Ginny
Ginny pulled her cloak tighter as she stepped into the common room, the warmth of the fire chasing the cold from her arms, though it couldn't quite reach the heaviness pressed behind her ribs. She didn't remember why she felt it, not really.
It was a mixture of weird dreams and odd emotions that she couldn't explain. Dreams where she ran down dark corridors, where a voice called her name, where she pressed her hands to cold stone, weeping for reasons unknown. She woke with the taste of iron on her tongue and the ache of guilt twisting her stomach.
She had tried to hide it, tried to smile when Fred and George teased her, when Percy fussed, when Ron glanced at her with worried eyes. But it was harder when she was alone, when she saw the way the first years flinched from shadows in the hallways, the way people spoke in hushed voices about the attacks that had stopped, as if the fear had only hidden beneath the floorboards, waiting to return.
But her fears could not prepare her for the weird situation she currently found herself in. She had started her day as usual, trying to think about the coming christmas. She was sad that she wouldn't be going back home. She was not making friends in her house, she didn't know when she distanced herself from everybody else or when did that happen but she was mostly left alone.
But today when she was about to leave for the Great Hall, Lynne Volant was waiting for her outside the Gryffindor common room, her eyes calm and unreadable as always. The weird girl approached her as soon as she laid eyes on her.
"Hey, Ginny. Can you come with me for a moment?" Lynne asked.
"Uhm… why?" Ginny asked.
"Because I don't want you to be alone." She answered simply.
It didn't make sense to her, but she had obviously heard of the group of first years following the stoic blonde around. Maybe this is how it had begun, she mused. Feeling puzzled about it she nodded.
They walked together down the corridors, past some windows frosted with morning ice. Lynne's steps were silent, the tap of metal fingers against the clasp of her satchel was the only sound she made. Ginny tried to match her pace, afraid to fall behind.
They met Harry Potter and Hermione Granger near the Great Hall. Harry gave her a warm smile, easy and soft, the kind that made her stomach unknot for a moment. Hermione's gaze flickered to her, measuring but kind, before she tucked a book under her arm.
Lynne placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Ginny will be joining us today."
Harry only nodded, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Ginny swallowed. "Thank you." she whispered, though she didn't know what she was thanking him for. Hearing all of the stories about the boy-who-lived, her fangirl self was screaming at her in excitement.
As they headed inside for breakfast, they guided her to the Ravenclaw table without even asking. They found Luna already sitting eating a muffing, her wand tucked behind her ear, hair wild as moonlight. She beamed at her when she saw Ginny.
"Oh, good." Luna said dreamily. "You're the one with the strawberry quill, aren't you? We're friends now."
Ginny blinked. "We are?"
"Yes, you are the new addition to The Lynnelets." Luna confirmed, nodding firmly as if this settled the matter.
"What?" she asked, baffled.
Harry chuckled, Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, and even Lynne's lips twitched, almost a smile.
"It's the name she made up for the first year group." Hermione answered.
They settled by the long table, as the food appeared and everyone began to eat. More first years joined their table and although some Ravenclaws were annoyed that they had to make space for all of them, they didn't complain much.
Luna rattled on about Nargles, pointing out specks of frost on the window, and Ginny found herself smiling, genuinely, as Luna placed a hand over hers in sudden, strange reassurance.
"Your freckles are very pretty." Luna said.
Ginny didn't know how to respond, so she just let the warmth settle into her bones. A seventh year by the name of Virgil Fowler at one point passed by, pausing only to glance at Lynne and the small gathering of first-years and younger students clustered around her. His mouth quirked in quiet amusement, a huff of breath escaping him as he shook his head.
"Your collection grows larger still. I need your help with something later, Lynne. Find me in the common room." he remarked before continuing down the hallway.
Ginny's cheeks flushed, but Lynne only tapped her temple with a metal finger and nodded, acknowledging the comment before returning her gaze to Ginny.
"It appears you are more than welcome to the group." Lynne said softly, so only Ginny could hear.
Ginny didn't know why tears burned in her eyes, didn't know why something heavy in her chest loosened at those words.
"Thank you." she whispered again, this time she meant it.
----0000----
Draco
Draco Malfoy drummed his fingers against the table, ignoring the chatter around him. The Great Hall was alive with the morning clatter of breakfast, students leaning over plates of steaming porridge and toast, laughter ringing above the clink of spoons. He stared at the silver teapot in front of him, watching his reflection warp in its curve. He poured himself a cup of tea, watching the swirl of steam, and let the bitterness coat his tongue.
"Morning, Draco." Pansy said, sliding into the seat beside him, her eyes bright as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Crabbe and Goyle dropped onto the bench across from him, each grabbing a handful of sausages.
Draco didn't bother looking up. "Morning."
Pansy prattled about the Christmas decorations in the common room, how the green garlands looked so much better than Gryffindor's tasteless red, but Draco barely heard her. His gaze drifted across the hall, past the Hufflepuffs in their corner, past the Gryffindors, to where the Ravenclaw table had grown crowded.
It was that odd group again. Lynne Volant sat at the center of it, her white blonde hair catching the light like frost, metal hands folded neatly around a cup. Around her clustered a strange collection of first-years, Potter and Granger.
Draco's lip curled. It really bothered him that she was gaining the attention of so many people, how the professors all praised her, how although everyone feared her last year, this one because of a couple of first years, they saw her as something cute and harmless. But she was anything but that, he still couldn't go close to her without flinching after her last year encounter. He could still remember her cold eyes in that dark trunk of hers.
He didn't like how calm she always looked, how the room seemed to shift around her, how even Potter seemed different when he was around her. He didn't like that she had the Slytherins, and mostly them, on edge, that even Crabbe and Goyle lowered their voices when they spoke about her, eyes darting as if afraid she might overhear from across the hall.
There were a few older Ravenclaw students who also were afraid of her, but lately they had been quiet. He had to admit, he also wanted that for himself. To be powerful, respected, and feared. But everyone saw him as a spoiled child, nobody was taking him seriously.
Draco had written a letter today, ranting about his grievances to his father. Among them, the Quidditch situation had become tiresome. He had entered the team, and now everyone resented him for it. Higgs' lot had been spreading rumors, saying the only way he could have entered the team was by buying his way in as he did. Draco pleaded to his father to show the Higgs their place, but the rumors had already taken place in their house.
The truth was, the whispers in the common room stung more than he wanted to admit. He had expected admiration when the Nimbus 2001s arrived, had expected the team to thank him, to see him as their savior. Instead, they had taken the brooms and turned away, whispers following him down the corridors.
"Daddy's boy will make Slytherin lose the cup." Higgs had muttered under his breath during practice last week, when Draco couldn't catch the snitch all afternoon. He was still a reserve seeker so he had to see his Higgs every training still.
Draco's face had burned, but he had kept his chin up, pretending he didn't hear. But then he heard it every time someone glanced at the new brooms, every time someone snickered when he missed a catch. Crabbe and Goyle tried to assure him it didn't matter, but even they couldn't hide the discomfort in their eyes when the older Slytherins turned their backs.
Draco had written down everything in his letter, but he also felt that he shouldn't be complaining to his father so much and had toned it down. Conditioned by the same rumors. That the Ravenclaw girl had bested him at earning the respect of their teammates in Quidditch as well was a hard blow.
His eyes flickered back to the Ravenclaw table, to Volant's pale hair and cold composure, to the way the first-years leaned toward her, even Potter, even Lovegood, who was now braiding a string of beads into Ginny Weasley's hair while chattering about something Draco couldn't hear.
Volant looked up then, her eyes flicking across the hall, meeting his for a brief moment. It was only a second, but it was enough for Draco to feel a prickle at the back of his neck, a shiver that made him look away.
He hated her, he decided. Hated the way she made him feel small, the way she seemed to know something he didn't, the way she didn't seem afraid at all, the way her movements made him so scared to even look at her eyes.
"Draco?" Pansy's voice snapped him back, her hand brushing against his arm.
"What?" he snapped.
She blinked, pulling her hand back. "You're staring."
He swallowed, forcing himself to take a breath. "It's nothing. Sorry."
But his stomach twisted, although the events of the chamber of secrets had distracted him a bit from these feelings, the attacks had stopped, which was what everyone was whispering about, even if they thought they were being subtle.
The last one had been weeks ago, just before the cold really set in, and now the castle had settled into an uneasy quiet, the fear shifting into restless curiosity. Some said Dumbledore had found the culprit. Some said it was a curse, one that had simply run its course.
Draco knew better though, something had happened to the Heir, even if his father didn't really mention anything. With nothing to distract him, he felt the pressure of those feelings. He would tackle them slowly, he would ignore Volant for now and focus on what he could change, the coming Quidditch match versus Gryffindor.
"I'm a Malfoy." He whispered to himself.
He would prove himself, one way or another.
----0000----
Harry
Christmas morning at Hogwarts was quiet in a way Harry liked. The castle's usual draughts smelled faintly of pine, the air tingling with the cold that clung to his cheeks as he stepped out of the dormitory. Frost traced the windows, and somewhere in the distance, the suits of armor were humming a carol, off-key but determined.
He missed Hermione a bit, she had gone home for the holiday, promising to write, her bag stuffed with books. He didn't miss the corners of her mouth tight as she hugged them both before leaving. It felt wrong not having her there with them, even some of the first years would be present for the festives.
He supposed she missed her parents, something he wouldn't be able to fully understand sadly. It was still a good morning and he wanted to enjoy the time with his ever growing group of friends.
He had gone ahead to fetch snacks for the day from the Great Hall. He found the others waiting in the common room they had claimed as their own for Christmas. Ginny, Luna, and a handful of other first-years, the red-head rubbing sleep from her eyes, grumbling about Fred and George waking her up by pelting snowballs at her windows mid air from their brooms.
They had inquired if they could all gather in the Ravenclaw common room even if they were from different houses just for the holidays and it had been approved. It was mostly empty after all.
Lynne was there, seated near the window, the soft glow of the morning light catching on her pale hair, the metal of her hands reflecting the flicker of the fireplace. She was polishing one of her gauntlets absentmindedly, her satchel resting by her side.
"Merry Christmas." Harry said, stepping in.
Ginny looked up, a small, shy smile crossing her face, and Luna waved, a string of beads tangled in her fingers as she tried to finish braiding something that looked suspiciously like a necklace.
"Harry!" Luna said, "Sit, we're almost ready."
He sat and sorted the snacks in a circle for them to grab, feeling the warmth of the fire seep into him, shaking off the cold. Packages of gifts were passed around, small things, mostly. Sweets from Honeydukes, knitted gloves from Ginny's mum that she sheepishly handed over, a small collection of Chocolate Frog cards that made Ginny's eyes light up. Luna handed Ginny a small jar of glittering powder, explaining it was for 'finding moonlight in dark places.'
Then Lynne pulled out a box, wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with a simple piece of twine. She held it out to him with one of her metal hands, her eyes steady.
"This is for you." she said.
Harry blinked, taking it. The box was heavier than it looked. He pulled at the twine, unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a pair of glasses, sleek and light, with a faint glint of symbols etched along the frames. He looked up, confused.
"They will adjust to your eyesight automatically." Lynne explained. "They're resistant to cracking, charmed for weather and dust, and should help during Quidditch and dueling practice."
Harry stared at them, it was a very thoughtful gift that was still keeping the practically she seemed to always appreciate.
"Thank you." he managed, his voice rougher than he would have liked.
Lynne nodded, looking away, and pulled out a second package, smaller and handed it to Luna, who looked at it puzzled. But as soon as she took a peak at it, she hid it from everyone's eyes. Curious as to what Lynne gave her, Harry was about to ask when Lynne turned to face him.
"Hermione's gift we bought together should have arrived already." Lynne said. "It's a good thing we split the cost, Harry. The book on magical creatures by Newt Scamander is expensive. I thought she would appreciate it, as she was looking into creatures already with this chamber nonsense."
Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. "She'll love it."
Luna finished her necklace then, a rough string of beads and small charms, and draped it over Lynne's neck without asking.
"It's a leadership necklace." Luna declared. "Now you're officially the head of The Lynnelets."
Lynne reached up, touching the beads lightly, her fingers pausing on one shaped like a tiny silver moon. For a moment, something shifted in her eyes, a softness, a brightness that Harry wasn't used to seeing there and she smiled.
It wasn't the cold, polite curve of her lips that they sometimes saw when she was being careful. It was warm, real, reaching her eyes, crinkling the corners just slightly. She looked around at them, and for a breath, Harry felt like he was seeing someone else in her place, someone who could laugh easily, who would lean forward and poke fun, who might have tugged Luna into a hug if it wouldn't have startled them all.
Meena laughed, a light, clear sound, even Ginny, who was not used to the group's antics, looked amused. Harry felt the warmth of the room settle into him, pushing away the memories of cold cupboards and empty holidays, of loneliness so thick it felt like a second skin. Lynne met his eyes, her smile still there, and he found himself smiling back, unable to help it.
"Merry Christmas, Lynne." he said.
"Happy Christmas, Harry."
They spent the morning that way, trading stories, laughing softly, watching the snow fall past the windows in thick, drifting flakes. They shared Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Luna declaring each one with grand importance before popping it into her mouth, only to make a face when she hit a pepper-flavored one. For a moment, it was perfect.
The next day, she was back to her usual self. The necklace was gone, tucked under her robes, and her eyes were cold again, the warmth replaced by the still, measured calm that had become so familiar. She didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't lean in when Luna spoke, didn't look at Harry quite the same way.
He caught her polishing her gauntlets again, her metal fingers moving with precise, mechanical care.
"Lynne?" he asked quietly.
She looked up, head tilting just slightly. "Yes?"
"Nothing." he said, shaking his head.
But he missed that smile already, he realized. At the same time, he realized that maybe Lynne was having a repeat of last year's change of behavior earlier and she would be afraid. He couldn't decide which of those odd personalities he liked best though.
----0000----
Solan
The snow fell thick outside the Manor's high windows, muffling the world beneath its weight. Thorne turned a page in his ledger, the scratch of his quill the only sound in the study as the candle burned low beside him, its flame shivering each time the wind pressed against the glass.
Fourteen names, most of them unremarkable, but he now had evidence that their operation was tied to another group that was larger than themselves.
'Rowle. Mulciber. Jugson. Selwyn.'
Not the titans of the last war, but scavengers who had found places to hide, rebuilding small empires of poison, dark creature parts, and black market potions, moving crates under false names while the Ministry's eyes were fixed elsewhere.
They had been careful. Careful enough that even the Aurors who suspected them lacked the evidence or the will to act. Careful enough that the others had begun to believe they were safe.
Of course, with him knowing, now they weren't. Thorne's pen paused as he considered the warehouse outside York, the blueprints memorized, the patrol rotations mapped. He pictured the crates stacked beneath tarps, the stink of wet wood and iron, he found traps along the entrances that would trigger if the wrong wand moved the wrong air.
His daughter would have to move quickly if she is to have success in eradicating this operation. It would be a midnight insertion. She would slip out of Hogwarts the way she always did, quiet as frost against stone, moving beneath the wards as though they were mere curtains. She would cross the countryside by night, blades ready, metal limbs silent in the dark and she would have to kill all fourteen targets.
Overall, it was not a difficult mission to be honest, and his decision to let some time pass before resuming the attacks, made it so that they will be somewhat lax. He still had time before the worst of the death eater came out to play. He took out his communication journal, his quill already giving the orders.
Target: Warehouse, outskirts of York.
Objective: Eliminate all affiliates. Confirm fourteen targets, clear the area, burn all supplies.
Priority: High.
Note: I will send the location from where you will apparate to. Follow the butterflies from there.
Secondary objective: Deposit the diary at the Manor upon completion. It will be secured and handled. Do not keep it on your person longer.
He paused, staring at the last line. He knew that the diary was too powerful to be contained, the layered wards around the satchel wouldn't keep it guarded for long. Lynne had done well to retrieve it before it drained the Weasley girl dry, but it had grown restless in its containment, it wouldn't be long before dark whispers would bleed through the layered spells.
It could not remain with her. It was too dangerous, too hungry, too loud. And she had enough to carry. Besides, he was worried that she might not be strong enough to even contain her other soul anymore either.
Thorne closed the journal, tapping it once with his wand. The ink shimmered before sinking into the page, the letters rearranging themselves in the paired copy Lynne kept hidden in her belongings. It would find her wherever she was, whether she was at Hogwarts or not.
He leaned back, listening to the silence of the Manor, the distant tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. The fire crackled, spitting sparks against the grate. A soft glow pulsed from the edge of the journal, he opened it again to see a single word forming in response in her measured, careful script:
Acknowledged.
Thorne closed his eyes briefly, letting the moment pass. Lynne would handle it. She always did after all, she would slip into the night, unseen, a blade in the dark, a phantom in the snow. The world would call it murder, would call her a monster, would call him worse for allowing it. But they did not understand what it meant to save as many lives as he could from the real monsters, what it meant to protect the wizarding world from itself.
And if blood was the price, he would pay it. Although it pained him that he wasn't fit to fight anymore, it would have brought him more pleasure, alas he let them injure him removing the possibility of him being in the front lines again.
He turned to the window, watching the white flakes drift past the dark glass, his reflection ghosted there, cold eyes in a lined face that had not aged as much as it should have.
He had done well to plan for the death eaters' scum, now he had to plan for the order as well.
----0000----
Amelia
The headline stretched across the front page of The Daily Prophet, bold black letters screaming against the pale morning.
"CRIMSON WING RETURNS: FOURTEEN DEAD IN GRUESOME ATTACK"
Below it, a grainy photograph showed a building half-collapsed, smoke still rising from its charred beams. Aurors in dark robes moved like shadows through the wreckage, wands out, faces tight as they levitated bodies covered in grey cloth toward a row of carts.
No names were listed yet and they probably wouldn't be ever. The article was careful to call them "individuals of interest." Or "suspected affiliates in illegal potions smuggling," and "possible ties to dark artifact trafficking," but nothing more.
The bodies had been found in the snow outside York, scattered like broken dolls, throats cut clean, wands snapped, pained and scared expressions on their faces. Witnesses reported nothing more than the place going up in flames and a few scattered screams.
All that remained was the mark of the murderer, their crimson butterflies, left on the broken step outside the smoldering door, wings glinting wetly in the frost.
"The Ministry has issued a statement condemning this act of vigilante violence and has renewed its investigation into the so-called 'Crimson Wing.'" the article continued, the words crisp and cold. "Sources indicate that the killer may be responsible for a series of unsolved murders following the last war, and the public is urged to report any sightings or suspicious activity. A reward of 5,000 Galleons is now offered for information leading to the capture or identification of the individual responsible."
The Prophet did not mention the residue they found of dark magic clinging to the burned-out corpses, nor the Ministry's quiet relief that fourteen dangerous men would never stand trial, nor the reports from the auror's office regarding the last spells casted by the dead men.
The bounty, too, was mostly for show, Lucius Malfoy's hand in the wording clear for those who knew how to read between the lines. A neat condemnation, a promise of action, a public declaration that something was being done.
It was safer that way, to let the public believe the Crimson Wing was a lunatic, a monster, a rogue element acting without control. Better to direct fear and blame toward a name than let the truth slip into the light. Someone was cleaning up the remnants of the last war, quietly, efficiently, without permission.
For Madam Bones, head of the department of Magical Law Enforcement, it was a terrible pain and tons of work, but she was secretly glad that those who she couldn't really sentence fairly were meeting justice finally.
She knew who they were obviously, and a few had been arrested several times, but no matter how damning the charges, it seemed they always had a way out. Not anymore.
----0000----
Lucius
Lucius Malfoy folded the Daily Prophet neatly, placing it on the polished surface of his study desk, fingers tapping once against the front page headline. He had known, of course. Before the ink had dried on the press, before the smoke had cleared from the warehouse outside York, there had been a house elf there at the time, and detecting one was quite difficult after all.
Fourteen people dead, just like that. A message if there ever was one, she was back and stronger. His lips curled, a flicker of frustration threading beneath the calm. They had grown complacent. The Death Eater stragglers, the fence-sitters, the ones who believed time and caution would keep them safe.
Even the multiple spies had quieted, thinking the so-called Crimson Wing had disappeared, that the Ministry's leash had tightened, or that the girl was not involved after all, some believed Gibbon was lying and that the assassin had met their fate somewhere. They were a bunch of fools.
He had tried to find more information about her of course, but it seemed the order had gone ahead and removed her records from the ministry regarding her family at the same time he was looking into it. He also tried to locate her and had a spy placed in different places to try and follow her. He didn't know how she knew about them as soon as she left the station in summer, but they were killed off in their mission.
His gaze drifted to the window, the snow outside falling softly across the Manor grounds, masking the cold earth beneath. It was a pleasant illusion, the world looking clean and quiet beneath the frost. But the frost would melt, and the dirt would remain.
Lucius reached for his cane, fingers tightening around the serpent handle, the weight grounding him as he stood. His eyes shifted to the letter lying unopened beside the Prophet, the familiar seal already irritating him before he even broke it.
The boy's complaints about Quidditch. About respect and petty rumors. Lucius' jaw tightened, the tick in his cheek returning as he carefully slit the seal, reading the words that spilled out in Draco's cramped, pointed hand.
'They resent me for the brooms, Father. They don't respect me. Higgs' lot are spreading rumors, we should show his family that-'
Lucius placed the letter down, pressing his thumb against the parchment to still it. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of parchment and ink, exhaling slowly through his nose.
He had no time for Draco's petty grievances, not now. The child's need for validation grated on him, but it would have to be handled later. Higgs could be dealt with if necessary at some other time.
His eyes opened, sharp and cold as they settled on the Prophet again. Fourteen dead. A butterfly left behind, silence in the alleys. Fear creeping back into the eyes of the cowards who had started to believe themselves untouchable.
Volant, the girl with iron limbs and a mind he could never quite read, was playing student at Hogwarts, while whispers of Crimson Wing spread again like fire across dry grass. Lucius pressed his fingers together, tapping them against his chin.
The attacks at Hogwarts had stopped. The Chamber had gone quiet. And somewhere in that silence, the cursed diary had disappeared. He expected more from his late master weapon, but it seemed that somehow it had gone dry or someone had taken it, hidden it away, cut off his carefully laid plans to unseat Dumbledore.
He was not a fool. The girl was involved as well for sure. His frustration burned hotter, but he kept it contained, locked behind the polished exterior he presented to the world. Anger was for lesser men, for fools who wasted energy on what could not be undone.
Instead, Lucius turned his mind to what could be done. Volant had become a hard nuisance, a nuisance that was becoming a very real threat if left unchecked. She had drawn attention last year, and he had hoped her quiet integration into the background of Hogwarts life would dull her edge, that her attachment to other students and friends, soften her.
But she was still sharp, and the wizarding world was noticing again. He would need to remove her, carefully. He knew that brute force may not be the solution, that would never work on something like her. It would need to be delicate, layered and indirect. He didn't want a repeat of the Septimus Rowle incident, that would alienate the rest of the group and reduce their contacts at the school.
Perhaps he could lay a trap that would kill off a few undesirables that were easily manipulated while also involving the aurors and unleash them upon her. He had the ministry contacts to let that happen after all.
There was another plan in motion as well, one that would point fingers at Dumbledore as well and would continue his plan to remove him from the school even if the attacks were not in place anymore.
Lucius' lips curved, cold and thin, as he turned away from the window, striding back toward his desk. His cane tapped lightly against the marble floor, a steady rhythm in the quiet of the Manor.
----0000----
Unknown
The world was much more vibrant than what she could observe regularly. That was the first thing she noticed as she blinked into the half-light of the dormitory, the early dusk casting long blue shadows across the stone floor. The air smelled of parchment and the faint lingering warmth of the hearth, tinged with the cold promise of snow drifting past the tall windows.
She moved her fingers and marveled again at the way they flexed, the faint whir of the magic embedded in the metal, the way they caught the glow of the lamp as she turned her wrist, admiring the shifting patterns of light.
She laughed, softly, just to hear the sound. It was odd how quiet it was without Lynne's iron will pressing down on everything, without the heavy weight of her discipline tightening every breath, every blink, every choice. The stillness inside her mind felt like a lake at dawn, rippling softly.
There were no conflicting emotions, no orders pushing her down. The excitement was now fully cruising through her body. That she could even think that it was really her body now was elevating her emotions enough.
She sat up, pressing her palm to the cool wood of the desk beside her bed, tracing the grain with careful curiosity, breathing in the scent of wax and quill ink, the sharp edge of winter that slipped through the cracked window.
She was finally alone and in control. Lynne was asleep, deep within, where even the distant echo of her thoughts could not reach. She had used too much of her in this last attack, too many targets. It had been a very grueling battle once the first few fell, and although she couldn't see the world as well as she was now, she was awake when everything transpired. And now it was her time to live outside, if only for a moment.
She stood, bare feet brushing the cold floor, enjoying the sharp bite that ran up her legs, the tingle that told her she was here, that she was real. She flexed her hands again, lifting them to the light, watching the white-and-silver glow dance across the many small joints, remembering how these hands had been made for her.
She should have felt a bit guilty but now out, she couldn't. She knew what Lynne had done last night, felt the phantom memory of snow and blood and the scent of fire clinging to the inside of her bones. The echo of screams and the last flutter of a crimson butterfly on cold stone.
But that was not her burden to carry and she wasn't the one who gave her the mission after all. She stepped to the window, resting her palm against the glass, watching as the snow fell in gentle, lazy spirals, each flake catching the lamplight like tiny stars.
Everything was much more beautiful than she anticipated. There was so much she wanted to do. To try every food Hogwarts had to offer, to taste hot chocolate so sweet it made her eyes water, to wander the hidden halls behind the tapestries, to stand on the Astronomy Tower and feel the wind in her hair.
She wanted to laugh with Luna, to pull Harry into the library just to watch him roll his eyes and blush under Hermione's fond exasperation, to walk beside Ginny without seeing fear in her eyes.
She wanted to live all of those small moments for herself, and now she was given the chance. The necklace Luna had made them still hung around her neck, hidden beneath the collar of her robes. She touched it now, rolling one of the small beads between her fingers, smiling as the warmth of it seeped into her skin.
Lynne had so many nice friends now, and she could experience them for a bit before she would return once rested. A giggle bubbled up in her throat, and she let it out, pressing her fingers to her lips as if to catch the sound before it could escape.
She stepped back from the window, arms folding around herself, rocking slightly on her heels as she let the excitement curl through her chest. Christmas was over, but she had been given a gift.
She tilted her head, letting her hair fall like a pale curtain around her face, eyes glinting with quiet glee as she looked back out over the grounds, at the glow of the lanterns lining the paths, at the soft hush of snow smoothing the world into something clean, something new.
Carefully, she started walking and getting used to her body, moving around the room she found herself in. She knew that Lynne would rarely visit her own room, it was still tidy enough to not have anything lying around that she could break in the process.
As she exited the dormitory and descended the stairs with care, her mind was awed with the colors and brightness of the Ravenclaw common room. There was so much to do, but what she wanted the most was to talk to her friends finally, after wishing for so long to be free. She was tempted to wake them up but decided that she could explore the school a bit first and wait for them to wake up on their own.
Tomorrow or the day after, Lynne would awaken, the iron weight would return, and the cold watchfulness would press down again. But today, the world was hers, and she intended to make the most of it.