December arrived with the snow, transforming the world into a silent, white-clad kingdom.
It had fallen heavily overnight, a thick and suffocating blanket that buried the gardens and weighed down the ancient branches of the great oak near the lake.
By the time Morwenna woke, the sky was pale and clear, the heavy clouds having vanished to leave a low, weak sun hanging in the distance. Thin trails of water snaked down the glass of the nursery window where the morning light had begun to melt the delicate patterns of frost.
Morwenna woke because her stomach felt entirely empty, a hollow ache that demanded immediate attention. The sensation wasn't gentle or gradual. One moment she was fast asleep, curled around the green snake with Cinder at her feet, and the next, her body was demanding food with a sharp, insistent urgency.
She sat up with her hair in a tangled mess of raven-black and stark white, her eyes still half-closed, but she didn't stop to wash her face or brush the knots from her locks. She simply stumbled out of bed, pulled on her thickest grey jumper, and made her way downstairs with her wool socks sliding against the floorboards.
The morning room was warm, the fire stoked high to chase away the winter chill, and the table was already set for the family. Morwenna climbed onto her stool, not caring that the wood felt cold beneath her.
She stared at the spread before her: pancakes, oatmeal, porridge with honey, and thick slices of buttered toast. It was the same breakfast she had eaten nearly every day for the past seven months, and the repetition had finally reached a breaking point.
She stared at the pancakes, which sat flat and brown on the plate, then at the oatmeal, a lumpy beige mass in its bowl. Her brow furrowed and her mouth pressed into a thin line as she glared at the food, waiting for it to change through sheer force of will.
Despite the intensity of her focus, the dishes didn't transform or even move. This lack of response only made her glare harder, as if she could bully the breakfast into becoming something else entirely.
The adults watched her in a heavy, expectant silence. Jack held his coffee cup halfway to his lips, watching the intensity in his daughter's gaze, while Jane had stopped buttering her toast to observe the silent battle.
Aldric peered over the top of his newspaper, his expression unreadable, and Seraphina set down her book. Even Saoirse leaned forward from her spot on the settee, her interest piqued by the girl's obvious disdain.
Morwenna didn't notice any of them, far too busy trying to make the pancakes transform into something else.
Saoirse rolled her eyes, breaking the silence. "The food won't get any better if you keep glaring at it."
Morwenna's head snapped toward her aunt, her heterochromatic eyes narrowing. "I don't want to eat," she declared, her voice holding a sharp edge of frustration.
Saoirse raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Is that so?"
"I'm bored. I don't like it."
Jane set down her toast, her expression unreadable. "You don't like it?"
Before Morwenna could answer, Aldric lowered his newspaper. His face was grave and his voice carried a heavy, serious weight that immediately caught her attention. "You don't like it? Morwenna, look at Tilly. He will be so sad if he hears you don't like the food he and the other elves worked so hard to cook. Look, he is actually crying."
Morwenna's eyes went wide with alarm. She spun around on her stool, her gaze darting into every corner of the room. She hadn't meant it like that, and she certainly didn't want to make the house elf cry. She searched near the kitchen door and even looked under the table, finding only Cinder, but no sign of Tilly.
Her face moved through a rapid succession of expressions—confusion, then a sudden realization, and finally, mounting indignation. She looked back at Aldric and found him smiling. Saoirse was grinning openly, and Jack had his hand over his mouth, though his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.
Morwenna's face turned bright red. She turned to Jane, her eyes wide and her lower lip trembling just enough to be noticeable. "Mom... look. Grandpa and Saoirse are bullying me."
Her eyes shone as if she were on the verge of tears, though she wasn't quite there yet.
The table erupted.
Jane laughed first—a bright, surprised sound—and Jack soon followed, his laughter breaking free with a hearty resonance. Seraphina covered her mouth, her eyes crinkling at the corners, while Aldric's grave mask vanished, replaced by a warm and mischievous glow. Saoirse was practically cackling.
Morwenna sat on her stool, red-faced and indignant, watching her family enjoy themselves at her expense. She tried to stay angry, but then she saw Jane laughing, and Jack, and even Seraphina. She looked back at the pancakes. They were still flat and brown, but the frustration had lost its sting.
With a huff, she picked up her fork.
Jane, still laughing softly, reached out and pulled Morwenna into a sideways hug. "They are terrible, aren't they?" Jane said. "I know."
Morwenna pressed her face into Jane's shoulder. Her ears were still red, but a small, reluctant smile finally touched her lips.
. . .
The day passed slowly, the manor feeling quiet and insulated against the world. The snow refused to melt under the weak sun, and Morwenna spent the hours lazing about the rooms. She lay on the rug in the sitting room with Cinder resting on her chest, his russet fur warm and soft.
She counted the beams on the ceiling until she lost track and had to start again. She wandered into the library, pulled a book from the shelf, and stared at the pages before putting it back. Eventually, she standing at the window, watching the light fade as the sky turned a deep purple at the edges.
Jack found her there. He stood beside her, his tall reflection appearing in the glass alongside her own. "Do you want to fly?" he asked.
Morwenna looked at him. She remembered flying from the time before the bath—the feeling of the wind in her hair and the ground falling away while Jack held her steady. She wanted to do it again, but she was also terrified.
The memories of her other life, the woman who had stayed grounded for thirty years, made her chest feel tight at the thought of leaving the earth.
Jack saw the conflict in her face. "It will be fine," he promised, his voice low and steady. "We can go slowly, just like we did before. You are a magical child, Morwenna. How could you not fly?"
She looked at her hands, then back at him. His expression was serious, but his eyes were steady and bright with something she couldn't name.
These were the same eyes that had watched over her for months without ever pressing too hard. She nodded, her curiosity finally winning over her fear.
Dressing for the flight took what felt like an eternity. Jack found her warmest clothes, bundling her into a thick jumper, wool trousers, and two pairs of socks.
The blue coat that had been too large for her a year ago now fit perfectly, showing how much she had grown. He topped it off with a hat and gloves that made her fingers feel like sausages.
Morwenna stood in the entrance hall, looking at her bulky reflection in the mirror. "I look like a marshmallow."
Jack smiled, adjusted her hat. "You look warm."
Cinder sat at the bottom of the stairs with his ears flat, clearly aware he wasn't invited. Morwenna crouched down as best she could in her layers and patted his head. "I will be back," she told him, and his tail gave a single, resigned thump against the floor.
. . .
The Quidditch pitch was a sea of pristine white. Snow had smoothed the lines of the grass and softened every edge, leaving the gold hoops standing out like sentinels against the grey sky.
Jack went to the shed at the edge of the pitch and returned with a broom made of dark wood, its handle wrapped in supple leather.
"Do you remember how to sit?" he asked.
She nodded.
With a single sweep of his wand, Jack cleared a strip of frozen grass, piling the snow into clean arcs along the sides. He mounted the broom, letting it hover just above the ground. "Come on."
Morwenna climbed on in front of him, the wood feeling cold beneath her palms. She settled her weight and gripped the handle firmly.
Jack's arm came around her waist, steady and sure. "Ready?"
No.
"Yes," she said.
The broom rose slowly, inch by inch, as the ground fell away. The white expanse of the pitch stretched out below them, and while Morwenna's heart hammered against her ribs, she didn't scream or close her eyes.
Jack circled the pitch once, keeping them low and slow. "You are doing fine?"
She nodded. Then he went higher.
The manor came into view—a sprawling structure of grey stone with smoke rising from the chimneys in thin, straight lines. The lake appeared at the edge of her vision, frozen and still.
Morwenna's grip tightened as Jack picked up speed.
Then she screamed. "It's too fast! It's too high! I'm going to die!"
The wind tore the words from her mouth, but her body moved on instinct. Her hands tightened, her back straightened, and her legs locked firm around the shaft. Muscle memory held true even when her mind panicked.
Jack simply laughed and climbed higher into the thin air. Below them, the manor shrank until it looked like a toy.
"'I'm going to fall! I'm going to die!'"
He only went faster. The wind roared past her ears, tearing her hat free and sending her hair lashing across her face.
"Too fast!" she tried to shout again.
Jack didn't slow down. He laughed, a low and warm vibration she felt through the wood of the broom.
"Fuck! I'm going to die!"
The curse slipped out before she could stop it—a remnant of the woman in the apartment who had never once left the ground. Jack laughed even harder and went into a steep dive.
Her scream snapped higher and sharper as the ground rushed up to meet them. The pitch streaked beneath them in a blur of white and grey, yet her posture remained perfect.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm going to fall, Jack—!"
She didn't call him Dad; the name Jack came out with the curses, natural and desperate.
He didn't correct her. He just flew.
.
Down on the ground, Jane heard the screaming. She had been in the morning room, but she set down her book and walked to the window as the thin, high sound of her daughter's voice carried on the wind.
"'I'm going to die! I'm going to fall—!'"
Jane turned to find Aldric in the doorway with Seraphina behind him, while Saoirse pushed past them both. "Is that Morwenna?"
"It sounds like it," Jane replied, her eyes fixed on the distant speck in the sky.
Saoirse grinned. "Should we go watch?"
Jane was already out the door, her coat forgotten.
.
They stood at the edge of the pitch, the cold biting at their faces as they watched the broom circle above. Morwenna's screams were much clearer now. "Jack, this isn't funny! I'm going to fall!"
Jack's laughter drifted down, warm and effortless.
"She is fine," Aldric noted, observing the girl's form.
Jane watched her daughter cling to the broom. Her posture was indeed perfect, her back straight and her hands steady despite the panic. The years of flying hadn't left her muscles, even if her mouth was currently running wild.
"'Fuck, fuck, fuck—'"
Saoirse let out a short, surprised breath of laughter.
.
Jack landed twenty minutes later. As the broom touched down and the rush of wind vanished, Morwenna's legs finally gave out. She slipped from the broom and would have hit the ground if Jack hadn't caught her. Her knees trembled and her heart continued to hammer in her chest.
Jane was there in an instant. Her hands were on Morwenna's face, checking her eyes and her breathing. "You are fine," she said firmly. "You are fine."
Morwenna nodded, unable to find her voice. Jane turned then, her wand already in her hand. Jack was already attempting to walk away.
"Jack! Dale! Keith!"
He turned at the sound of his full name, saw the wand, and immediately bolted.
The first spell tore past his ear, a red spark cutting through the cold air.
He flinched but didn't stop. "Jane, it was just—"
Another spell snapped toward him and he twisted aside.
"She was screaming for fifteen minutes!" Jane shouted, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and relief.
"Her posture was perfect!"
Jane drove him across the pitch, her spells flashing in quick succession. Jack threw up a shield to deflect one before ducking the next, his laughter echoing between the hoops.
A third spell clipped his shoulder, and another struck the snow at his feet, sending a white spray into the air.
He ran, his boots slipping on the frozen ground. He finally drew his own wand to block a spell, still laughing, but Jane didn't slow down. She chased him across the field, her hair whipping behind her as she lit up the grey twilight with her magic.
Morwenna watched from the sidelines, her knees still weak but her chest feeling strangely warm. She had never seen her father like this—playful and running, laughing even as his wife tried to hex him.
She looked over at Aldric, who was watching the chase with a small, innocent smile.
Morwenna narrowed her eyes. Aldric felt her gaze and looked down. "What?"
Saoirse saw the look and started laughing. "She thinks it's your fault, Daddy. Your genes."
Aldric put a hand over his heart, looking wounded. "How could it possibly be me?"
Saoirse was already running toward the fray. "Sister-in-law, let me help you! Catching people is one of my specialties! Once we have him, you can torture him!"
Jane didn't answer, but she didn't tell Saoirse to go away either.
Jack stopped running and turned to face them both, his wand raised and a wide smile on his face. "Two against one?"
"Three," Aldric said, stepping onto the pitch.
Seraphina sighed and looked down at Morwenna. "Your grandfather has been waiting for an excuse to do this for years."
Morwenna watched as her family chased each other across the snow. Spells flew and laughter echoed through the cold air.
Jane's hair came loose from its pins and Jack's shirt became untucked, while Aldric moved with a speed she hadn't known he possessed. Eventually, Saoirse tackled Jack into a snowdrift, and Jane stood over them with her wand raised, breathing hard.
Then, Jane started laughing too.
Morwenna stood at the edge of the pitch with the cold biting her cheeks. Her hat was gone and her hair was a mess, but she felt a sense of peace settle in her chest. It wasn't the cold or the fire, but something much softer. She watched her family in the snow and she smiled.