The laughter and warmth of Christmas had faded into quiet snow. Hogwarts stood hushed beneath white skies, the air heavy and still. The garlands still hung, but they looked sleepy now — like even the castle was holding its breath.
By the second week of January, the rumors started.
Hermione Granger, it was said, hadn't been seen since before the new term began.
And during a morning free period, because Shya hated an unsolved mystery almost as much as she hated not being in on the gossip, she decided to find out for herself.
Madam Pomfrey was not amused.
"I just want to see her," Shya said sweetly, standing at the doorway like she owned the place. "Purely out of concern, of course."
Pomfrey gave her a withering look. "Five minutes. And if you cause a scene—"
"Me? I'm a portrait of discretion," Shya said, pressing a hand to her heart. She slipped past before the nurse could change her mind.
The curtains were drawn around one of the far beds. A faint rustle came from behind them, followed by what sounded suspiciously like... purring?
Shya grinned and yanked the curtain open.
And froze.
Hermione was sitting up in bed, clutching a book — but her face was covered in tawny fur. Her nose twitched. And her ears—they were definitely pointed and fuzzy, twitching irritably at the sound of Shya's gasp.
"Oh. Wow." Shya blinked hard, her brain scrambling to process the sight. "Granger, I… I didn't know you cared about Filch this much."
Hermione's head snapped up, her golden, slitted eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, turning into his replacement cat while Mrs. Norris is out?" Shya gestured at all of her. "That's going above and beyond. That's commitment. Does this mean you're going to start skulking around corridors and judging first-years for tracking in mud?"
"It was an accident!" Hermione snapped, her voice still her own but now with a slightly hoarser, more agitated edge. "A misidentified strand of hair!"
"A misidentified—? Oh, please tell me you were aiming for a Slytherin. Please. It would make this so much better." Shya leaned in, her eyes sparkling with wicked delight.
"Let me guess… Pansy Parkinson? No, too much of a stretch, even for a hair. Wait, don't tell me… you were trying to be Millicent Bulstrode's cat? That's a two-for-one special on misery!"
"Get out!" Hermione hissed, her tail (because yes, there was definitely a tail) lashing under the blankets.
"I'm going, I'm going," Shya chuckled, backing away. "But seriously, if Filch offers you a saucer of milk, just say no. You have to draw the line somewhere."
Madam Pomfrey appeared like a thundercloud. "Miss Gill! I said five minutes of quiet concern, not a stand-up routine!"
"My concern is very loud, Madam Pomfrey! It's a personality trait!" Shya called over her shoulder as she was shooed out, leaving the infirmary with the sound of her laughter echoing down the corridor and the distinct impression of a very cross, very furry Hermione plotting her revenge.
***
Meanwhile The Haven was bathed in weak winter sunlight, the usual cozy chaos in full swing. Talora was braiding Lisa's hair, Padma was frowning over a star chart, and Mandy was attempting to knit what looked like a very lopsided scarf.
The door burst open, hitting the wall with a soft *thud*.
All heads turned. Shya stood in the doorway, flushed and breathless as if she'd sprinted through the castle. Her eyes were wide with the manic glee of someone carrying Grade-A, premium gossip.
"You are not going to believe this," she announced, not even bothering to take off her cloak. "No one. Believe. It."
Talora paused her braiding. "Believe what? Did Peeves flood another bathroom?"
"Better." Shya strode into the center of the room, commanding the floor like a stage. "Hermione Granger. Hasn't been seen for days. Right? So I went to the Infirmary this morning to investigate."
"You didn't!" Padma said, her star chart forgotten.
"I did. And Pomfrey tried to stop me, but I was a vision of polite concern." She placed a hand over her heart, the picture of innocence for exactly one second before her grin returned, feral and bright. "And there she was. In a bed. Looking like… well, like someone tried to cross-breed a witch with Mrs. Norris and only got halfway there."
Mandy's knitting needles stilled. "What?"
"Fur, Brocklehurst! A fine, tawny fluff. Whiskers that twitched when she got annoyed—which was immediately, by the way. And ears!" Shya pointed to her own perfectly normal ears. "Little, pointy, fuzzy things on top of her head. I think I saw a tail lashing under the sheets, too."
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
"How?" Lisa breathed.
"Polyjuice Potion gone wrong, apparently," Shya declared, relishing every syllable. "She 'misidentified a strand of hair.' My theory? She was trying to brew it in that girls' bathroom she's always lurking in. Probably snatched a hair off the floor. Could've been anyone's! Or, and this is my favorite part," she added, leaning in conspiratorially, "maybe it was a deliberate, deeply misguided tribute to Filch. A solidarity transformation."
Talora snorted, burying her face in a cushion to stifle her giggles.
"She actually hissed at me," Shya continued, puffing out her chest with pride. "A proper, full-throated hiss. I'm lucky I didn't get scratched. Madam Pomfrey had to physically shoo me out before I could ask if she'd started chasing laser pointers or coughing up hairballs."
The room erupted. Padma was crying with laughter, Mandy had given up on her scarf entirely, and Lisa was wheezing, "No… stop…"
Shya stood there, soaking it all in, the triumphant ringmaster of the most absurd show in Hogwarts. "I told you," she said, finally unclasping her cloak and tossing it onto a chair. "You never believe me until the evidence starts purring."
***
The next afternoon during another free period, the group met in the Haven—their secret, glowing refuge carved deep behind old stone. The air was warm, thick with the scent of old books and the faint, sweet crackle from the enchanted ceiling that mimicked a twilight sky.
Cassian, who had been quiet for a while, pushed off the far wall, his expression thoughtful.
"Something's off with Crabbe and Goyle," he said finally. "More than their usual brand of stupid."
Roman, lounging on a pile of cushions, didn't look up from the Exploding Snap game he was playing against himself. "Define 'off.' Their usual intellectual capacity is on par with a concussed troll."
"It's not that," Cassian said, a flicker of impatience in his voice. "They've been confused. Wandering around like they've never seen the castle before. Yesterday, I heard Goyle asking a first-year how to get to the Great Hall from the dungeons."
Padma looked up from her Arithmancy chart, frowning. "Memory gaps? That sounds like a Confundus Charm. Or… memory tampering."
Shya, who'd been lazily twirling a quill, let it clatter onto the table. The sound made everyone look her way. "Or hit on the head and used," she said, her voice dropping into a theatrical whisper.
"Used how?" Talora asked, pulling her knees to her chest.
"Think about it," Shya said, leaning forward, her eyes alight with the thrill of a new theory. "Granger's little… feline fashion statement. And now these two walking mountains are acting like they've had their brains scooped out and put back in upside down. What if they weren't Confunded? What if they were just… vacant? ."
Roman's lazy grin finally faded as he caught her meaning. He sat up straight, the Snap cards forgotten. "Wait. You mean someone Polyjuiced into them? and What, knocked them out?"
"It's a theory that fits better than Goyle's robes," Shya said with a sharp little smirk. "And who do we know who's desperate enough for answers—and has a proven, if messy, track record with Polyjuice Potion?"
Talora's brows shot up. "You think Potter and Weasley did it? To get into the Slytherin common room?"
" It would explain the cat confusion with Granger, the only girl in Slytherin who stayed over the holidays was Millicent Bulstrode and she has a cat." Padma noted
" But why? Why those three, they're all so stupid" Lisa asked.
"To spy on Malfoy," Roman concluded, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "Of course. They think the 'Drama Prince of Slytherin' is the Heir."
Cassian let out a short, dismissive breath. "He's an intolerable peacock who's been boasting about the attacks, but he's not the Heir. He doesn't have the power or the guts for something this… precise."
"Maybe not," Shya conceded, tapping her chin. "But the point is, they think he might be. If the Golden Trio was willing to break into the Slytherin den, they must be truly desperate. And it means they're looking for the Heir right there, in your house." She gestured vaguely towards the boys.
Roman let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. "Brilliant. So not only is there a monster petrifying people, but now we're all official suspects. Fantastic."
"Oh, relax, you big baby," Shya said, her tone dry as dust. "You're far too loud and likeable for secret, mass-murdering ambitions. You'd want a parade and a commemorative plaque."
Cassian watched her, a faint, almost imperceptible ghost of a smirk curving his lips. "She's not wrong. You'd make a terrible Dark Lord. You'd forget the evil monologue and start complaining about the drapes."
************
However the Seven would lose the ability to joke about the heir, when a week later another student attacked, and this time it hit closer to home.
It was Talora who heard it first, from a tearful Hufflepuff prefect, and she brought the news back to the haven, her face pale.
"It's Justin Finch-Fletchley," she said, her voice quiet and strained. "He's been petrified. Found near the library."
The cozy room seemed to grow cold. Mandy let out a small, dismayed sound. Padma slowly closed her book, her usual composure cracked.
"Justin?" Shya said, the name hanging in the air. Her usual smirk was entirely absent. "But he's… he's just a decent bloke."
A heavy silence fell. Roman, who was usually quick with a joke, just stared into the fire, his expression grim. Cassian, leaning against the wall, had gone very still.
"He helped us get that cake for your birthday last year, Shya," Talora reminded them softly. "Remember? He didn't even ask why a bunch of Ravenclaws and Slytherins needed a secret birthday cake from the kitchens. He just said, 'Right, fun's fun,' and charmed the house-elves into giving us extra frosting."
A weak, sad smile touched Shya's lips. "He did. Said every dramatic schemer deserves a proper cake." The memory, once a fond inside joke, now felt fragile and terribly sad. The monster in the castle wasn't just a story anymore; it had taken someone kind, someone they knew.
"He didn't deserve this," Cassian said finally, his low voice cutting through the quiet. "No one does."
It was a sentiment they all shared, a knot of genuine grief and fear tightening in the room. The castle felt darker after that.