A Birthday in the Cold
November in the Highlands bit like sharpened glass. Lennon woke on her twelfth birthday to the frost-painted windows of Gryffindor Tower and the muffled hum of the common room fire far below.
At first, she didn't expect anyone to remember—it wasn't like birthdays at Hogwarts were marked on the timetable. But when she rolled over, she saw a small pile of parcels at the foot of her bed.
The largest was wrapped in deep green paper and tied with a black ribbon—the way her father always wrapped gifts when he was in a rush. She reached for it first.
Inside was a slender, leather-bound notebook with her initials pressed into the cover in gold. The pages were thick and cream-coloured, perfect for spell diagrams or coded notes.
A smaller package held a silver pendant in the shape of an hourglass. The sand inside shimmered faintly, though it didn't move.
Last was the card. The handwriting was quick and slanted, ink a little smudged:
Lennon,
Another year older. Don't waste it.
Use the time you have—turn it into something that matters.
—D.
No "love," no "happy birthday." But it was his way of saying both.
She traced the hourglass with her thumb.
Hermione stirred in the next bed, yawning. "What's that?"
"From my dad," Lennon said, sliding the pendant into her palm. "He's away. Mission."
Hermione's eyes softened. "It's beautiful. Did he make it?"
"No," Lennon said. "But… he chooses things carefully. Everything has a use."
⸻
Snow and Shadows
Classes rolled on as the castle shifted into winter. The first snow fell that week, laying silver across the grounds. The lake froze around the edges, and Hagrid appeared bundled in so many layers he looked twice his usual size.
Harry and Ron spent their spare moments talking about Quidditch strategies for the next match. Hermione buried herself in books about Nicolas Flamel, determined to discover what the three-headed dog was guarding.
Lennon took a quieter path. She spent her free hour after dinner in the library, combing through sections on magical time theory. It was half curiosity, half instinct—her father's gift had set something moving in her head.
It was on one of those evenings that she saw Mattheo again.
⸻
Library Conversations
He was sitting at the far end of the Restricted Section, a book closed in front of him.
"You're in my seat," Lennon said without malice, setting her bag down opposite him.
"I don't see your name on it."
She smirked faintly and sat anyway. "What are you reading?"
Mattheo tapped the cover—blank leather, no title. "Nothing that matters to you."
"That's what people say when it matters too much."
He didn't respond right away, just studied her. "You're looking into time magic."
She froze. "How do you know that?"
"Because you've got Advanced Chronomancy under your bag. And people don't read that for fun."
She slid the book back into the shadows. "It's my birthday," she said abruptly. "I can read whatever I want."
That earned the ghost of a smile from him. "Happy birthday, then."
⸻
The Mirror
The Mirror of Erised found Harry first.
It began with his discovery of the Invisibility Cloak—left in his dormitory on Christmas morning with a note that read: Use it well. On one of his first night wanderings under the cloak, he stumbled into a room containing nothing but a tall, ornate mirror.
When he looked into it, he saw not himself alone, but his parents beside him, smiling.
He went back again. And again. The third time, Ron had joined him, seeing himself as Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and holding the Quidditch Cup.
And one evening, when Harry slipped through the corridors under the cloak, Lennon saw him leave.
⸻
Following Shadows
She hadn't meant to follow him, but curiosity gnawed at her. She moved silently down the same passageways, keeping enough distance not to be caught.
When Harry entered the empty classroom, she waited outside—until another shadow moved into view.
Mattheo.
He leaned against the wall near her. "You're following him too," he murmured.
"I'm… making sure he doesn't get caught," she lied.
"Right," Mattheo said. But he didn't move to stop her.
Through the doorway, they both saw it—the mirror.
⸻
What Lennon Saw
Harry's back was to them, his reflection lost in something invisible to their eyes.
Then Lennon stepped into the room.
When she looked into the glass, her chest tightened.
She saw herself—older, stronger, standing in a place she didn't recognise. Beside her was her father, his hand on her shoulder, alive and whole. They were smiling. And she had something in her hand—an object shaped like the hourglass pendant he'd given her, but glowing from within.
She stared until her breath fogged the glass.
"What is this?" she whispered.
Mattheo had stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. "It doesn't show the truth," he said. "It shows what you want most."
"And what do you see?" she asked, turning on him.
He didn't answer. "Some things aren't meant to be said out loud."
⸻
Dumbledore
The next time Harry visited the mirror, Dumbledore was waiting.
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live," he told him, explaining the mirror's power and its danger. That it would be moved, hidden, because it could become a trap for the mind.
Harry told Ron and Hermione. Lennon didn't hear it from them—she heard it whispered in the library later, when Mattheo, without looking up from his book, said, "They've taken the mirror away."
⸻
The Quiet Between
As December deepened into snow and frost, Lennon kept her father's gifts close—the notebook, now half-filled with observations about time spells; the hourglass pendant, which seemed to warm faintly against her skin when she thought about the vision in the mirror.
She didn't know yet if what she'd seen was possible.
But she intended to find out.