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The torches of the Gryffindor common room flickered against the stone walls, throwing long shadows over the two tallest boys in the room.
“Lo’ak and Kiri, again.” Neteyam pinched the bridge of his nose, his prefect’s badge gleaming faintly in the firelight. “Do you two have any idea how many house points I’ve had to talk professors out of docking because of your little stunts?”
Across from him, Lo’ak leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs with a smirk. “Oh come on, bro. It wasn’t even that bad. We just enchanted the suits of armor in the West Wing to march to the Great Hall singing sea shanties.”
Kiri, cross-legged on the rug, stifled a laugh behind her book. “They had good rhythm.”
“They chased three second-years into the kitchens.”
“Good exercise,” Lo’ak argued.
Aonung, lounging against Neteyam with a mischievous grin, nudged him in the ribs. “You’ve got to admit, it’s funny.”
Neteyam shot him a look. “You’re supposed to be helping me keep order, not encouraging them.”
But Aonung just kissed his cheek quickly before anyone could look. “I like chaos when it’s not me getting detention.”
From the staircase leading up to the Ravenclaw tower, Tsireya entered the common room shyly, her satchel slung over her shoulder. She had been studying in the library, her notes on Care of Magical Creatures neatly color-coded. The moment she saw Lo’ak’s grin light up at her presence, she felt her ears flush.
“Reya! Tell them it wasn’t that bad,” Lo’ak said, waving her over. “You liked the shanties, right?”
“I…” she bit her lip, trying not to smile. “They were a little catchy.”
Kiri clapped her hands triumphantly. “See? Someone appreciates culture.”
Before Neteyam could scold further, a shrill voice cut through the room.
“Neteyam!”
All heads turned to see Tuk, her green Slytherin scarf wrapped proudly around her neck. At twelve, she already had a talent for commanding attention. She marched into the common room with Rotxo trailing behind her, carrying her stack of books like an unwilling pack mule.
“You promised you’d help me with my Charms essay before patrol,” she said, plopping her parchment onto his lap without warning.
Neteyam groaned. “Tuk, this is the Gryffindor common room. You’re not even supposed to be in here.”
“Exceptions for sisters,” she said sweetly.
Rotxo shrugged apologetically. “She told me if I didn’t escort her up here she’d hex my quill to squawk like a banshee every time I wrote.”
Lo’ak snorted.
Later, at Dinner in the Great Hall
The long tables were buzzing with chatter, candles floating overhead. The Na’vi kids had unofficially claimed a section near the middle, where house lines blurred more than the professors liked.
Lo’ak was sliding peas down the table like marbles, trying to land them in Tsireya’s goblet. Every time she scolded him, her laugh gave her away.
Kiri had somehow acquired a jar of enchanted beetles from the Herbology greenhouse and was watching them spell out rude words across her plate.
“Don’t even think about it,” Neteyam warned, eyes sharp.
“What?” Kiri blinked innocently.
“You’re planning something. I can feel it.”
“Just science,” she said smugly.
Meanwhile, Tuk was perched between Rotxo and Aonung, holding court like a queen. “And then, the Potions professor said I brewed the best draft in class. She said I had ‘natural cunning.’ What do you think that means?”
“Means you’re trouble,” Rotxo muttered under his breath.
“It means she’s going to run Slytherin one day,” Aonung teased, giving her hair a playful ruffle.
Neteyam smiled faintly, even as he kept one watchful eye on his younger siblings. For all the chaos, for all the detentions and scoldings, he wouldn’t trade this for anything. Hogwarts wasn’t like the reefs of Awa’atlu, but with all of them together, it felt like home.
And when Aonung’s hand brushed against his under the table, warm and steady, Neteyam thought maybe, just maybe, this world had its own kind of magic.
The first snow of the year had dusted the castle grounds, turning the towers and turrets into silver spires. By breakfast, the chatter in the Great Hall was all about the first Hogsmeade weekend, the enchanted ceiling above showing flakes drifting lazily down from a cloudy sky.
Neteyam was halfway through his porridge when Lo’ak slid into the bench beside him, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Big brother,” he said in a voice dripping with mock respect. “What are the odds you don’t notice me sneaking Tuk out of school?”
Neteyam froze, spoon hovering mid-air. “…What?”
On cue, Tuk appeared, bundled in her green scarf and mittens, smiling innocently as she squeezed between him and Rotxo.
“I’ve never been to Hogsmeade,” she announced. “And you’re not leaving me behind.”
Aonung, already munching on toast, chuckled. “She’s got a point. It’s unfair.”
“Unfair?” Neteyam said sharply. “She’s twelve. She’s not allowed off school grounds yet.”
“But you’ll be there,” Tuk reasoned. “And Lo’ak and Kiri. And Rotxo. And-” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Aonung.”
Neteyam groaned. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”
Kiri finally looked up from her book. “Relax, Neteyam. You worry too much. We’ll keep her safe.”
“You and Lo’ak keeping her safe?” Neteyam muttered. “That’s reassuring.”
Later – The Road to Hogsmeade
The path to the village stretched out beneath a pale sky, snow crunching under boots. Students laughed and shoved snowballs at one another as they trudged down the hill.
Neteyam kept a hand tucked into Aonung’s as they walked ahead of the others, trying not to show how much he was still watching Tuk out of the corner of his eye.
Behind them, Lo’ak had somehow convinced Tsireya to walk with him, though he was trying very hard not to trip on the icy slope and embarrass himself.
“Careful,” Tsireya said, steadying him by the sleeve. Her laugh rang like chimes in the cold air.
Lo’ak’s heart somersaulted. “Thanks. I was, uh… testing the slipperiness. For potions.”
Kiri rolled her eyes so hard it was audible.
Rotxo trudged along beside her, muttering. “We’re all going to get expelled, I can feel it.”
“Relax,” Kiri said. “This is practically tradition. First snow, first sneak-out. It’s part of the Hogwarts experience.”
“Not according to the rulebook.”
“When have you ever cared about the rulebook?”
“I don’t, but Neteyam does, and he’ll drag me down with him when he finds out.”
“Too late,” Neteyam’s voice called back.
Rotxo flinched.
In Hogsmeade – Honeydukes
The sweetshop was alive with color and sound. Shelves groaned with chocolate frogs, fizzing whizbees, and rows of lollipops that swirled into different shapes when you blinked.
Tuk pressed her nose to the glass counter. “I want all of it.”
“You can have three things,” Neteyam said firmly.
“Five.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
Aonung nudged him with a grin. “Let her have four, mighty prefect. Don’t crush her spirit.”
Neteyam sighed, defeated. Tuk beamed, dragging Rotxo off toward the taffy section.
Meanwhile, Lo’ak stood in front of a wall of butterbeer fudge, trying very hard to think of something clever to say to Tsireya. He blurted out, “Uh… you like sugar, right?”
Tsireya tilted her head, amused. “I think most people do.”
“Cool, cool. Same.”
Kiri snorted into her sleeve.
Outside – Hogsmeade Streets
By the time they left Honeydukes, the village was blanketed in deeper snow. Students darted between shops, laughter carried on the wind.
Kiri spun around, face tilted up to the sky. “Doesn’t it feel… I don’t know. Like one of those stories in books? Where everyone’s together and happy and it’s just… perfect?”
Lo’ak, standing a little closer to Tsireya than strictly necessary, grinned. “Yeah. Feels like… magic, or something.”
“Wow,” Kiri deadpanned. “Poetic.”
Neteyam glanced at his siblings, at Tuk’s arms full of sweets, at Lo’ak’s pink cheeks as Tsireya adjusted his scarf, at Kiri’s faraway smile. For the first time in weeks, he let himself relax. Maybe sneaking Tuk along wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe this was the kind of memory they’d all carry for years.
And when Aonung quietly slipped his gloved hand into his again, Neteyam thought that yes, this was worth the trouble.
Of course, that was when Tuk accidentally hexed a snowman into chasing first-years down the street.
“TUK!” Neteyam shouted.
Lo’ak doubled over laughing. “Best. Hogsmeade trip. Ever.”
By the time the group trudged back up the path to the castle, dusk had already settled. The windows of Hogwarts glowed golden against the falling snow, welcoming them in from the chill.
Neteyam had spent the last hour alternating between scolding Tuk and making sure she didn’t slip on the ice, so by the time they returned her safely to the Slytherin common room (where she immediately began bragging to anyone who would listen), he felt wrung out.
“Your prefect duties are going to give you wrinkles,” Aonung teased as they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower. His smile lingered in the dim corridor, blue eyes glinting under torchlight.
“I don’t have wrinkles,” Neteyam said automatically.
“Not yet,” Aonung said, nudging him with his shoulder. “But if you keep worrying like an old professor, you will.”
Neteyam tried to stay serious, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
By the time they muttered the password and entered the Gryffindor common room, most students were still at dinner, the room quiet and warm. The fire burned low in the hearth, and a few enchanted snowflakes drifted lazily in the air before melting into nothing.
Their dormitory was equally still, beds neatly made and curtains drawn back. The moment Neteyam dropped his scarf on the floor, Aonung flopped onto his bed dramatically, letting out a groan that made Neteyam laugh in spite of himself.
“Exhausted?” Neteyam asked, tugging off his boots.
“Destroyed,” Aonung replied, rolling onto his back. “You dragged us through snow, up hills, into shops, and then-” he threw an arm across his forehead- “you yelled at me like I was part of the Tuk conspiracy.”
“You were part of the Tuk conspiracy,” Neteyam said, smirking.
“Details.”
Neteyam shook his head and sank onto the bed beside him. For a moment, silence settled, just the soft crackle of fire from the common room below, and their quiet breaths.
Then Aonung reached out, tugged Neteyam down until they were lying shoulder to shoulder, and whispered, “You know you liked it. Today. Even the chaos.”
Neteyam turned his head, meeting his gaze. The faintest smile ghosted his lips. “Maybe.”
Aonung grinned, triumphant, before leaning in and kissing him. It wasn’t hurried or desperate, just warm, soft, and lingering. Neteyam’s laugh bubbled against his mouth, muffled as Aonung kissed him again, then again, until both of them were grinning too hard to stay serious.
They collapsed sideways onto the blankets, tangled together, still giggling between kisses.
“Stop laughing,” Neteyam said, though he was the one laughing hardest now.
“You first,” Aonung shot back, and kissed him once more just to prove his point.
When they finally stilled, breathless and quiet, Neteyam rested his forehead against Aonung’s. The weight of the day slipped off his shoulders, leaving only the warmth of the boy in his arms and the muffled sounds of snow against the window.
“Don’t tell anyone I said this,” Neteyam murmured, eyes slipping closed, “but maybe I did like today.”
Aonung’s smile softened. “Knew it.”
And just like that, surrounded by warmth and laughter, the world outside could wait.