The weeks leading up to the end of term blurred past faster than Aegeus expected. His Tuesdays under Vance, now paired with Thursdays with Dumbledore, proved demanding, yet deeply rewarding.
Even Snape's class had largely stopped costing him too many points. Between his new schedule and extra lessons, he spent fewer evenings in the fourth-floor classroom, though he still carved out quiet hours to hone his Transfiguration.
The castle grew colder and darker by degrees, until one morning the grounds were simply white, snow settled thick over the greenhouses and the Quidditch pitch.
Packing took him less time than it took most of the Gryffindors put together, his trunk already organized and textbooks and notes sorted long before Marcus had even located his second shoe.
"How did you finish packing so quickly?" Marcus said, his belongings currently spread across his bed in a configuration that bore no relationship to packing. "I am only just starting, and I can't find my gloves anywhere!"
Rosalind, who had also packed with considerably more order than Marcus, glanced over from her own trunk. "They are under your pillow. You have put them there so Peeves wouldn't find them. Remember?"
Marcus stared at her, then bolted for his bed, and came up a moment later holding a pair of thoroughly squashed dragon-hide gloves triumphantly.
The morning of departure was cold and bright, snow crusted hard over the courtyard where the carriages waited, harnessed to nothing visible, or nearly nothing— Aegeus had long since worked out what was pulling them, though he had never mentioned it to Marcus or Rosalind, and had no intention of doing so now.
McGonagall stood near the top of the steps as students moved past toward the carriages, her voice carrying easily over the noise of trunks and excited chatter without her needing to raise it.
"Before you leave, there is something you ought to remember," she said to everyone in the room. "Unless it's an emergency, the Ministry strictly forbids the use of any kind of magic outside of school." A pause. "Anyone who violates that will face serious consequences— with potential expulsion."
A few nearby first-years let out a groan.
Aegeus paused. He still couldn't pinpoint when the Trace had been bound to him. With his heightened magical sensitivity, he was certain he would have noticed if someone had cast a spell on him.
He pushed the thought aside for now, and climbed into the carriage after Marcus and Rosalind, already rattling into motion toward Hogsmeade Station.
Aegeus spent most of the trip with a book open on his lap, though he wasn't entirely focused on reading. Instead, he simply watched the snow-covered scenery roll past the window.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was as chaotic as he last remembered it, though this time he knew what to expect from it— steam and noise and a crowd of trunks and owls, and somewhere in the middle of it, his parents waiting exactly where they had promised they would be.
Jean spotted him first. Without waiting for him to bridge the rest of the distance, she crossed the remaining space to meet him midway.
"Aegeus!"
Jean moved through the crowd of returning families with swift steps, leaving Adam trailing a pace behind with a coat draped over his arm. Before Aegeus could so much as offer a greeting, she pulled him into a tight, warm embrace that smelled reassuringly of home: tea and damp wool.
"I can't believe how big you have gotten," she said immediately, stepping back to cup his shoulders and give him a swift, maternal inspection. "A bit thin, too." she frowned. "Are they feeding you properly in that castle?"
"They do, Mum," Aegeus said mildly, adjusting his coat. "They serve three full meals a day. It is impossible to starve."
Hermione stepped around their father, her eyes instantly locking onto Aegeus with an intensity that suggested she had spent the entire car ride's duration working out all the questions she intended to ask him.
She held her hands behind her back, though the top of a familiar leather-bound notebook— the one he'd sent— stuck out prominently from her coat pocket, bristling with colorful sticky tabs.
Hermione started chattering without rest. "You said you would tell me all about the school library when you get home. We have fourteen days until the next term, which gives us plenty of time to—"
"Hermione," Adam cut her off gently, placing a hand on her shoulder while reaching out with the other to take Aegeus's trunk. "Let your brother breathe." He gave Aegeus a warm smile. "Good to have you back, son. Smooth journey?"
"Not bad," Aegeus said as they began making their way toward the barrier leading out to the Muggle side of King's Cross.
Hermione fell back beside him, pulling the notebook from her pocket and tapping a pencil against the leather cover. "I have read all the books you told me about, but why are the terms they use too vague!"
She flipped a page with a sharp snap, her eyes darting over her dense, handwritten notes before pointing to a quoted passage heavily emphasized with double-underlines.
"Listen to this," she said, her voice rising above the dull roar of the station. "'Magic does not spark from intent without focus; to guide the light, the caster's mind must act as the lens.' What is that supposed to mean?!"
Aegeus looked down at his younger sister, taking in the intense spark of inquiry in her eyes. It was a completely different energy than Rosalind's quiet, analytical focus.
"After dinner, Hermione," Aegeus smiled and said.
Hermione's lips pressed into a fine line, but she gave a single, satisfied nod. "Fine."
As they emerged into the crisp London afternoon air toward the parking lot, Aegeus felt the distinct shift in the air—the faint, background thrum of ambient magic from the platform snapping shut behind them, replaced by the mundane, familiar hum of engine exhaust and distant traffic.
Stepping through the barrier left a sudden, empty ache in his chest—a void where the castle's ambient magic usually hummed. For four months, without realizing it, the ancient castle, the quiet hum of the corridors, and the daily magic practice had settled deep inside of him, taking root until Hogwarts had quietly become like a second home.
He swallowed the feeling down as Adam popped the car's boot open and Jean began fussing over his coat. He cast the phantom weight of the castle away, turning his mind back to the immediate task at hand.
For now, he had an eight-year-old sister to out-argue before bedtime.
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TO BE CONTINUED
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