The days blurred first.
Not quickly—
but strangely. Weeks went by....
Time inside the sealed hospital room didn't behave the way it should. Hours stretched or snapped short, light drifted in at odd angles, and the warded clock mounted on the wall ticked with a faint delay, as if deciding whether it wanted to keep moving at all.
Cassian noticed that first.
He didn't say anything.
But the longer he watched the clock, the more he pressed his thumb into the edge of Shya's blanket, grounding himself.
Morning light leaked through the frost-rimmed window above Shya's bed.
Except it wasn't morning light.
It was too pale.
Too sharp.
Too cold.
Roman held a mug of tea and frowned at the way the light refused to touch Shya's face, splitting around her form like a river around a stone.
"…Is that new?" he murmured.
Cassian didn't answer.
The room felt colder each day—especially on Shya's half. The frost creeping along her metal bedframe had reached the wall. Ice kissed the edges of the curtains. Her breath fogged the air only faintly, like the cold itself was breathing in her place.
Across the room, Talora glowed.
Literally.
Golden warmth radiated from her chest, spreading beneath her blanket like soft sunlight. The curls around her head shimmered faintly, as if haloed by morning light even in the dead of night.
Pandora slept curled against her ribs—
glow brighter, fur softer, eyes silver in rest.
Haneera lay at Shya's feet—
fur darker, eyes burning ember-gold, breath slow and heavy.
Neither familiar had woken since the Chamber.
The first ward cracked.
Pomfrey nearly dropped her clipboard when the runes around the girls' beds suddenly flickered—one shattering like a glass pane struck from the inside.
Dumbledore appeared less than a minute later, robe half-buttoned, wand already drawn.
"Headmaster—" Pomfrey began, voice trembling.
"It's alright," Dumbledore said softly. But his eyes—sharp, ancient—never left the girls.
He raised his wand and attempted to re-cast the stabilizing charm.
The magic bent.
Literally bent in the air—like it hit something dense, something immovable, something that narrowed the spell into two beams: one pulled toward Talora, one swallowed by Shya.
Dumbledore's breath hitched.
"Severus," he called, softer than Pomfrey had ever heard from him.
Snape appeared in the doorway, pale, hair unbrushed, as if he'd run.
"Again?" Snape muttered, stepping forward.
Dumbledore nodded toward Shya. "Try."
Snape's dark eyes narrowed. Then—with clinical elegance—he raised his wand and cast a diagnostic spell.
The magic didn't land.
It dissolved into mist halfway to Shya's chest.
Snape's frown deepened. "This is not… possible."
Dumbledore didn't smile.
"I fear, Severus," he murmured, "that we are long past 'possible.'"
Snape swallowed once, visibly.
"If this is what I think it might be—"
"It isn't," Dumbledore said quickly.
Snape's eyes sharpened. "You don't know that."
"No," Dumbledore whispered, jaw tightening. "I don't."
Cassian watched from the corner, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
He didn't breathe again until the two professors left.
Post came.
Padma's handwriting was frantic. Lisa's was cramped with worry. Mandy's had doodles but the letters wobbled between lines.
Mandy:
Is she eating? Drinking? Is Talora okay? Please write back immediately.
Padma:
They're asking questions. We told them nothing. You tell us nothing. Send word.
Lisa:
Should we come? Should we—
Cassian folded each letter and placed them in a neat stack.
Didn't answer a single one.
Roman said nothing about it.
He didn't have to.
At midnight, the candles in the hospital wing flared without warning.
Flared—then bent.
Light flowed toward Talora like water being pulled by gravity. At the same time, shadows across the room elongated and crept toward Shya's bedside, stretching long fingers across the stone floor.
Cassian stood so fast his chair toppled.
Roman grabbed his arm. "It's them. Something in them."
Then—
the air warmed.
A pulse of gold spread from Talora's chest like a heartbeat released into the world. Her hair lifted off her pillow for a moment, weightless.
The frost on Shya's bedframe thickened, spiderwebbing outward in crystalline patterns.
Cassian whispered, "Shy…"
Roman whispered, "Tally…"
Neither girl stirred.
The castle shook.
Only for a second—
a pulse beneath the floorstones—
like a giant exhaling deep underground.
Snape burst into the ward, wand out.
"What did you do?" he demanded.
Cassian glared. "Nothing."
Roman added, "We're children, Professor."
Snape's jaw ticked.
But when he approached the girls' beds, he slowed—hands shaking almost imperceptibly. He hovered between them, eyes darting from warmth to frost to the shifting lines on their palms.
He exhaled.
"…I do not know what this is," he admitted. "I do not know if anyone does."
It wasn't comfort.
But it was honest.
New Year's Day arrived quietly.
No fireworks.
No music.
No noise.
Just snow.
And sun.
The storm raged outside—wind screaming, snow whipping past windows at impossible speeds—but overhead?
Blue sky.
Clear sun.
Talora glowed brighter that morning—her skin tinged warm gold, hair shimmering like dawn.
Shya darkened further—frost crawling up her arm, shadows settling around her bed like a blanket.
Cassian whispered, voice raw:
"You're changing."
Roman rested a hand on his shoulder. "So are we."
Sirius visited again.
He didn't speak loudly. He didn't joke. He didn't even sit.
He just stood behind Cassian, hand on his shoulder, steady and grounding.
Once—
when Cassian's breath hitched—
Sirius pulled him into another long, wordless embrace.
Roman quietly pretended not to see.
Haneera convulsed.
Pandora flared with light.
The familiars woke—
for three seconds.
Eyes wide.
Bodies trembling.
They staggered toward their girls—
Haneera collapsing beside Shya, one paw draping across her foot.
Pandora curling over Talora's ribs, glowing soft, soft, soft—
Then both pups fell unconscious again.
Cassian and Roman couldn't move.
Because in those three seconds—
Haneera's eyes were starless black.
Pandora's were blinding white.
Dumbledore entered during dawn.
He had not slept.
His beard was unbraided. His shoulders slumped. His wand remained in-hand even when he wasn't casting.
He approached the girls.
Reached out—
But didn't touch them.
His voice was a whisper Cassian barely caught:
"…I have seen this before."
Roman's head snapped up.
Cassian stiffened.
Snape, standing behind Dumbledore, blinked sharply. "What do you mean—"
Dumbledore closed his eyes.
"…And I cannot remember where."
Silence.
Snape stared at him like he was seeing him clearly for the first time.
Cassian's stomach flipped with dread.
Snow fell in sheets outside the castle.
The sun blazed overhead, untouched.
Students returned, filling the halls with chatter and warmth, laughter echoing up staircases. Suitcases clattered. Owls swooped. Wizards complained about the cold.
Life returned to Hogwarts.
But not here.
Not in the private ward room.
Here—
Time held still.
Talora glowed brighter.
Shya froze deeper.
Haneera and Pandora slept between them.
Roman and Cassian had unpacked their trunks beside the beds for the foreseeable future.
And as the bells rang to welcome the start of the new term—
neither girl stirred.
Not even a breath changed.
But the world outside the windows did.
The storm paused—
halted—
hung suspended in the air like frozen ink.
And then—
very softly—
the sun pulsed once.
The moon pulsed in answer.