back from the Ministry.
Supposed to be disposed of.
Really, he was taking them home to study.
Arthur was head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, but he was a Muggle enthusiast himself.
He loved studying Muggles and their things.
He pushed open the door.
The house was dim.
His wife, Molly, sat silently at the table.
No lamps were lit.
Only a few candles burned, their light weak.
A heavy, stifling silence pressed into the room.
It had been sitting there so long the air felt thick.
“What’s wrong, Mollywobbles?”
It was his private pet name for her, something only the two of them knew.
Normally it made her blush.
Tonight she didn’t react at all.
She just sat in her chair, holding a letter.
The candlelight only reached half of her.
Arthur couldn’t even make out her expression.
“Oh.
You’re home, Arthur.”
She came back to herself slowly, tugged at her sleeve, and wiped the corner of her eye with the back of the hand holding the letter.
“You haven’t eaten.
I’ll make you something.”
“No, no.
I care more about you.
What happened?
Tell me.”
He sat beside her.
Molly handed him the letter from Professor McGonagall.
Arthur took it, read it, and his wrist trembled.
The letter was simple.
It asked Molly whether her brother Fabian Prewett had ever had a Muggle girlfriend.
Asking about a man who’d been dead over a decade was strange enough.
Asking about something this personal made even less sense.
Arthur knew Professor McGonagall was a serious woman.
She wouldn’t ask without reason.
“It’s my nephew…”
Molly finally spoke.
Her hoarse voice carried a pain she could barely contain.
“Yesterday, when I took the children to Hogwarts, I met a boy at the station.
A boy named Hylan Prewett.”
“Oh, Arthur.
You don’t know.
You really don’t know…”
At that, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
A sob squeezed through her teeth.
“That boy… he looks so much like my brother Fabian…”
“I never imagined, never imagined I’d have a nephew still alive!
Oh, God!
Prewett… I’ve seen a Prewett again!”
She gripped Arthur’s hand tight.
Her tear-filled eyes glistened in the candlelight.
Arthur felt a jolt of shock, then disbelief.
Fabian Prewett and Gideon Prewett had died in the First Wizarding War, fighting against Voldemort.
To other wizards, they might be heroes.
To Arthur, they were not just his brothers-in-law.
They were his comrades in the Order of the Phoenix.
But he’d never heard anything about Fabian having a child.
Arthur pulled Molly into his arms and patted her back gently.
“If that boy really is your nephew, this is wonderful news.
You should be happy.”
“It’s not confirmed yet.
I’ve already asked someone to look into it.
But I feel it, deep down.
He’s my nephew.
I could never forget my brother’s face.”
“He looks too much like him.”
“Alright, Mollywobbles.
Stop crying.
Once it’s confirmed, we’ll bring him home.” Arthur was genuinely happy for her.
“Our family’s getting bigger.”
“But that only puts more pressure on you.” Molly’s voice was thick with tears.
Arthur shrugged it off.
“We already have this many kids.
One more won’t hurt.
At least we don’t have to raise this one from a baby.”
He ended with a small joke.
He worked at the Ministry, even made department head, but they had far too many children.
His salary alone was stretched thin.
But this wasn’t just his wife’s family.
This was the orphan of his comrade.
Arthur would never let the boy be left alone in the world.
Molly gave his shoulder a light thump, then waved her wand and started cooking.
After dinner, Hylan and Hermione each returned to their common rooms.
Hylan pulled out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, the one he’d borrowed from the library, and started practicing new spells.
The book didn’t contain anything especially advanced, but it was packed with variety.
It covered a wide range of spell types.
It was probably the thickest spellbook in the series.
More than enough to keep him busy for a while.
[Spell Inspiration: Proficiency +1]
[Spell Inspiration: Proficiency +1]
[Spell Inspiration: Proficiency +1]
…
He practiced until he was completely drained.
Looking at his battered dormitory, he raised his wand.
“Reparo.”
Everything that had been damaged repaired itself in the blink of an eye.
He’d tried to control the power while practicing, but there was still noise.
Enough that the young wizard next door started pounding on the wall.
“This won’t work.
I need somewhere to practice.”
“Where, though?
The Room of Requirement?”
“That’s the one.
I’ll look for it next time.”
He thought for a moment, then cast the newly learned Scourgify on himself.
The grime vanished.
He climbed into bed.
Friday was Professor Snape’s Potions class.
Time for the Potions Prodigy trait to earn its keep.