Snow came early that year.
By the first week of December, Hogwarts was buried in white — rooftops capped like sugar, trees bowing under the weight of frost. The lake was a sheet of glass, reflecting a sky the color of pewter. From the outside, the castle looked like a dream; inside, it was a little too quiet.
Even the air in Ravenclaw Tower felt thinner.
"Bob," Shya said one morning, wrapping her scarf three times around her neck, "you can't tell me you're fine. You look like you've been wrestling dementors in your sleep."
Talora, curled up at the foot of her bed with a blanket draped over her shoulders, gave a faint smile. "You're dramatic."
"Thank you. Now stop changing the subject."
"Shya—"
"No. I'm serious." Shya crossed her arms. "You're pale, you barely eat, and I caught you almost fainting yesterday on the stairs. This isn't normal exhaustion, Bob."
Talora looked down, fiddling with the tassels on her blanket. "I don't like hospitals."
"It's Madam Pomfrey, not St. Mungo's," Shya said gently. "She's the least scary person in this castle. Except maybe Flitwick. And even he gives pop quizzes."
Talora hesitated.
"Come on," Shya coaxed. "We'll go together. I'll even hold your hand. Or faint first if it helps set the mood."
That got a small laugh — enough to make Shya grin.
The hospital wing smelled of lavender and disinfecting charms. The beds were crisp, the fire burning low in the grate.
Madam Pomfrey bustled toward them immediately. "Miss Livanthos! You look dreadful. Sit down before you fall down."
Talora obeyed, cheeks flushed.
"And what's wrong, exactly?" Pomfrey asked, wand already in hand.
Shya answered before Talora could deflect. "She hasn't been sleeping, hasn't been eating, and looks about five minutes away from joining the ghosts."
Pomfrey gave her a sharp look that said, I'll decide that, then began casting diagnostic charms. Pale blue light shimmered over Talora's skin, flickering faintly before dimming.
"Hm." Pomfrey's brow furrowed. "Your energy's depleted. Magical exhaustion — severe, but not irreversible. I can give you Sleeping Draughts and a mild Euphoria Potion, but you must rest. Do you understand?"
Talora nodded, eyes lowered. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey."
"And no more skipping meals. I'll have the house-elves send something up if I must."
Pomfrey handed her two small vials — one pale pink, one sky blue. "These will help you sleep and lift your spirits. But they're temporary, and they mustn't be taken long term." Her tone softened. "Magic like yours needs time to rebalance itself. You can't rush that."
"Yes, ma'am."
Shya squeezed her shoulder. "See? Not so bad."
Pomfrey gave her a shrewd look. "And you, Miss Gill, should mind your own limits. It's quite clear you've been running yourself ragged worrying about her."
Shya blinked. "Me? I'm thriving! Emotionally radiant, physically—okay, yes, maybe slightly caffeinated."
Pomfrey sighed. "You're both impossible."
For the first time in weeks, that night, Talora slept.
Deeply.
Shya stayed awake for a while beside her bed, watching the faint rise and fall of her breathing. The tension that had been living between her ribs finally loosened.
When she woke the next morning, Talora was still asleep — really asleep, soft and peaceful, sunlight spilling over her pillow.
"Finally," Shya whispered. "About time."
The next few days were better.
Talora laughed again. Ate breakfast. Even joined them in the library, half-distracted but present. Cassian started dropping by their table with "study snacks" (which suspiciously looked like stolen pastries), and Roman occasionally sat nearby, pretending to read but really just watching from the corner of his eye.
"You're both obvious," Shya told them one afternoon.
Cassian smirked. "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, you do," Shya said, leaning back in her chair. "You've been staring at her for ten minutes straight."
"Protective," Roman said evenly, not looking up from his book.
"Right," Shya said. "Because she's going to be attacked by parchment."
Talora smiled faintly at the bickering, her quill paused mid-sentence. "You all sound like siblings."
Shya grinned. "We're a very dysfunctional family. I'm the attractive, responsible one."
Cassian snorted. "That's debatable."
For a little while, things felt lighter.
But the potions' effects didn't last.
By the second week,, Shya began to notice it — the slight tremor in Talora's hands returning, the dullness under her skin. The pink in her cheeks faded. She slept, but it wasn't restful.
Madam Pomfrey frowned when they returned. "I told you these weren't long-term solutions," she said, checking her wand readings again. "Her body's adapting too quickly. The potions are losing potency."
"Can't you increase the dose?" Shya asked quickly.
"No," Pomfrey said sharply. "Too much will dull her magic, and that can be dangerous."
"So what do we do?" Shya pressed.
Pomfrey sighed, her expression softening. "Rest. Real rest. And no more potions. I'll brew one last batch, but after that, you'll need to find the source of this imbalance."
"The source?" Talora echoed.
"Yes," Pomfrey said quietly. "Something is draining you, dear. Not illness — something magical. I can feel it."
That night, Shya sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by books.
The title of one glinted faintly in the candlelight: "Ancient Magical Afflictions and Energetic Corruption."
"Operation Bob's Brain Save begins," she muttered.
Talora lay nearby, pale but watching her. "You don't have to do this, Shya."
"I do, actually," Shya said, flipping a page. "It's in our friendship contract."
Talora smiled tiredly. "You really need better hobbies."
"Finding obscure cures for mysterious magical ailments is my hobby."
The following days blurred into late nights and stacks of books.
Lisa and Padma tried to help at first, but the material grew stranger — theories about magical symbiosis, shared energy, and soul resonance.
Shya was still at it one evening when Cassian and Roman found them in the library.
"You two look like you've joined a cult," Cassian said dryly.
"Working on it," Shya replied without looking up. "We're researching why Talora's magic is betraying her."
Roman's expression darkened. "How bad?"
Shya hesitated — then sighed. "She's building an immunity to Pomfrey's potions. Whatever this is, it's deeper than exhaustion."
Cassian leaned on the table, eyes scanning the open books. "Let us help."
"I don't want to worry you," Talora murmured.
Roman's voice was quiet but certain. "Too late for that."
Cassian added, "If there's anything ancient or cursed, one of our families has written about it. We'll check our archives."
Shya arched a brow. "So we're enlisting rich family libraries now? Perfect. Use your privilege for good."
Cassian smirked. "Always do, Bob."
"Not you," Shya said sharply. "Only she can call me that."
Talora gave a faint, real smile.
By mid-December, the snow outside was knee-deep. Classes were thinning out, students whispering about holidays and Hogsmeade.
But for the four of them, time felt like it was counting down.
Every day Talora looked fainter, and every night the shadows around her bed felt thicker, like they were listening.
Still, Shya stayed at her side, steady as ever — cracking jokes, forcing her to eat toast, keeping everyone else at bay.
"Bob," Shya said one night, voice soft, "we're going to fix this. I promise."
Talora looked at her — truly looked — and for the first time in weeks, there was something alive in her eyes again. "I know," she whispered. "Because you always keep your promises."
Outside, snow fell in endless white sheets — soft, silent, and unbroken.
But somewhere deep in the castle, something had begun to stir.