Chapter Text
Hallie closed the flaps of the last box and pressed the sealing charm in place, watching the cardboard fold in with a soft sigh. Her bedroom, the one she’d lived in whenever they stayed in the city, when the Hamptons felt too crowded with tourists, looked more like a hotel room now. Blank walls. Bare shelves. Just sunlight pouring through the windows and the ghost of her life folded up into neat little compartments.
She stood slowly, stretching the stiffness from her knees, and crossed the room toward the windows where the light pooled warm across the floor.
Diamond, her ever-opinionated cat, sat perched atop one of the packed boxes like a queen on her throne, her snowy white fur gleaming in the light. She flicked her tail with practiced indifference, though Hallie didn’t miss the way her ears twitched every time someone walked down the hall.
“You don’t like it either, do you?” Hallie murmured, running a finger under Diamond’s chin. The cat let out a soft, ladylike chirp as if moving were far too undignified for creatures of their stature.
Hallie tucked a curl behind her ear and let her gaze sweep the room one last time. Her sketchbook lay on the bed, still open from last night, with a pressed flower tucked into the binding, something from Central Park last spring. Her wand was tucked beneath it, out of sight but always close. It felt strange, knowing this room would no longer belong to her by the time the sun set.
A soft knock came at the door before her godmother stepped halfway in. “Movers’ll be here in ten,” she said, her voice warm but brisk. “Richard’s trying to get Alicia to stop packing half her Quidditch gear. She thinks Viktor Krum will sign them when we’re at the World Cup.”
Cassie scanned the boxes. “You ready?”
“Almost,” Hallie said.
Cassie nodded, lingering just a second longer than usual, then disappeared back down the hall.
Diamond gave a dramatic sigh as much as a cat could and leapt daintily down from the box, circling once before settling herself on top of Hallie’s open sketchbook, like she knew exactly where not to sit.
Hallie reached over carefully, lifting the back pocket without disturbing Diamond, and found the photo before her thoughts did.
It was creased at the corners, the colors a little faded from how often she’d handled it. The Weasleys in Egypt all gathered in front of the pyramids, a blur of sunburnt smiles, striped robes, and ancient stone. Cassie had said they’d gone to visit one of the older sons. Bill, maybe.
She didn’t know any of them. Not really. But her eyes always found Fred.
Fred stood at the far left, just a step removed from the rest of the family, holding a camera like he was the one meant to capture the moment instead of being in it. He wore loose, sand-colored robes and a white head covering that made his grin look even brighter, like mischief disguised as politeness.
There was something unposed about him. Like the others had arranged themselves for a picture, but he had wandered into it by accident and decided to stay. Hallie's gaze lingered on the lines of his smile, the slight squint of his eyes, like he’d just made someone laugh right before the shutter clicked.
Her thumb brushed his face.
“Still staring at Mr. Weasley’s mischievous grin?” a voice teased from the doorway.
Hallie glanced up at Cassie’s oldest, Peri. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am simply looking at a photo from Chanel’s latest collection.”
Peri stepped inside, grinning. “Right. Because nothing says high fashion like sunburnt smiles and ancient pyramids.”
Hallie smirked, sliding the photo carefully back into the pocket of her sketchbook. “Well, if fashion shoots ever need a new backdrop, I’m ready.”
Peri laughed, shaking her head. “Sure you are. Just don’t tell me you’re secretly planning to swoon over Mr. Camera Guy.”
Hallie rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “As if. I’m personally going for Harry Potter.” She picked up a copy of Witch Weekly. “He’s described as Witch Weekly’s most eligible bachelor under seventeen. It was Viktor Krum until his birthday. Not that I was interested. Quidditch boys are so icky.”
“You play Quidditch,” Peri said, raising an eyebrow.
Hallie sighed, feigning exasperation. “Because I needed to prove I’m fabulous at another skill. I can paint, design clothes, write anything from stories to songs, which are just poems with music. Speaking of music, I’m talented on all the instruments that interest me.”
Peri smirked, folding her arms. “So basically, you’re a one-woman creative army. Just don’t forget us mere mortals when you’re famous.”
Hallie shot her a mock glare. “Please. I’ll still sign autographs for you.”
Peri laughed. “Good. Because I’ve already got my poster ready.”
She was still smirking when Richard stepped through the open doorway, a gentle smile on his face. “Have you two finished packing yet?”
Hallie exchanged a quick look with Peri, then turned to Richard.
“I’m done,” Hallie said.
“Almost. Just about finished, Papa,” Peri added.
Richard nodded, folding his hands calmly. “Good. Hallie, could you take your boxes downstairs, please? Peri, please finish up here. The movers will be here soon.”
Peri flashed one last smirk at Hallie before turning back to the remaining boxes. “Alright, Your Highness, I’m off to finish packing. Don’t keep the movers waiting.”
Richard gave a warm nod as he stepped toward the door. “I’ll go make sure everything’s on track.”
Hallie watched them go, the sudden stillness feeling heavier somehow, as if the room was holding its breath along with her. She drew in a slow breath, the faint scent of polished wood and fresh paper grounding her.
She bent down carefully, fingers curling around the lightest box, lifting it with practiced ease, placing her sketchbook on top before standing. Barefoot on the cool, polished floors, she moved deliberately toward the staircase, each step echoing softly in the spacious penthouse.
The boxes she carried thudded gently as she set them down beside the others already waiting. Their neat stacks, labeled in Cassie’s meticulous handwriting, stood like silent sentinels by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Outside, the city shimmered in the late afternoon sun, glass and steel catching the light like a perfectly styled magazine spread. Yet inside, the space felt less like home and more like a paused moment, a beautiful stillness stretched thin by the promise of change.
Hallie’s fingers brushed the smooth edges of the boxes, tracing the familiar curves of their labels as if trying to hold on to the memories tucked inside.
She paused near the window, fingers grazing the spine of her sketchbook as if it might anchor her.
Behind her, the muffled voices of her younger sisters, Alicia and Mallory, drifted in from elsewhere, arguing over which stuffed animals had made it into their carry-ons. From the kitchen, her godmother’s voice floated sharp, efficient, mid-call with someone from the Ministry of Magic.
She turned back toward the living room, where the last sliver of the skyline was still visible. It was hard to believe that by sunset, they’d be in another country, in another life.
There was so much she didn’t know about what waited for them in London. But she did know one thing: she was finally going to meet the boy in the picture.
A soft buzz sounded through the intercom, followed by the elevator dinging open in the lobby below. Footsteps and the low murmur of voices floated up the stairwell, signaling the movers had arrived.
“Diamond, time to get ready,” Hallie said softly, lifting the snowy cat from her perch and settling her gently into her carrier. She clicked the latch shut, making sure her queen was secure.
From the hallway, her twin appeared, carrying a box carefully cradled in her arms. “Need a hand with anything?” she asked with a small smile.
Hallie nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Holly. We’re just about ready.”
Mallory and Alicia followed close behind, giggling quietly as they jostled over who’d hold the last stuffed animal. The energy of the younger sisters was a comforting buzz amid the quiet packing.
Cassie’s voice echoed down the hall. “Everyone, let’s gather. We don’t want to keep the limo waiting.”
Hallie tucked the carrier under her arm and led the way through the apartment’s polished hallway. Outside the glass doors of their building, the sleek black limousine waited patiently, its glossy surface reflecting the city skyline.
Richard stood by the door, smiling gently. “Ready for the next chapter?”
One by one, the family filed into the limo, settling comfortably among each other. Hallie looked down at Diamond, now nestled quietly at her feet. The hum of the city was a distant pulse, fading as the doors closed.
The limo eased into motion, gliding through the late afternoon traffic like it belonged to a world just a touch out of sync with the rest. Hallie leaned against the window, watching the city blur past in ribbons of steel and sun. Skyscrapers stretched like monuments to memory, each street corner a flicker of something she was leaving behind.
Diamond shifted in her carrier at Hallie’s feet, letting out a sleepy huff. Holly sat beside her with earbuds in, listening to her Discman. Richard and Cassie murmured in low tones at the front, already half-turned toward whatever waited in London.
They’d been told the move was because of Cassie’s job with the British Ministry of Magic. A promotion, supposedly. A relocation that “couldn’t be declined.”
Hallie, Holly, and Peri had all been granted rare mid-year transfers to Hogwarts, something Holly had quietly called “unprecedented.”
Beyond that? The adults hadn’t said much. And none of the sisters had asked too many questions, not because they weren’t curious, but because they knew they wouldn’t get answers.
They passed Central Park, glowing gold in the light, then wound through Queens until the skyline began to fall behind them.
The limo turned off the main airport route, passing through a nondescript access gate and winding down a narrow road marked only by a discreet sigil invisible to Muggles unless you knew where to look. Ivy curled over stone pillars and old brickwork that framed the entrance to a magically protected corner of JFK, one maintained quietly by no-maj authorities but tailored for wizarding families needing international travel.
To any passerby, it might have looked like just another private airstrip, a quiet part of the airport reserved for high-profile clients. But to those in the know, the enchantments were subtle and layered: anti-no-maj charms, soundproofing spells, even a mild Confundus haze that encouraged airport staff to look the other way.
A sleek white jet waited on the tarmac, engines humming in quiet readiness, its stairway already lowered. From the outside, it looked like any luxurious no-maj aircraft. Inside, it had been expanded with enchanted compartments, featherlight charm storage, and sound-dampened sleeping areas.
The pilot, a tall man in a tailored uniform with a wand tucked neatly into one sleeve, stood near the base of the stairs. Hallie wasn’t sure if he was a half-blood, a pure-blood with a fascination for flight, or something else entirely.
Movers in smart, charmed uniforms began unloading the family’s trunks and carefully levitating the enchanted crates onto the plane. Richard exchanged a few words with the pilot while Cassie reviewed documentation scrawled in invisible ink and sealed with Ministry sigils.
Hallie waited until the others had boarded. Then she turned, just once, to look back at the skyline.
The Empire State Building shimmered faintly in the late sun, not like a monument, but like a memory waving goodbye.
She climbed the steps, each footfall feeling like the turn of a page.
By the time she reached the top, the past was just a shadow on the pavement below.
The interior of the jet was nothing like a commercial flight or even most private jets. It was sleek, yes, with soft lighting and polished fixtures, but something in the air shimmered just a little when you stepped inside. The space stretched wider than the fuselage should allow, charmed for comfort and privacy. Rows of plush leather seats lined one side, while the other held a small lounge nook with enchanted windows that mimicked daylight no matter the hour.
There was a faint scent of cedar and lemon polish in the air, the same mix Cassie always used at home, and the gentle thrum of the engines felt more like the heartbeat of the ship than mechanical noise.
Hallie settled into a wide seat beside the window, dropping her sketchbook gently into the pocket in front of her. Diamond’s carrier nestled neatly beneath her feet, charmed to stay cool and quiet. Across the aisle, Holly slid into place with a sigh and stretched out, her bag already open to reveal a tangled mess of books and headphones.
Mallory and Alicia had claimed the corner lounge, where a glowing globe hovered in the air between them, casting soft light onto their matching travel pillows. Cassie was already reading through a stack of parchment, half of it probably classified, while a tray of tea appeared on command beside her.
Richard stepped on board last, a faint smile playing at his lips. He adjusted the lapel of his charcoal coat, waited for the door to seal with a gentle shhh-click, then clapped his hands lightly for attention.
“Before we take off,” he said, voice full of quiet mischief, “I have something for my favorite girls.”
Holly raised an eyebrow. “All of us?”
“Of course. I’ve been told bribes make transitions easier.” He reached into the satchel slung across his shoulder and, with a bit of exaggerated flair, pulled out three small, square boxes each wrapped in matte silver paper.
He handed one to each of his daughters.
Hallie peeled the paper back slowly, revealing a gleaming, brand-new Discman, still in its molded plastic case. Her eyes widened.
“Are you serious?” Alicia gasped.
“Top of the line,” Richard said proudly. “Battery charm lasts the whole flight. Pre-loaded with some of your favorites, I enlisted Hallie and Peri’s help for the playlists.”
Mallory already had hers halfway set up. “We’re allowed to listen on the plane?”
“Of course,” Richard said. “This jet runs on mixed tech and magic. I told the pilot, a Ravenclaw, by the way, that if anything fizzles, I’ll recalibrate the stabilizers myself.” He winked, then added with mock offense, “What kind of father would I be if I didn’t let you girls have music on a transatlantic flight?”
Hallie smiled to herself as she plugged in the headphones and pressed play. A soft strum of guitar filled her ears, followed by Madonna’s voice, familiar and golden, like sunlight through memory. She hadn’t heard the song in ages, but the moment it started, it felt like coming home.
She reached for her sketchbook, flipped to a blank page, and began to draw gentle lines capturing the view outside the enchanted window, where the clouds were slowly parting and the sky stretched wide with promise. The music flowed around her, mingling with the low hum of the jet and the occasional murmur of her sisters in the background.
Time passed in soft increments: a shift in light, a turned page, a song fading into another. The sky outside darkened as they soared above the Atlantic, and Hallie had nearly filled the page with soft cloud contours and streaks of imagined light.
She set the pencil down and absently reached for her sketchbook’s back pocket.
The photo slipped free with practiced ease. Hallie didn’t even need to look; her thumb already knew the creases, the ridges, the exact texture of that worn edge.
She studied it again. Fred Weasley. The grin. The camera. That quiet, unbothered confidence like he belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.
“You look at that picture a lot,” a voice piped up beside her.
Hallie blinked and turned to see Alicia, curled up in the seat across the aisle, head tilted, watching her with open curiosity.
Hallie hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “Do I?”
“Mmhmm.” Alicia kicked her feet slightly. “You think he’s cute.”
Hallie huffed a soft laugh and looked back down at the photo.
“You’re ten. What do you know about having a crush?”
Alicia crossed her arms. “I like Viktor Krum.”
“You like how he plays Quidditch.”
“I still think he’s handsome.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“And?” Alicia lifted an eyebrow. “You like him.”
“I don’t even know him,” Hallie said, though her voice had already softened.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t think he’s cute,” Alicia replied, with the casual smugness of someone completely confident she was right.
Hallie didn’t answer. Not directly. She just traced the edge of the picture again and said quietly, “It’s not really about that.”
Alicia frowned. “Then what is it about?”
Hallie glanced back out the window. The clouds had turned dusky, the horizon glowing faintly with the early blush of a different sky. A different country. A different chapter.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “It just feels like… Fred matters. Somehow.”
Alicia didn’t press further. She shrugged and returned to her comic book, content with the answer or at least with the mystery.
The soft hum of the jet’s engines faded beneath the steady pulse of the clouds drifting past the enchanted window. Hallie leaned her head against the cool glass, the photo tucked safely in her sketchbook’s pocket, and let the world outside blur into a quiet promise.
Somewhere far below, the patchwork fields and sleepy villages of England spread out beneath a deepening twilight. The Burrow, the Weasley family home, lay nestled among orchards and wildflowers, its windows glowing softly against the encroaching night.
Inside, the warm glow of a bedside lamp lit a cluttered room filled with scattered joke products and the faint scent of lemon polish. Fred Weasley sat by the window, the same photo Hallie had traced now resting in his hands.
Half-packed trunks leaned against the wall beneath the narrow window, cluttering the room with the remnants of an interrupted move. The latest joke inventions claimed every spare inch of floor space, fake wands humming quietly, color-shifting inkpots bubbling faintly, and a small box that let out a disgruntled belch every thirty seconds. Extendable ears dangled from the ceiling like lazy vines.
They were supposed to be cleaning.
“Alright,” George said, sprawled across his bed with a tilted Butterbeer cap, “hear me out: Nosebleed Nougat, but with an antidote center that actually doesn’t taste like boiled socks this time.”
Fred hadn’t spoken for the last ten minutes.
George squinted at him. “You even listening?”
Fred turned the photo over slowly. “What?”
George pushed himself up, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve been mooning over that picture again, haven’t you?”
Fred said nothing.
The photo, sent by Cassie Banks weeks ago, showed a family at their summer house. Hallie stood slightly apart, wind tousling her curls as she laughed at something off-camera, caught in a moment that felt impossibly real.
Fred’s thumb traced the worn edge.
“You barely know her,” George said bluntly.
“I know.”
“She’s not even here yet.”
“I know that, too.”
George flopped back onto his pillow with an exaggerated sigh. “Merlin, help us. Fred Weasley, struck down by a smile.”
Fred gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not just that.”
“What, then?”
Fred hesitated, searching for words even he wasn’t sure made sense. His gaze drifted to the orchard outside, silvered by moonlight.
“It’s like…” he began, then stopped.
George waited.
Fred tried again. “It’s like there’s a thread, tied to something I haven’t seen yet. But I will.”
A quiet moment passed.
George whistled softly. “Alright, if you’re going to start speaking in riddles, I’m definitely not helping with the cleaning.”
Fred rolled his eyes. “You weren’t helping anyway.”
“Details.” George grinned and waved a quill like a wand. “But if you’re right, if there really is some magical string pulling you two together, just don’t let Mum catch you skipping chores for destiny. She’d cut that string real fast.”
Fred laughed, the sound easing the weight in the room.
Then, quieter, he looked down at the photo again.
“She’s in Ron’s year, you know.”
George raised an eyebrow. “You asked Mum?”
“She said she’d be starting with us this September. Sorted once she gets to Hogwarts.”
George leaned back against the headboard, thoughtful. “Well, then… I guess we’ll find out soon enough if your mystery girl is fate… or just really good at smiling.”
Fred said nothing, fingers curling tighter around the photo as if it held the answers he was searching for.
“Though, wait. Hallie is fourteen, right? And you’re sixteen. Is that two-year gap enough to worry you? Or do you just not care because she’s got that killer smile?”
Fred blinked, caught off guard. “She’s not just a smile.”
George threw a crumpled piece of parchment at him. “I’m just saying, if you start acting like a lovesick first-year, I’m blaming you.”
Fred smiled faintly. “Not worried. If there’s something there, age won’t be the thing that matters.”
George laughed, shaking his head. “Well, you’re braver than I am.”
Outside, the orchard whispered in the night breeze, and somewhere distant, the clock in the sitting room chimed ten.