a baby giraffe walking for the first time, for reference. 
tw: like one curse word. also, they're fourteen. they curse. no more tw from now on. 

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chapter eight: christmas
word count: 6.8k
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DECEMBER WAS JUST AS BAD, IF NOT WORSE, THAN NOVEMBER.

The only thing that was good was that instead of grueling Quidditch practice first thing in the morning, Azalea attended breakfast and classes like any other student would. Wood had decided to lay off of the intense morning sessions, now that they'd won against Slytherin with little to no casualties.

Well, other than when he was knocked down and had to be taken to the Hospital Wing, and when Azalea nearly fell off of her broom and died. 

Something else that Azalea was excited about was Christmas at Hogwarts. She'd heard from the older students and Ron that it was supposed to be magnificent, with the Christmas feast, snow fights, and castle all to themselves considering a lot of students went back home. 

She'd started to believe them. Hogwarts looked like a fairy tale, with snow enveloping the castle and everything around it, blanketing the world around her in white, pure and simple. Her evenings were spent doing homework and studying, and at nights when she couldn't sleep, she would wake Castor up and sneak into the kitchen, where she would often find Calypso and Zade, and sometimes even Draco already sipping away at hot chocolate. 

Draco had started growing on the Quartet. He still held his ego as a badge, but he didn't mind spending time with Azalea and Castor and the Slytherin duo, as long as his House didn't call him out for doing so. 

Maybe, December was, in ways, better than November. 

Mid-December rolled by quick, and the Weasley twins had already been punished twice for bewitching snowballs to follow Quirrell around. The lake was frozen, and she could often see kids trying to walk on it, and fall miserably — as if a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. 

The worst part of the students' day was Professor Snape's class, where, in the dungeons, their breaths rose in visible mists, the cold stone walls making them shiver if anyone was unlucky enough to forget their sweater. The only warmth they got was from the cauldrons, so they tried huddling close but not so much their robes might burn. 

"I do feel sorry," said Terence, a fifteen year old Slytherin who'd started school a year later than usual, "for all those students who have to stay at Hogwarts because they're not wanted at home." 

He looked directly at Azalea as he said so, and it might have been his luck that she was too tired to fight him as she tried to get the correct measurements for powdered spine of lion-fish. 

Having no proper family was a curse as it is, but Terence made no hesitation in belittling for her. The week following Slytherin's embarrassing loss at the Quidditch match, he'd taken quite the blow, especially since he made a hefty bet with the Weasleys that Slytherin would definitely win. 

Magically, the Friday following Terrence's taunts, he showed up with pink robes and blue hair, maybe, Draco had some help from the Weasley twins doing so because Azalea noticed them grin at each other the morning Terrence showed up for breakfast with his new makeover. 

Azalea let out a giggle everytime she saw Terrence, to which she was rewarded with a glare, but it didn't matter. She was grateful but also a bit surprised that she'd managed to make such friends.

Just the week before kids left for the holidays, Azalea, Castor and Draco exited potions to find a giant fir tree in the corridor, two equally giant feet poking out from under, letting them know it was Hagrid behind. 

"Heya, Hagrid!" Ron had grinned. He couldn't wait for Christmas to finally be here and to experience Hogwarts in all its glory like his brothers told him. "Need a hand?" 

"Nah, I'm alrigh'. Thanks, Ron." 

"Would you mind moving out of the way!" Terence's childish growl came from behind the friends. His new appearance didn't exactly make him appear any more intimidating than earlier. "Are you trying to make some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid's must be a palace compared to what your family's used to." 

Ron didn't hesitate. He didn't think. He just lunged at Terrence and his entourage, fists flying and yelled curses echoing in the hallway for a whole of five minutes.

Azalea just stood in the corner, ready (not really) to join the fight if needed. Draco stood beside her, pinching the bridge of his nose and contemplating whether he should stay or go. Hagrid was conflicted whether he should hold the tree up or tear the boys apart. 

He'd only started to think that maybe he'd prefer these doofuses over his usual Slytherin friends he'd been taught to keep as company.

"WEASLEY!" Snape's thunderous shout made the boys tear apart. Neither had any serious injuries — Ron had a busted lip and a torn robe, and Terence's pink tie lay stranded on one of the top branches of the tree, with a small cut above his eyebrow. Both boys glared at one another, appearances disheveled and breaths heavy as they stood in front of the professor, who looked positively aghast. 

"He was provoked, Professor Snape!" Hagrid came to Ron's defense immediately. Azalea knew whatever she said would either be disregarded, or make things worse, so she kept her mouth shut. Malfoy would rather not take sides with a blood-traitor in front of someone who would very well rat him out to his parents. "Fisher was insultin' his family!" 

"Be that as it may, fighting is against school rules, Hagrid," Snape spoke monotonously. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Now, move along, all of you." 

Malfoy all but scurried away from the Potter and the Weasley, almost at the end of the corridor when Terrence grabbed his wrist, making him jerk it out of his grip, face twisting in disgust as if touched by the bloody terrorizing troll. 

"You shouldn't hang around blood-traitors and that blasted half-blood prince, Malfoy. You're friends with the wrong sort." 

Draco rolled his eyes, a scoff leaving his pale lips, "I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks." 

.  .  .

A FEW HOURS LATER, NOON MERGED INTO EVENING. 

This was the last day before the students would leave for Christmas. And how did Ron and Azalea spend it? With their friends, like the other students, of course. 

Nope. Azalea had always wanted to learn chess, but never got around to it. Thankfully, Ron had something better than chess — Wizard's Chess. 

"Knight to E4." Azalea felt confident that Ron couldn't mess this one for her. 

Ron smirked. Wizard's Chess, it was his turf. "Queen to E4."

Azalea threw her head back with a groan, eyes squinting shut as she pulled at her hair. "NOOOO, how do you always do this?" 

"Practice, dear Potter." 

"This. . ." Hermione, who had been gifted with the art of sneaking up on others without them having a clue, stood wide-eyed behind Ron, "is barbaric."

"This," Ron emphasised with another move, "is Wizard's Chess." 

Hermione shook her head, a sigh punctuating her horror with the game. She sat down with a plop! hands folded as she leaned on the table and waited for the prince to show up so she could give him and Azalea instructions as to how to spend the holidays. 

"I see you've packed." Ron gestured towards Hermione's bags when Azalea lay her head on the table, giving up after Ron's declaration of check. 

"See you haven't." 

"Change of plans: my parents decided to go to Romania to visit my brother, Charlie." Ron's eyes twinkled with fascination. "He's studying dragons there!" 

Azalea perked up, "You can study dragons?!" 

"Mhmm." Ron nodded, arms folded. "You can meet him when he comes home next year!" 

"Why's she grinning like the bloody Cheshire Cat?" Castor faked a horrified look when he noticed the big grin on Azalea's face, sitting down beside her. "And why does 'Mione have the entire bloody dorm in those trunks?" 

The girls rolled their eyes.

"'Mione's going home for Christmas. And as for Azzie. . . well, she wants to study dragons." 

Castor perked up, similar to Azalea a few minutes ago, "You can study dragons?!" 

"Yes, you can study dragons, and yes, Ron will introduce you to his brother next summer." Hermione banged her hands (not very loudly because Professor McGonagall was around). "Now, while you boys are here, you can help Azzie look for information about Nicholas Flamel, in the library—"

"Noooooo!" 

"We've looked a hundred times!" 

Azalea smacked the back of Castor's head, the prince rubbing the spot with a quiet 'Ow!', while Hermione did the same with Ron. 

"There's the restricted section to go through." Hermione rose from the table when she heard her call to leave for the train. "Merry Christmas!" 

"Merry Christmas!" Azalea gave Hermione a big grin and a wave, the boys following with their greetings. 

"By the way," Castor turned to Ron, "I think it's really cool that your brother studies dragons." 

"And you." He then squinted his eyes, a pout forming on his lips as he wagged a finger at Azalea, "You've got a mean punch, Princess." 

Azalea raised her eyebrows, and just as he pulled his hand back, bit his finger. 

"Are you bloody insane?"

.  .  .

AZALEA HAD ALWAYS LOOKED FORWARD TO CHRISTMAS.

Though it meant more work, as the Dursleys always had someone or the other for dinner, Christmas was warm, and whenever she got to sneak a glance at the movies Dudley watched, she could see why Christmas was 'the most wonderful time of the year'. Her heart bloomed and ached simultaneously at the thought of families doing anything and everything to be with one another, at the conversations and laughter they'd share at dinner, the love and joy spread as far and wide as the snowflakes that blanketed the land, painting everything a pure white. It was a bittersweet feeling. 

Then came the Christmas of 1997, and Christmas wasn't the same anymore. It was just another Holiday, now. 

So when she awoke to the shouts of her name, courtesy of the boys, all she expected was hot chocolate and snowball fights. 

She let out a quiet groan as she stretched, the stiffness in her muscles fading away with each step. She brushed her fingers through her hair, using her claw clip to tie them up, then stuffed her hands through the Gryffindor sweatshirt. 

"Merry Christmas, boys!" 

"Merry Christmas, Lea!"

"Merry Christmas, Azzie!" Ron jumped up, full of energy. "Hey, Mum's sent you this, by the way." 

"I've got presents?" Azalea's face lit up, as she always assumed kids' did on Christmas mornings. She hurried down form the balcony overlooking the common room, careful not to trip on her feet, ignoring Ron as he asked, "Well, what'd you expect, turnips?" 

An hour later, Azalea laid down on her stomach, the sweater she received from Mrs. Weasley hanging off of her shoulders, a neat A stitched on her chest, similar to the ones Castor and Ron wore. 

She'd got enough gifts to last a lifetime — a hand carved flute from Hagrid, which sounded a lot more like an owl when blown through, but nevertheless, it was the sweetest gesture. She'd sent a letter wishing a Merry Christmas back to Privett Drive, and had received the very grand gesture of a fifty pence coin and a note she was sure Uncle Walrus's assistant wrote. 

"Weird!" Ron had exclaimed as he held the coin, making Azalea and Castor chuckle — albeit the prince was a little (very) horrified at the gift her family gave her. "What, this is money?" 

"You can keep it, Ronald." 

Mrs. Weasley had also enclosed a box of homemade fudge, which might've been the most delicious fudge she'd ever consumed. Ron told her that it was pretty famous, and that the café his mum owned at Diagon Alley got crowds for the sake of it around Christmas. 

A few candies and an empty journal from Hermione, a little model of her Nimbus 2000 that kept floating in the glass jar from Castor (which earned him a hug tight enough to cut off his circulation when he told her he made it) and a candle from Ron with a message (I represent this candle — if you ignore me, I burn your fucking house down) which got him a punch to the shoulder and a hug tight enough to cut off his breathing. 

Draco got her candies as well, and a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages when he saw her reading the one from the library. His mother even sent him a little card.

Just as she reached for the last gift, she could hear Calypso arguing with the portrait. 

The trio shared a look, then opened the Common Room's door, just to find an annoyed Calypso and exasperated Fat Lady. 

"Dear me, children, this young lady doesn't understand that there's a password to be let in!" 

"Oh for God's sake, you know who I am, I lurk around them almost every minute of every day." Calypso rolled her eyes, hiking her bag higher, her face red from yelling a string of curse words that would have her mother praying to the bloody Lord for forgiveness for. 

Azalea chortled at her friend's aggravation, the boys barely holding it in when Calypso gave them a look that might freeze Snape. The Potter shook her head, looking at the portrait, "Well, ma'am, the next time, we'll be sure to give her the password, yeah?" 

The Fat Lady nodded with a huff, then brightened up, her rosy cheeks fuller as she grinned, "Merry Christmas!"

They resounded her greetings, and as soon as the door shut close, Calypso jumped on Azalea, the frustration long gone as she hugged her tight. 

"IT'S CHRISTMAS!" 

Ron raised his eyebrows, "Who the fuck is this and what happened to Calypso?" 

Castor gasped, a hand over his mouth as he looked at Ron with wide eyes, making the Weasley raise his eyebrow, "Ronald! Such filthy words! You kiss your mother good night with that mouth?" 

When Ron punched his shoulder, he gave a little chuckle, "Maybe Princess here, has a gift — making grumpy people smile. Who knows?" 

"Alright, I love you too, but please let go." Azalea patted Calypso's back when the hug had been going on for a little over than a minute. Calypso let go and hopped over to the tree, eyes twinkling as she saw the decorations. 

Slytherin had their tree decorated with the fanciest of ornaments, shiniest of all, and had tried to make their tree look classy, elegant, with black and gold streamers. Gryffindor had decorated the tree with funky ornaments, little messages censor out certain words when seen by Professors, and funny elves hanging off of streamers, with strings of popcorn, courtesy of the muggle-borns and half-bloods. 

Slytherins decorated their tree as if it were supposed to be the centrepiece of the Ministry's Christmas Ball. Gryffindors were carefree in the pursuit of dressing up their tree. 

Calypso let her body loose, allowing her to fall down on the couch with a sigh. 

"Can't believe it's December already." she shoved her face in the pillow, ready to pass out on the soft couch, before she remembered what she was here for, "Presents!"

She jumped up as if she hadn't just been dreaming of being in Dreamland, the bag that had been haphazardly hanging off of one of the tree's branches now back on her shoulder. She went around like Santa Claus, eagerly grabbing gifts from her back and handing them, saying, "This is for you!" everytime she did so. 

She sat near the tree, knees to her chest as she watched her friends unwrap her gifts, anticipation clawing away at her soul. 

When Azalea sucked in a sharp breath, the big grin on her lips momentarily subsiding, "D'you like it?" 

Azalea's frantic nod and tight hug made her laugh again. 

Pictures of her parents, of herself, a big box full of pictures. Oh, and chocolates, too.

Ron and Castor smiled at the interaction. Their gifts were something, too — Castor got a few books he'd mentioned he wanted to read and chocolates, and Ron got some sweaters and loads of candy. 

"I'll take that as a yes." Calypso patted the Potter's back, rubbing it when she heard her sniffle quietly. Considering Azalea was practically on her lap, Calypso had to lean against the tree for support, praying to whatever heavenly power was watching over her that it shouldn't fall. 

"Thank you," Azalea's reply was meek, only barely audible over the crackling fireplace, but they heard her alright. 

An hour passed with jokes and stories and whatnot, and Azalea had almost forgotten to unwrap her mysterious gift, until Ron reminded her. 

"Oh yeah, that." 

So they huddled together again, carefully unwrapping the brown paper. A card fell down, and Ron read it out loud, "Your father left this in my possession when he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well."

"A very Merry Christmas to you." Azalea concluded, unable to recognize the loopy, narrow writing. They shared a glance, and slowly, pulled the gift out of the packaging. 

It was fluid and silvery gray, like she expected Mercury to look when she first learnt about it in school. It felt. . .strange to touch, as if water were woven to make cloth. 

Ron and Calypso let out loud gasps, jumping to their feet as the cloth pooled on the ground, slithering around. They shared a look —

"It can't be. . ." Calypso shook her head, but Ron grinned and nodded, eyes wide, 

"But it is!"

"They're extremely rare to find!"

"That's exactly why you should be excited, not worried!"

"Are they having a psychotic breakdown?" Azalea moved closer to Castor, snacking on Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, enjoying the conflict in their friends' emotions. 

"Maybe." Castor shrugged, chewing on his bean: sour cream. He scrunched his nose, highly tempted to throw it out of his mouth, but he'd made a bet with Azalea that she'd be the first one to spit a nasty flavour out. "Should we stop them?"

"Are you kidding? Don't you dare mess with entertainment." 

"Just a reminder Princess, that gift was addressed to you." Castor popped another bean into his mouth, sighing when it was apple. "Shouldn't you at least know what they're jumping about?" 

"You wanna know what they're excited about, don't you?"

"Maybe, yeah." 

"Hey guys!" the next bean she chose was paper flavoured. "What's the bloody war about?" 

"This," said Ron, awe clear on his face as he pointed at the cloth, "is the Invisibility Cloak. I'm sure it is! Try it on, Azzie." 

"Invisibility Cloak? What's it do?" 

Azalea stood up, fingers clutching the ridiculously soft material in her palm, "It makes you pancakes, Cas." 

"I like it, then," the Prince grinned, playing along.

Azalea rolled her eyes, draping the Cloak around her shoulders. Her friends wide eyed expressions made her look down, and when she couldn't see her lower body anymore, she knew Ron wasn't kidding around. 

"Woah!"

.  .  .

CHRISTMAS DINNER WAS A NEW CONCEPT FOR HER. 

Turkey and potato was stacked on her plate as she sat around the large Gryffindor table, houses long forgotten as her friends and Calypso and her friends from Slytherin sat with them. 

Giggles resounded through the mostly empty Great Hall as the Weasley twins narrated yet another story about their family, Ron punching in in some parts, chucking cusses when the twins spoke something about him which was waaaaaay more exaggerated than the original version. 

The firecrackers Fred gave her didn't just go off with a bang! No, they were loud enough for McGonagal to nearly experience a heart-attack. 

Soon, dinner was over, and everyone was heading back to the Common Rooms, filled to the brim with roast potatoes and Christmas Puddings. Castor, however, couldn't find it in himself to fall asleep, so he did what Hermione would've been proud of him for — he went to the library. 

Hogwarts' library was always open till midnight. Which gave him almost two hours to look for Flamel. Thankfully, Madam Pince wasn't unfamiliar with Castor's constant presence in the library, at absurd hours of the night. 

Fingers trailing the thick spines of old books decorating the pine shelves, he couldn't find any that would have even the faintest trace of Flamel. However, he could find a few books that he found interesting. 

A History of Names, was one and another was named Regina. 

As the time ticked by, he opted to just check them out, ignoring the look Madam Pince threw him. 

In the dim light of the fireplace, he'd already been through the book about names, finding out the history of his and his friend's names. Now, he flipped through the yellowed pages of Regina, brittle paper carefully held between his fingers as he arrived at the first page. 

Regina: a brief introduction. 

Where and to whom Regina Morselli was born, remains unknown. Raised at Queen's Orphanage for the Wizarding Kind, under Madam Charlotte's care, Regina grew up well-versed in magic as well as etiquette. As a young girl, she held an aptitude for music, especially classical music. The piano and the violin were her friends. 

Though she was said to be an achiever, she was never recorded to have been surrounded by many friends. Samuel Darcy was one of those she kept in company, later marrying him, but she never changed her name. 

Regina was said to be very gifted, starting in the third year at the age of 11, unlike her peers who had just been introduced to Hogwarts and its rigorous routine. With special prowess for charms, potions, and alchemy, it is often said that Regina was one of the best wizards of the 20th century, if not in the history of magic. 

Many speculate that Regina had inherited ancient magic, with some even claiming that she could have been a descendant of Merlin himself. These claims remain unproven, with only some proof to statement. 

Regina grew to be a wonderful Auror, and even moved up to the ranks of Minister of Magic, leading a period of calm and stability even in the midst of the Great Wizarding War (ref. page 314), building several safe houses and bunkers for the muggle-borns and half-bloods to take shelter in, across Europe. 

Regina spent most of her tenure trying to better muggle-wizard relations, and even for the betterment of future generations. 

Two of her major acts include increasing the age of entrance to Hogwarts from 11 to 14, arguing that many children, especially girls, needed their parents' guidance and protection, something that Hogwarts could never replicate. This act was accepted by the public. 

However, a year later, in 1931, Morselli introduced a law stating that young wizards must be provided with basic muggle education until they came to Hogwarts, so as to keep them up to date with their muggle peers, as well as provide a broader spectrum of opportunities. 

Though backed by many, this act wasn't accepted as jovially as her previous one. Between this and her aim to create good muggle-wizard relations, and more importantly, to erase the rumour that wizards were superior, many assassination attempts took place. 

Though she'd survived the assassination attempts, her position was now on a delicate stand. Between the fact that she was a woman and Grindelwald was a power too big to be handled by her alone, the threat of an all-out Global Wizarding War grew. 

In 1935, she disappeared with Samuel and their new-born daughter, Artemisia, named after the first female Minister of Magic. Her position was given to Minister of Magic Hector Fawley took over. However, he couldn't uphold the protection Regina had provided United Kingdom's wizarding-kind with, and in 1939, he was removed from power and replaced by Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon, who, though better than Fawley, couldn't reinstate the peace upheld by Regina for almost a decade. 

Where Morselli and her family were for almost three years, no one knew. However, she accompanied Newt and Merida Scamander in their pursuit of convincing Dumbledore to fight against Grindelwald. 

She was part of those that fought against Grindelwald and his army, and in the end, though they won, she was mortally wounded. 

Where Samuel was still remains a mystery. The only truth that Regina's descendants were still alive came out when Artemisia attended Hogwarts, and then two years later, Regina and Samuel's son, Basil, and three years later, their last child, Wilhelmina. 

Regina's legacy continues on with her remaining descendants, still alive and well, walking amongst the witches and wizards of Europe. Some of them include —

"What are you reading?" 

Castor sat up with a start, having been all too well immersed in the book to pay attention to anything else. Azalea stood at the top of the staircase, now coming down, a grin etched on her face from his reaction, the cloak clutched in her hands. 

"Just some book I found in the library." Castor held up the cover show Azalea could read the title. Then, he gestured towards the cloak, "What trouble are you up to?" 

"Well, since you were so successful in finding out who Flamel is, I thought I might take a midnight stroll by the lake." Azalea rolled her eyes, pulling the Prince up by the collar of his night shirt, "Maybe you'd wanna join me?" 

"Sure, just to push you in." 

"You think you're so funny," Azalea whispered, having already stepped out in the hallway. 

"I know I am." Castor followed behind. "By the way, why didn't the Fat Lady say anything about you sneaking out in the middle of the night?" 

"I promised I'd listen her practice her vocals before class everyday," Azalea winced, as if just thinking about the deal gave her physical pain. 

"That's pure sacrifice, Princess," Castor snorted, following her to — well he had no idea if she was serious about the lake or not, so followed her wherever. 

When they stopped near the library he breathed a sigh of relief. Azalea pulled him under the cloak, it being big enough to cover them both and two more if needed. Carefully, they scuttled through the shelves, going towards the Restricted Section as advised by Hermione. 

"Wait, she wasn't serious?" 

"Of course she was." Azalea smacked the back of Castor's head. "You think she didn't actually scour every book in here for Flamel?" 

"I mean, she could've missed something —"

"Just say you're scared of breaking rules and we'll head back." Azalea's lips pulled back in a smirk, hands working cautiously as she removed the chain acting as a barrier between them and the Restricted Section, crossing over (to the dark side) before putting it back as it was. 

Castor scoffed, offence written over his rigid body, "I'm not scared."

Azalea picked the lamp hanging off of the hooks on the wall, "Suuure." 

Slipping the cloak off with the hopes of no one but them being there, Azalea skimmed through book titles with practiced ease, Castor doing the same on the next shelf. 

"Flamel, Flamel, Flamel. . .where are you?" 

Azalea made the mistake of opening a book on ghosts, out of which a man's face popped up and let out a growl, making her suck in a breath when she heard Filch's voice. 

"Come on," Castor sighed, picking up the cloak and pulling themselves under it, hiding in a corner where they wouldn't bump into Filch, hopefully. 

Just as they almost bumped into a table, Azalea dropped a lamp, sucking air in through her teeth, "Damnit, Azzie." 

"It's okay." Castor rubbed her shoulder, navigating her through the myriad of cabinets. Exactly how many books were there in the Restricted Section? And why? 

Azalea and Castor walked around Filch and hurried out of them room into a hallway, trying to not breath as heavily as they were, when Mrs. Norris caught their tail. 

Castor muttered a few curses under their breath as they rounded the corner, only to meet Snape and Quirrell, quarrelling. 

"Severus. . .I—I thought —"

Snape pushed Quirrell into the wall, murder on his face. The duo winced, thankfully unheard, wondering what Snape would do to them, considering how aggravated he was with a fellow teacher.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell." 

"W—What do y—you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean—" Snape paused, sharp eyes looking around, as if sensing the students standing mere seven feet from him. He reached out, his fingers grabbing air just in front of the cloak. Satisfied that he wasn't being watched, he wagged a finger in front of the Dark Arts teacher, "We'll have another chat soon. . .when you've had time to decide where your loyalties lie."

Just as Snape turned away to walk out, Filch appeared, carrying the lamp Azalea had dropped, "Professors, just found this. It's still hot — which means a student's out of bed!" 

Snape and Quirrell shared a look and followed Filch, eager to find the culprit, who luckily hid behind a magical cloak.

Castor and Azalea walked in silence, only broken once they were inside a room, "Sorry for, y'know, dropping the lamp." 

"Did I hear that right? Did People's Princess just apologize?" Castor grinned, pulling the cloak off, scrunching his face in faux pain when Azalea punched him, a pout on her face. "In all seriousness though, it's okay. Took them away from us, didn't it?" 

"Yeah." Azalea finally looked around her, the cloak folded neatly and in Castor's hands. 

The room was empty, with the exception of the tall, floor-length mirror stood in the dead centre of it. Curious, she tilted her head and reached towards it. As soon as she stood in front of it, two people appeared to stand beside her. 

A startled gasp left her lips, causing Castor to look up from flicking through the pages of the book he still held in his hand, courtesy of the Potter dragging him through the corridors in the middle of the night with no prior warning. 

"Lea, you alright?" 

She whipped her head to look back at him, her hurried nod making him pray she wouldn't have a sprain or something. She gave a weary smile, then looked back at the mirror, eyes glazing over at she stared at the couple. 

The woman, with fiery red hair and the warmest of smiles she'd ever seen, kept her hand on the girl's shoulder, but when Azalea reached out to hold it, there was nothing there. She tilted her head, mouthing, "Mom?", to which the ghost of the person nodded. 

They were right, it seemed. Calantha's mother and Mrs. Emma when they said she had her mother's eyes. If this was her mother, then she definitely had her eyes. Bright green, like the lush green fields she wanted to build a house in, with just a hint of gold, like scattered sunlight trying to escape from a dense forest, filtering its warm rays on any sign of life within. 

Then she analyzed the man. He was everything she imagined. The same mess of dark hair somehow held on the top of his head, big brown eyes washing over her like the setting sun, bathing her in a sense of warmth she wished would stay with her forever. The same warm smile, like coming home from a long day and smelling chocolate chip cookies in the oven. Tall stature, and askew glasses barely holding onto the bridge of his nose. 

She sniffled, reaching her fingers out to hold them, but all she met was glass. 

A hand squeezed her shoulder, making her jump, then look back with hope. 

It was just Castor. Looking a little — no, very — concerned. 

"Lea, what is it?"

"Don't you see?" Eyes widening, she pointed to the glass, "My parents. Don't you see them?" 

Castor frowned. Lily and James Potter were dead. They had been dead for fourteen years, and definitely not living in some piece of glass. 

He looked at the Mirror, mentally noting the inscription on its frame, only to see his family, happy and safe. 

And well, no scar on his collarbone. 

He looked back at her, eyes glazed with something a little more than hope, so he nodded, a little sad smile tugging at his mouth, "Y—Yeah, I see them. I see them too, Princess." 

Azalea grinned and nodded, wiping under her eyes, "What the hell is this?" 

"No idea." he shook his head, sighing. He rubbed her back as she sniffled quietly, then regretted that they had to leave. He reminded her of the same in a quiet whisper, "We need to leave before they come here, Lea. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." she shrugged, gulped, then the spark was back again, as if he hadn't just seen her become overwhelmed by seeing her parents'. . .picture? Ghosts? He didn't know. 

He just prayed she wouldn't come back here again. 

She just prayed that she was hallucinating when she saw her mother's pregnant belly. 

.  .  .

THE NEXT DAY, AZALEA WASN'T THERE AT BREAKFAST. 

She was barely there at lunch, zipping away as inconspicuously as she could, avoiding Castor like the plague.

"Mate, did something happen?" Ron nudged his shoulder, snapping the Prince out of his thoughts, "Is Azzie alright?" 

"Yeah. . .no." Castor picked at the steak on his plate. "She couldn't sleep last night and well, we went to the Restricted Section . . . we didn't find anything on Flamel but we found this Mirror, and she saw her parents in there." 

"Woah!" Ron's eyes went wide. "Were they actually there though? I mean, did you see them, in the mirror?" 

Castor gnawed on his lower lip and shook his head, "I saw mine though. She's obsessing over it and well, it isn't good is it? She didn't even have breakfast." 

"Alright, pipe down. You sound like mum." Ron chortled. "Maybe it shows everyone their family? But Azalea does have a family, doesn't she?"

"Mate, didn't you see what they sent her for Christmas? Just a bloody coin. Not the most loving batch, I'd reckon." 

Ron scrunched his mouth to a side. That wasn't the pleasantest of things he'd hear during holiday. 

"D'you think we should tell Dumbledore?" 

Ron regretted his suggestion as soon as he said it, and Castor's frantic denial only confirmed that it wasn't a great thought. 

"She'd hate us." Castor swallowed the last of his lunch. "'Sides, shouldn't we try talking to her first?" 

"Yeah. Let's go with her tonight." 

.  .  .

AZALEA POTTER HADN'T FAMILIARIZED WITH BEING OBSESSIVE. 

Her life had been simple, — horrible, but simple. She woke up, did her chores, have left overs, then, after the very early Dursley dinner at 5, after which she wasn't needed, she'd go to work. 

Then came Hogwarts, and with Hogwarts, secrets started unravelling, her past becoming less of lies she'd told herself and more of truth that she discovered. 

The Mirror she found was nothing but full of lies. She knew that. Her parents had died protecting her from the Big Bad Wolf, so there was no way that they were trapped in a Mirror of all places. They weren't Bloody Mary. They were people, they were buried somewhere, they were loved and are idolized. 

But some lies felt too good to not believe. So Azalea never slept that night. After coming back to the dorm, she tossed and turned and thought of her parents. A mix of emotions swirled through her under the cover of the night, to daybreak, when she hurried to the Great Hall and got breakfast while everyone still slept, and then sneaked away to the room, where she spent a good part of the day. 

Then she hurried back for lunch, the first to get there again, and just as she finished, Castor and Ron came in. 

So she came back, her cloak being her cover. 

She talked and talked and talked. About the Dursleys, about herself, about the friends she'd made when she was younger. About Mrs. Emma and Janus and Calantha and Calantha's parents and their myriad of pets. She talked about how she worked night and day, how her music teacher at her Muggle School, Mr. Periwinkle let her work at his music shop. 

All in hushed whispers and the fear that someone may find her, and take her away from this sweet lie. 

.  .  .

CASTOR HAD TIME TO KILL BEFORE DINNER. 

So he did what Hermione would applaud him for — went to the library. 

This time, Flamel wasn't his concern, Azalea was. 

The inscription had been noted down on a parchment as soon as he was back at his dorm, and now, he skimmed through Ancient Magical Instruments in hopes of finding the Mirror, or at least something similar. 

Finally, after flipping through three books large enough to be considered bricks, he found the mirror's picture. 

The writing engraved on the frame of the mirror was supposedly in a foreign and probably dead language, but if one looked closely it said "I show not your face but your heart's desire" backwards, with the spaces rearranged. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

The happiest and most satisfied person in the world would look in the mirror and see a reflection of them, exactly as they were, for they would then have no one and nothing more to yearn or desire for that the mirror could ever show them. But of course, it was intrinsically inherent for human nature to desire something greater than one's own self — meaning that an event wherein the mirror failed to carry out its intended purpose rarely, if at all, happened.

The Mirror of Erised is an ancient, ornate mirror. It has clawed feet and a gold frame inscribed with the phrase "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi". The mirror shows the most desperate desire of a person's heart, a vision that has been known to drive men mad.

.  .  .

"C'MON, WE'RE GONNA GO LOOK FOR FLAMEL."

Apparently that was enough to convince Azalea to let the boys tag along with her. 

And well, she was kind of excited to introduce Ron to her parents. 

That came crashing down when Ron told her that he didn't see her parents. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I see myself. . .only I'm Headboy. And I'm holding the Quidditch Cup — bloody hell, I'm Quidditch Captain too! I look good." 

"Azzie, Castor, y'think this mirror shows the future?" 

"Unless zombies exist here, I don't think so." Azalea shook her head, sighing in defeat. She looked at Castor, head tilted, while he avoided her gaze. 

The walk back to the Common Room was silent, partly because it was midnight and there were prefects around. . .and well, because Azalea now (kind of) knew the truth about the mirror. 

Ron stretched his arms and yawned as soon as they were inside, dragging himself back to his dorm with a murmured, "G' Night."

"What'd you see in the Mirror, Cas?" 

"My. . .my parents, and my aunt and my uncle and my brother and my sister. We were. . .happy." he shook his head. "I didn't have this,—" he pulled his collar down, pointing at the little, faded lightning bolt, "— this thing." 

Azalea only nodded, pursing her lips and wishing a quiet 'good night' before heading towards the dorms. 

"You can't go back there, Lea. Not ever." Castor moved towards the stairs again. "The Mirror, it shows not what you have but what you want. And slowly, it'll drive you crazy." 

"But — you don't get it." Azalea sniffled, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. "You have a family, a home. I don't. My parents are dead and they're never, ever coming back. Ever. All I've heard about them is that my dad was a good-for-nothing bastard and my mum was a freak of nature." 

"Princess—" 

"No, I have to go back there. I—I need to see them and talk to them. . ."

"Lea, don't you hear yourself," Castor gave her a sad smile, almost pitying her for a second. As soon as her shoulders started shaking, he pulled her to his chest, letting her cry it out. 

That night, when Castor went to bed, Regina wasn't on his bedside, and neither was it on his library card. 

The next night, when Azalea gave into temptation and went to the room again, but the Mirror wasn't there anymore.