The castle was asleep.
Or at least, most of it.
A silvery hush filled the corridors, broken only by the faint hum of portraits snoring and the occasional whisper of moving staircases that hadn't quite settled for the night. Luna and I tiptoed down the long hall of Ravenclaw Tower, our wands dimly lit with soft blue light.
"Do you think Filch is awake?" I whispered, clutching my small bag of sugar cubes.
"Filch never really sleeps," Luna replied dreamily, her voice so quiet it was almost a thought. "He just pretends to rest his eyes while plotting how to catch students in exciting moments of discovery."
"Exciting moments?" I raised a brow.
"Of course. It must be very dull otherwise."
Her logic made me smile, even as we passed a window overlooking the moonlit grounds. Outside, the Forbidden Forest stood like a dark ocean of silver and shadow. The sight sent a small thrill down my spine — that same sense of daring that always came when Luna had an idea.
The portraits we passed watched curiously. One old wizard in a fur-trimmed robe gave a scandalized grunt as Luna waved politely. "Evening," she said as if we were strolling through a garden. "Lovely night for puffskeins."
He blinked, muttered something about "odd Ravenclaws," and turned away.
We finally reached the painting of the fruit bowl. I reached out, gently tickling the pear. It giggled — a soft, childlike sound — and turned into a handle. The door swung open, revealing the warm golden glow of the Hogwarts kitchens.
Inside, the scent was heavenly: freshly baked bread, butter, chocolate, and pumpkin spice. The warmth wrapped around us immediately, a delicious contrast to the chill of the corridors. Hundreds of gleaming copper pots hung from the ceiling, and the house-elves were bustling quietly, preparing dough for the morning.
One of them spotted us and nearly dropped a ladle. "Students! At this hour?"
Luna smiled with unshakable calm. "We're on a very gentle and important mission. We're looking for a puffskein."
The elf blinked, clearly unsure what to make of that.
I stepped in quickly. "We won't cause trouble. We only want to see one if there's one around. Luna believes they might like the warmth here."
The elf hesitated, then softened. "Ah… puffskeins, yes, yes. We do have one or two who come for crumbs sometimes. Quiet things. Harmless."
Luna clapped her hands softly. "Oh, how lovely! Do they have names?"
"Names?" The elf blinked again. "We never thought of that. They just hum."
As if on cue, a soft purring hum echoed from the corner near a large barrel of butterbeer. Luna and I turned at once. Out from behind the barrels rolled a round, fluffy creature the color of toasted cream, its tiny pink tongue flicking curiously. Its fur shimmered in candlelight, and its little black eyes blinked at us.
Luna gasped. "Oh, you are adorable."
I knelt down slowly, holding out a sugar cube. The puffskein sniffed, then let out a happy hum and rolled closer until it bumped softly into my hand. Luna crouched beside me, her expression a mix of awe and joy.
"It likes you," she whispered. "That's a good sign. Maybe it senses you have a kind heart."
"Or maybe it just wants sugar," I said, laughing softly.
She tilted her head. "Those things aren't always separate."
The puffskein began to climb — yes, climb — up Luna's robes, its fur puffing out as it perched on her shoulder like a tiny round owl. Luna giggled. "I think it wants to explore!"
We spent nearly half an hour playing quietly, feeding it crumbs and listening to its gentle humming. At one point, Luna whispered a small charm and made her quill float, sketching the puffskein's rounded form mid-air while it sniffed curiously at the moving feather.
When it was time to go, the creature let out a soft whine, then rolled off her shoulder and disappeared behind a pile of pots.
"Goodnight, little one," Luna said softly. "Dream of sugar clouds."
As we turned to leave, the elf handed Luna a small biscuit. "For the road," he said shyly. "And… maybe don't get caught."
We slipped back into the hallway, hearts warm and cheeks aching from quiet laughter. The castle was utterly still again.
Luna walked beside me, clutching her biscuit like treasure. "Do you think we should write about him in our journal?" she asked.
"Of course," I replied. "A new entry: Puffskein, soft, gentle, and lover of crumbs."
"And of friendship," she added, smiling.
Her words lingered between us, glowing as softly as the candlelight that guided our way back to Ravenclaw Tower — two girls walking the edge of dreams, chasing creatures no one else had time to see.
By the time we climbed back through the portrait into Ravenclaw Tower, dawn was only an hour away.
The common room was dim, lit by the soft blue shimmer of enchanted candles that never fully went out. The wide arched windows framed a pale, sleeping sky — stars fading reluctantly behind the slow rise of morning.
Luna yawned, stretching her arms, her silvery hair tangled from the night wind. "Do you think the stars will be disappointed that we didn't stay longer?"
I chuckled, setting my bag down. "I think they'd approve of puffskeins. They seem to like peaceful things."
She nodded dreamily and padded barefoot toward our corner table by the window, the one that always smelled faintly of parchment and dust. My cat followed, curling up on a pile of notes like it owned the tower.
Luna placed a large, weathered journal on the table — the one we'd started weeks ago after meeting the thestrals. The leather was soft and worn, the pages already filled with drawings, ink splatters, and our uneven handwriting side by side.
"Should I write this time or you?" she asked.
"You," I said. "Your handwriting looks like a story already."
She smiled faintly and dipped her quill. The soft scratch, scratch of ink against parchment filled the quiet.
> Entry 7 – The Puffskein of the Kitchen.
It hums softly like a small song that doesn't want to end. It loves sugar, crumbs, and attention. It seems fearless — even among spoons and boiling pots. I think that's very brave.
It also liked Dionida best, which makes sense. She always carries warmth in her hands.*
I blushed and tried not to show it. "That's not a fair description."
"Why not?" she said, without looking up. "It's true."
I watched her for a moment — the way her quill moved gently but with purpose, her eyes reflecting candlelight, her lips slightly parted as she thought. Then she began sketching, small circles and lines forming the puffskein's round body.
She even added a small note beneath it:
> Favorite sound: quiet laughter.
"Do you ever think," I asked softly, "that we might be the only ones who really see them? The creatures, I mean. Not just notice them — but really see them?"
Luna looked up, her expression tender. "Yes. But I think they see us too. That's why they let us close."
Her words lingered like a spell.
We continued to write — her describing how the puffskein climbed her robes, me adding notes about its behavior, the way it hummed when we fed it crumbs. Our entries mixed together until they became one voice, one shared memory bound in parchment and ink.
After a while, the early morning chill crept in. Luna wrapped herself in her blanket, resting her head on the journal, eyes half-closed.
"Do you think we'll find a creature that doesn't want to be found?" I whispered, half teasing.
She smiled sleepily. "Oh, there are plenty. But that's the fun part. You don't find them — you earn their trust."
"And how do we do that?"
Her voice was barely audible now. "By being kind. And curious. The rest comes on its own."
I brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, watching her drift toward sleep with the faintest smile. Outside, the first sunlight touched the towers, painting the sky in rose and silver.
The journal lay open between us — ink drying, pages glowing softly in the dawn.
I picked up the quill, added a single line beneath her words:
> And she is the bravest creature I've ever met.
Then I closed the book gently, as if sealing a promise.