February arrived, the cold seeping into the manor's stones. Frost held longer on the nursery windows, thick and patient. The lake had frozen solid weeks ago. The snow compacted into a brittle crust that crunched underfoot.
Morwenna woke to the same light filtering through the gap in her curtains. Cinder was curled at her feet, his russet fur warm against her ankles while his ears twitched at the distant sounds of Tilly moving through the corridor. She lay still for a moment, watching the shadows on the ceiling shift as the weak sun move across the sky.
Four years until Hogwarts. It was four years until the letter arrived, and four years until Harry stepped into the wizarding world to receive something close to proper care. She counted the days until she could act openly, without working around walls she couldn't see.
She pressed a hand lightly to the center of her chest. The cold was quiet and familiar. Behind it, a tightness with no magic, no ritual purpose. Just the burn of knowing something she couldn't change, yet couldn't stop wanting to change.
Harry was hers.
She had never met him, never seen his face outside the photograph from the Prophet her mother kept, the one where he was too young to know the world was breaking around him. But he was family. He had Evans green eyes, her mother's eyes, her eyes. She couldn't leave him there.
She couldn't speak about it, either. Every time she opened her mouth, nothing came out. The words existed in her head, lined up behind her teeth, and then they simply didn't reach the air.
So she searched.
The library became her second home. She avoided the comfortable reading nooks, the long table where Aldric taught her family histories. She turned to sections she had never needed. Legal texts, lineage records, ancient contracts.
The Fidelius Charm and its variants, blood wards and their limitations, the intersection of magical guardianship and mundane law. She pulled volumes from upper shelves, spread them across the oak table in the eastern alcove where afternoon light was brightest. She read until her eyes ached and the words blurred.
The family noticed her withdrawal. Aldric found her on a Tuesday, the table buried in open books. He stood in the doorway, crossed the room, sat across from her.
"What are you searching for?"
Morwenna looked up. Opened her mouth. Nothing came. She closed it, pressed her lips together, touched her heart, her head, her mouth.
"It's something you know," he said, "and something you can't tell."
She nodded.
Aldric didn't ask what it was, didn't press for details. He sat with her in the silence. When she gathered the books to return them to the shelves, he was still there.
Jack noticed as well, though he said nothing for weeks. Then, one evening in the study, he finally spoke.
"Your mother was like this once," he said.
Morwenna looked up from the book in her lap. Her father stood by the window with his back to the room, his reflection pale against the dark glass.
"After the war. After Lily's death. She couldn't stop searching, reading, writing letters, running through every scenario. She was trying to find a way to reach Harry. She couldn't." He turned from the window.
Morwenna's hands tightened on her book.
"She found her way out. Not because she solved it. Because she let herself stop being alone in it. You aren't alone in this either."
She didn't answer, but she didn't look away.
The days moved forward as February bled into March. The first green shoots appeared at the edges of the garden, and Tilly began muttering about birthday cakes. Morwenna still went to the library to read, but she began to notice how she approached every problem from the same angle. She examined every text with the same set of expectations, circling the same walls and looking for the same cracks.
. . .
April arrived with a softening of the light. The days grew longer, and the sun finally carried a hint of warmth that had been missing for months.
The French family arrived soon after. Celestine stepped through the Floo first, her indigo robes catching the green light of the flames. Lucien followed her, and the entrance hall felt warmer just from his presence. His movements were as unhurried as his voice, which carried that melodic, rhythmic lilt unique to his kind. Raphaël and Luelle came together, with Luelle already talking about the journey before she had fully stepped out of the fireplace.
Viviane arrived the next day, her dark hair pinned precisely. Her grey-green eyes scanned the decorations before she found Morwenna at the bottom of the stairs and pulled her into a hug.
"You look like you have been thinking too hard," she said, and Morwenna didn't deny it.
Elara came last, her expression maintaining its usual careful neutrality, though she reached out to touch Morwenna's cheek for a brief moment.
"The bracelet is holding," Elara said. "I checked it before I left."
Morwenna touched the silver at her wrist and nodded. "I know."
. . .
The manor filled with voices and the clatter of preparation. Tilly ran himself between the kitchen and the great hall while floating lights were tested and the long table was extended to its full length. Morwenna stayed in the library.
Jane found her in the eastern alcove, where a volume of magical jurisprudence lay open in her lap. She pulled a chair close and sat. She didn't speak right away, she just waited.
"I can't find it," Morwenna admitted.
"What are you looking for?" Jane asked.
Morwenna touched her chest, her head, and her mouth. Jane reached across the space between them and took her daughter's hand, her thumb tracing the back of Morwenna's skin.
"I know," Jane said softly, her accent surfacing slightly on the words. "I know what it's like to carry something you can't put down. Something zat sits in your chest and won't let you rest. When I first learned about Lily and saw her photograph in ze Prophet, I couldn't stop.
I wrote to France and searched mundane records to build a case for Harry's guardianship piece by piece. I thought if I just worked hard enough or found ze right document, I could reach him."
Her voice stayed steady, though an old tiredness moved underneath it. "The Ministry denied us. Ze letter arrived so carefully worded and so complete in its refusal. I blamed myself for not knowing about ze British Evans branch sooner. I thought I should have looked earlier."
She stopped to draw a breath. "Your father found me in ze study after I had been sitting there for hours, reading ze same lines over and over. He told me I had done everything I could, and zat destroying myself wouldn't help Harry.
I wasn't alone. I had him, and I had my family. I was so focused on what I couldn't do zat I almost forgot what I already had."
Morwenna's throat tightened as she listened.
"The answer might not be in ze books," Jane said, squeezing her hand. "It might not be in legal texts or lineage records. You are searching ze same way I did, with your head down, hoping to find ze one piece zat makes everything fit.
Take a breath and step back. You have confined yourself to a box, but ze way out might be somewhere you can't see from where you are standing. Sometimes, you have to stop searching and start looking."
She released Morwenna's hand and sat back in her chair. "What do you want for your birthday?"
The question was so ordinary that it took a moment to land. Morwenna thought about the grand gala from the year before, with its strangers and measured conversations, and then she thought about Fleur's letters. They still arrived every week, filled with drawings and a warm insistence on staying close.
"Not a ball," she said. "I want my friends to come, just them. No meetings or politics. Just a celebration."
Jane's mouth curved into a small, soft smile. "Then that's what we will do."
Morwenna looked down at the dense paragraphs she had read and reread, then she finally closed the book.
= = =
About the accents.
I made a small change in how I write French dialogue, especially for Jane, Raph, Luelle, and Viviane. Before this, I usually just described their accents instead of showing them directly in their speech.
Recently, I reread a few chapters from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and noticed how Rowling handled Hagrid's dialogue. That reminded me that Fleur also has her own 'unique' way of speaking.
So I decided to do something similar. Jane, Raph, Luelle, and Viviane now have a slightly stylized way of speaking to reflect their accents. It is there, but not as strong or heavy as Fleur's.
For other original characters, I will try to keep their voices consistent with how they are meant to sound, but I can't promise it will always be perfect.