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The sun had barely started painting the Hogwarts grounds, brushing the castle towers with a faint golden rim.
Cho tightened the straps of her Quidditch gear, slung her broom across her shoulder, and hurried through the castle corridors.
She stifled another yawn. Sleep still wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, but she didn't dare slow down.
Wood had the Gryffindor team out at the crack of dawn, and Ravenclaw refused to be outdone.
The path to the Quidditch pitch branched off from the castle's side door, cutting across an open grassy slope that hugged the lakeside.
On training or match days the route was packed with students. Normally it was just a pleasant walk to the lake or the edge of the Forbidden Forest for Care of Magical Creatures.
The distance wasn't short, but the view was gorgeous—castle behind you, lake ahead, distant mountains rolling on the horizon. Autumn turned the slope into a sea of gold; spring dotted it with wildflowers.
Right now, though, Cho had zero interest in the scenery. Cold and half-asleep, only her passion for Quidditch kept her feet moving.
She yawned again and finally noticed the faint, damp chill of white mist drifting across the grounds.
Visibility wasn't terrible, but the castle's outline had already gone soft and blurry in the distance.
"Fog? It's pretty thick…"
She muttered, shifting the broom to her other shoulder.
Suddenly, several shimmering streaks of light sliced through the mist, catching her eye.
Not sunlight—the sun hadn't reached this spot yet.
Magical light. Soft silver and gold, weaving through the fog like schools of fish, leaving fleeting trails that vanished almost instantly.
Cho followed the glow and spotted two figures not far ahead.
Curiosity sparked.
Quidditch players like her were already some of the earliest risers in the school.
Who else was up at this ungodly hour?
And from the looks of it, they'd been busy for a while.
The pair were waving their wands, floating objects of all shapes and sizes hovering around them—some spinning, some clicking together, glowing with different colored magical auras.
Occasional soft click sounds carried on the still air as pieces locked into place.
Cho took a few more steps and recognized one of them first.
Tall, lean, black hair, receding hairline that made him look older—definitely a senior. Slytherin crest on his robes.
The other person had their back to her, so she couldn't see their face.
Just as she was about to look away and keep walking, the second figure turned around.
In the morning mist, a boy's profile came into clear view.
Clean, sharp-yet-soft lines. Fair skin. Calm brows and eyes. Emerald-green irises faintly visible through the haze.
Cho blinked her pretty dark eyes.
Lucien?!
She quickened her pace without thinking.
…
"Thanks again for the help, Ryman. I could've finished before class."
Lucien carefully slotted a rune-carved stone slab into the base of the Fountain of Beauty while thanking the Slytherin beside him.
Ryman waved it off, using his wand to nudge a floating component into perfect alignment.
"No worries. I barely sleep anyway, and with graduation coming up my head's full of stuff—I'm awake before dawn. Ran into you, figured I'd lend a hand."
He sighed suddenly, a note of regret in his voice.
"Shame though. While we were off at Beauxbatons, Dumbledore himself was covering Alchemy. Merlin's beard, you should've seen how thrilled the kids who stayed behind were."
Lucien kept working, nodding with a smile.
"That's Dumbledore we're talking about!" Ryman's tone dripped with envy. "Getting to take his class, learn magic straight from him—that's a once-in-a-lifetime treat. If I'd known, I would've skipped the tournament and just stayed to crash those lessons."
Lucien couldn't help chuckling.
He was remembering his recent late-night chat with the old man. Dumbledore had admitted he actually wasn't cut out to be Headmaster—being a regular professor suited him far better.
"Students respect me, but they're also… 'afraid' of me," Dumbledore had said over tea, sounding resigned. "They don't dare come too close, don't joke around freely, and they even tiptoe past the Headmaster's office…"
He'd joked that swapping jobs with McGonagall might be better—she was far more capable of handling the day-to-day running of the school.
Then he could go back to what he loved: mingling with students in class, sharing fun stories from magical history, or turning candy wrappers into little tricks to make the first-years laugh.
In Lucien's opinion, although McGonagall was officially Deputy Headmistress, she'd basically been doing most of the Headmaster's work for years.
Dumbledore was the heart, the face, the flag the entire wizarding world looked up to.
If anyone deserved credit for keeping Hogwarts running smoothly day after day, it was probably Professor McGonagall.
As he turned to speak with Ryman, Lucien caught a familiar figure approaching from the corner of his eye.
Long black hair tied in a high ponytail, swinging cheerfully with every light step.
Quidditch padding on, broom resting on her shoulder.
Even through the morning mist, those beautiful dark eyes sparkled.
"Morning, Cho."