By the middle of December, the snow outside the castle was knee-deep.
Icicles clung to every window like glass teeth, and the wind moaned through the halls with a sound that made even the portraits shiver.
Inside, candles burned low and steady, their light spilling across half-empty tables and stacks of parchment.
The festive chatter that usually filled December had dulled — replaced by whispers about the Chamber, the petrified students, and the unsettling feeling that the castle itself was listening.
For Shya, it felt like living under glass.
The potions had stopped working.
It didn't happen all at once. First, Talora's sleep grew restless again. Then the circles under her eyes returned, darker than before. By the third week of December, she could barely stand through a full lesson.
Madam Pomfrey's warning echoed in Shya's head. These shouldn't be taken long-term.
So Shya stopped bringing her to the hospital wing.
Instead, she tucked her into bed, cast soft warming charms on the blankets, and tried to make her laugh.
"Bob," Shya said one morning, standing by the bedpost, "I don't mean to alarm you, but you look like you've been hit with a Beautification Hex that backfired."
Talora blinked blearily, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You have the worst bedside manner."
"Thank you," Shya said. "I practice."
She held up a tray — toast, tea, and something that vaguely resembled porridge. "Brought you breakfast. Eat it before I start spoon-feeding you like a baby hippogriff."
Talora groaned but obeyed.
The fire crackled quietly. Outside, snow drifted past the high windows in slow spirals.
For a few minutes, it almost felt normal again — two girls, talking nonsense, the world distant and harmless.
Then Talora's hand trembled on her cup. Her face paled.
"Bob?"
"I'm fine," she murmured, setting the tea down quickly. "Just… dizzy."
"Yeah, and I'm the next Minister for Magic." Shya knelt beside her. "You can't keep doing this. You need real help."
"I'm getting it," Talora whispered. "You're here."
Shya froze — then forced a smile. "Flattery won't get you out of breakfast, Bob."
That night, Shya waited until Talora was asleep before slipping down to the library again.
The castle was dark, corridors gleaming with frost.
She moved silently between shelves, lighting her wand. "Lumos."
Her arms were full of books: Curses of Symbiotic Origin, Energetic Drains and Magical Linkages, Ancient Illnesses of the Arcane Body. Most of them were too old, too obscure, written in handwriting that looked like spider legs.
At some point, she realized she wasn't alone.
Cassian leaned against a nearby pillar, half-smiling in the dim light. "You're getting predictable, Shy."
She jumped. "Merlin's left sock, Cassian — make some noise next time."
"Hard to, when you move like a thief."
"I am a thief," she said, holding up her stack. "I stole all these from the restricted section."
He arched an eyebrow. "For academic purposes, I'm sure."
"For saving-my-best-friend purposes, actually."
The humor drained from his face. "How bad is she?"
Shya hesitated — then sighed. "Worse. The potions don't work anymore. She sleeps, but it doesn't help. It's like something's draining her, piece by piece."
Cassian's jaw tightened. "Roman's been looking into it. His family's library has texts on ancient bindings and curses. He thinks it might be—"
"Magical," Shya finished softly.
He nodded. "Something old. Maybe even before Hogwarts."
Shya stared at him. "That's comforting."
Cassian's tone gentled. "We're going to find out what it is. I promise."
She wanted to believe him.
Two days later, they gathered in the library — the four of them, surrounded by open books and the faint scent of dust and cold parchment.
Roman had brought a stack of old leather-bound volumes. "These were in my family archives. Some go back to the eleventh century."
"Creepy," Shya muttered. "But I'll take creepy over clueless."
Cassian grinned. "We're good at creepy."
"Debatable," Shya shot back.
Talora sat quietly beside Roman, bundled in a thick scarf. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her voice soft. "Thank you — all of you. You don't have to—"
"Stop," Shya interrupted. "We're all in this. Non-negotiable. Friendship cult rules."
That earned the smallest smile from her.
Roman opened one of the oldest books. "There's something here — a reference to dual resonance. It describes two magical beings whose energies mirror and amplify each other. Light and dark, creation and decay."
"Sounds poetic," Cassian said. "And vaguely terrifying."
Roman glanced at Talora. "If that's what's happening… it could explain why she's being drained."
Shya frowned. "You mean she's connected to something? Or someone?"
"Possibly," Roman said carefully. "The text says when one grows weak, the other strengthens. A balance that turns to imbalance."
Silence filled the room.
Then Shya said, softly but firmly, "Okay. So how do we fix it?"
Roman hesitated. "I don't know yet. But I sent word to my aunt — she's a scholar in magical ancestry and curse theory. If anyone knows who to find to break a resonance link, it's her."
Cassian added, " She'll respond before Christmas."
Shya exhaled. "Then we wait."
The next week passed in slow, frozen days.
Classes dwindled as the holidays approached. The castle filled with the smell of pine and cinnamon, but beneath it all lingered unease — another attack could happen any day.
Talora's good days were fewer now. She still smiled when Shya called her "Bob," still joked weakly when Cassian dropped by with stolen sweets, but her voice was quieter, her light dimmer.
Shya spent most nights in a chair beside her bed, reading aloud from the books Roman had found. She didn't understand half of it, but the sound seemed to comfort Talora.
"Bob," Talora murmured one night, eyes half-closed, "you don't have to stay up."
"Yeah, I do."
"Why?"
Shya smiled softly. "Because if I stop talking, you'll start dreaming again."
Talora's lips curved faintly. "You're an idiot."
"I know," Shya said. "But I'm your idiot."
A week before Christmas, a black owl arrived in the middle of dinner.
It landed neatly on Roman's shoulder, a scroll tied to its leg with green ribbon. He read it once, expression unreadable, then looked up at them.
"She found something," he said quietly. "And… someone. An expert who might actually be able to help us."
Shya's fork froze mid-air. "What kind of expert?"
"Master Curse-breaker. Researcher of ancient magical bonds. Her name's Selene Varn."
Cassian leaned forward. "Where?"
Roman met his eyes. "She's in Hogsmeade. And she's agreed to meet us — during the holidays."
Shya's pulse quickened. "We'll all be gone by then."
Roman's voice dropped. "Then we won't be."
He looked at Shya and Talora in turn. "We'll tell our parents we're staying here. As for the Professors no one will notice four students missing for a day in a castle this size. They have more important things going on, what with children dropping paralyzed."
Shya stared at him — half terrified, half exhilarated. "We're going to break a dozen school rules."
Cassian grinned. "That's the spirit."
Talora's voice was small but certain. "Let's do it."
Shya squeezed her hand under the table. "Together, then."
Snow fell heavy that night, blanketing the castle in white.
Beneath the quiet, something stirred — old, patient, waiting.
And for the first time, they weren't running from it.