Evangeline O’Brien

The walk with Evangeline, as always, ended in a complete catastrophe.

The wind whistled in their ears so loudly it drowned out their own thoughts; cold currents tore through the air, lashed their faces, tugged at the cloak that slapped loudly against their boots. The brooms raced low over the treetops, clipping the crowns, and only now, as the distance grew, did it become clear that the furious cry of the hippogriff, thank Merlin, was left behind.

Evangeline, of course, looked as though what was happening was the best part of her day. She spun through the air, nearly letting go of her broom, pulled a sharp flip, laughing so brightly and carefreely as if a raging predatory beast hadn’t been chasing them moments ago. Her red curls flared up in a fiery whirlwind, her cloak flew open, she adored these moments right after another adventure.

"Did you see that?!" she shouted through the wind, turning back around. "Did you see how I dodged her talons?!"

She immediately repeated the very same maneuver in the air: a sharp tilt, a dive downward, a fast pirouette. With her free hand, Evangeline enthusiastically mimicked the sweep of massive claws, adding theatrical sound effects, as if reliving the moment all over again.

"She chased us for so long!" She went on, laughing. "Well, you can understand her. She thought we were stealing her baby!"

Eva’s laughter spread over the forest, light and contagious, nothing like the laughter of someone who had nearly become prey just minutes ago.

The hippogriff, of course, was mistaken. They had simply been flying over the Forbidden Forest. This place was familiar to Evangeline like the back of her hand: the bends of the paths, the dangerous areas, the places where it was better not to make noise. And it was there, away from the usual routes, that they came across a baby hippogriff tangled in a crude hunter’s trap.

It struggled, hissed, beat its wings, but the bindings held tight.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Eva protested when the idea of calling adults came up. "Do you have any idea how long that would take?! We need to free him immediately!"

And they did. Fingers trembling, magic faltering, the forest holding its breath... and then the air was torn apart by a piercing cry.

The mother.

Rage, wings, talons, a shadow crashing down from above.

And now they were flying away, leaving danger, adrenaline, and narrowly escaped lives behind them.

"Oh my God..." Evangeline suddenly breathed out and sharply slowed down. "Look!"

She pulled something out of her hair, caught there, tangled in her curls. Fluffy, warm, with a soft shimmer of light. A feather.

"It’s from the baby!" Her eyes lit up as if she had found a treasure. "Oh my God, do you understand what this is?!" She pressed the feather to her chest, as if afraid the wind might snatch it away. "It’s worth a fortune!" Eva squealed, and her excitement lit everything around them brighter than the sunset sky. "Can you imagine how much we’ll be able to buy at “Honeydukes”?!"

Her joyful squeal echoed over the treetops, and even the forest seemed to accept it: yes, they got away again. As always.

The Potions classroom was drowned in its familiar half-light.

The stone walls had absorbed years of steam, smoke, and magic; the air was thick with smells bitter roots, metallic dust, the sweetly sharp infusion of asphodel. Somewhere water dripped softly, somewhere cauldrons bubbled, and throughout the room spread the steady sound of knives methodically slicing ingredients.

"Proper combination of components," Alastair Rookwood said evenly, standing at his desk, "is not a matter of inspiration. It is a matter of discipline. The slightest deviation from the recipe and you will end up with not a potion, but a problem."

He clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked between the rows. His robes barely rustled; Rookwood moved as quietly and composedly as ever. He stopped by cauldrons, cast brief glances, sometimes leaning in to correct proportions.

"Valerian root must be cut at an angle," he said without raising his voice. "We want to preserve the plant’s sap and gain maximum benefit. Miss Fletcher, pay attention."

Someone swallowed. Someone sped up their movements. The cauldrons continued to bubble evenly.

Rookwood moved on.

The last row was passed just as calmly, right up until the moment Evangeline’s table came within arm’s reach.

POOF.

The sound was soft, almost innocent, but the effect was overwhelming. From Evangeline’s cauldron, with a cheerful pop, a cloud of sparkling pink glitter burst forth, instantly filling the space around it. The sparkles rose upward, swirled through the air, and gently settled... everywhere.

For the first second, the classroom was silent.

Then stifled giggles. Someone bit into a sleeve. Someone turned away, pretending to cough.

Alastair Rookwood stood perfectly straight.

His hands were still clasped behind his back. He slowly opened his eyes and lowered his gaze.

His robes, hair, shoulders everything was coated in a fine layer of shimmering pink glitter. Even something sparkled on his eyelashes.

"Wow!" Evangeline exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing her hands up. "This looks even better than I expected!" She laughed light, sincere and immediately bent over her parchment, hurriedly making notes. "So... if you replace the fae infusion with three drops of petal syrup... yes, this part is definitely important..."

The laughter in the classroom grew, but remained muted no one dared to laugh out loud.

Alastair ran a hand over his face, wiping away glitter with tired, almost philosophical resignation.

"Minus five, Hufflepuff." He muttered, turning and heading toward his desk, already reaching for his wand in order to eliminate the consequences of the chaos named Eva as quickly as possible and at the same time not leave the last remnants of a professor’s dignity in this pink mess...

"And now," Rookwood added, gently flicking his wand and clearing the cloud of glitter from himself, "if Miss O’Brien has finished creating... visual effects, we will return to potion-making."

The cauldrons continued to bubble. The glitter slowly settled. And Evangeline, shining no less brightly than it, was already writing the name of a new recipe in her notebook.

The Hogwarts library in the evening was almost unrecognizable.

Usually strict and filled with the rustle of turning pages, it was now drowned in a soft half-light. Tall windows reflected the warm glow of candles, and between the shelves Christmas decorations shimmered enchanted stars and delicate garlands, glinting faintly as if afraid to disturb the silence. There were hardly any students: only a few distant figures, and the echo of footsteps dissolving among the rows of books.

Somewhere here, Evangeline was supposed to be.

Noisy, restless, impossible and, according to rumor, sent to detention for yet another trouble she had caused. What exactly she had done this time, no one really knew: the theories ranged from “something exploded” to “something came to life.” In any case, Professor Agatha Brinmor had asked {{user}} to check on how the punished student was handling her task.

At the far end of the hall, away from the walkways, in a small secluded corner between tall shelves, she was found. Completely unlike what one would have expected to see.

Evangeline was asleep.

She sat at a heavy wooden table, her head fallen onto an open book. Red curls spilled in a soft wave across the pages and the tabletop, catching the warm candlelight. Her face was calm, relaxed, almost childlike: freckles barely visible, lips slightly parted, lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. There was no trace of her usual mischief in this sleep only quiet and slow, even breathing.

Her cloak lay loosely around her, and the candles seemed to burn more dimly, as if the library itself had decided to take care of the little breaker of rules. One hand rested on a page with moving illustrations they shimmered and turned on their own, softly, unwilling to wake their viewer.

Nearby rose neat but overly tall stacks of books. Farther on stood two carts loaded to the brim with textbooks and folios: judging by this, she had been assigned sorting duty. The work was clearly meant to take hours... if not the entire night.

But curiosity proved stronger.

Evangeline had probably sat down “just for a minute” to look at the illustrations — and the library, lulled by silence, Christmas light, and the warmth of pages, took its due. Even chaos sometimes falls asleep.