Snowy Hawk Soars and Heart Ripples

The lingering warmth of the Christmas holiday still hung in the air, but Hogwarts had already welcomed the biting chill of January. The wind from the Scottish Highlands carried fine, dense snowflakes, and the castle's stone walls were once again clad in a thick silver coat. The Common Room fireplace had become the most popular spot, the air thick with the scent of hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts.

Life after returning to school quickly grew tense. In the library, Hermione was frowning at the complex steps for the Shrinking Potion in Magical Drafts and Potions, her quill scratching across the parchment. Lynn sat across from her, the restored Pen of Stars gliding smoothly over deep blue notes as he sketched an Ancient Runes energy model, the sapphire at its tip pulsing with restrained starlight.

"Lynn," Hermione looked up, rubbing her tired eyes, "Professor McGonagall said the Quidditch team is starting tryouts for new players next week, especially Seekers. Charlie Weasley graduated, so Gryffindor's in urgent need." She paused, looking at him with a hint of expectation she didn't fully notice herself. "Will you... give it a shot? Your flying talent..." She recalled that brief, stunning hover above Diagon Alley before term started.

Lynn's gaze lifted from his notes to Hermione's face. The snowy light from the window caught her earnest expression. "Quidditch?" His voice was calm. "Not much interest." Guarding and exploring magic itself was his core goal; intense competitive matches weren't his first choice.

A flicker of disappointment, barely perceptible, passed through Hermione's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by understanding. She nodded. "Right, the training takes up a lot of time. But Harry will definitely try out! Ron says he's been muttering about broom models in the Common Room every day, practically drooling over Complete Book of Broomsticks."

The topic shifting to Harry, Hermione perked up again, starting to analyze the technical points of each position with the earnestness of a top student. Lynn listened quietly, nodding occasionally.

A few days later, on an early weekend morning. The wind was still biting cold. The Quidditch pitch was covered in thick snow, gleaming a cold white under the gray sky. A sparse handful of students braved the cold on the stands, mostly Gryffindors there to cheer for their House's tryouts, bundled up tightly, their breath vanishing instantly in the air.

At the center of the pitch, Gryffindor Quidditch captain Oliver Wood was waving his arms, explaining the tryout rules in a booming voice. Beside him stood a few veteran players, including the red-haired twin brothers Fred and George Weasley. Harry stood among a group of nervous newcomers, rubbing his hands anxiously, his eyes fixed on the several different model school brooms at Wood's feet.

Lynn and Hermione sat in the front row of the stands. Hermione was wrapped in a thick scarf and woolen hat, only her bright eyes showing, clutching a thermos enchanted with a Warming Charm, filled with hot chocolate she'd specially brewed that morning. Lynn wore a dark coat, the light gold Star-Moon scarf casually looped around his neck, accentuating the calm lines of his profile.

"Look! It's Harry!" Hermione pointed down. Harry took a deep breath and straddled the oldest-looking Comet 260 broom. At Wood's whistle, the tryouts began.

Harry's performance stunned everyone. He seemed born for the sky. The old broom he'd complained about became eerily obedient beneath him—takeoff, dive, stop, turn—each move as fluid as breathing. Like a sharp Peregrine Falcon, he wove through the wind, several times brushing dangerously close to other tryout brooms' tails, drawing gasps from the stands.

"He flies brilliantly!" Hermione couldn't help but exclaim, her face flushed from excitement and cold. She opened the thermos lid, releasing a sweet, steaming aroma. "Here, Lynn, warm your hands." She poured a cup of hot chocolate and handed it to him.

Lynn took the warm cup, his fingertips brushing unintentionally against Hermione's icy fingers. He glanced at her. "Cold?"

"Not really..." Hermione shrank her neck, tucking her slightly reddened hands into her sleeves, her gaze still following Harry's agile movements on the pitch.

Just then, a harsh burst of laughter came from the sidelines. A group of Slytherin students in silver-green scarves clustered around Draco Malfoy as he walked over, clearly there to watch the show. Malfoy crossed his arms, his pale face wearing his usual sneer.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, look at our great Potter, the 'Star of the Chosen'," Malfoy drawled, his voice cutting through the empty pitch, "riding a beat-up old Comet 260? Sponsored by the Weasley family? Or picked out of a trash heap? Can that piece of junk even catch a Golden Snitch? I doubt it could outrun a gnome!"

Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle let out clumsy, echoing laughs. A few Gryffindor first-years flushed with anger; Ron nearly charged over, only to be cheerfully held back by the twins.

Harry, clearly hearing it, faltered for a moment, a flash of anger crossing his face.

Hermione frowned deeply, disgusted by Malfoy's meanness. She was about to retort when she felt Lynn beside her move.

Lynn didn't even stand. He still faced the pitch, his left hand holding the cup of hot chocolate, his right hand resting casually on his knee. His long fingers, in the freezing air, made an almost imperceptible flick, like plucking a string.

No flash of light. No incantation.

Just a soft puff sound at Malfoy's feet, followed by a burnt smell! The tip of his right foot—on his brand-new, polished Dragon Hide Boot—had, without warning, turned into a furry, goofy, bright yellow Rubber Duck head! The duck bill was even gaping open comically.

"Quack?" The duck head at Malfoy's foot let out a startlingly realistic, confused-sounding quack.

The entire pitch went dead silent!

All eyes shifted from Harry to Malfoy's absurdly transformed shoe.

Malfoy's sneer froze instantly. He looked down in disbelief at his right boot tip, now a Rubber Duck, his pale face rapidly turning the color of a pig's liver! Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle gaped, making weird "uh-uh" noises, while the other Slytherins stared in shock.

"Pfft!" Fred Weasley was the first to break, bursting into earth-shaking laughter.

"Haha! Malfoy! Got a new pet?" George followed, clutching his stomach.

After a brief silence, the Gryffindor stands erupted in relieved, roaring laughter! Even some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs couldn't help but chuckle.

"Who?! Who did that!" Malfoy shrieked in fury, stomping his foot wildly, trying to shake off the damned duck head, only making it let out more stupid "quack" sounds, utterly ridiculous. His vicious glare swept across the stands, finally landing on Lynn's calm, unruffled profile.

Lynn acted as if nothing had happened. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his hot chocolate, his gaze returning to the pitch where Harry, having shaken off the distraction, was executing a beautiful dive in an attempt to catch the Golden Snitch (a test ball Wood had released). Only Hermione, sitting right next to him, clearly caught the faint, fleeting curve of his lips as he lowered the cup.

Hermione watched Malfoy's pathetic state, then looked at Lynn's silent counterattack beside her. A huge wave of warmth and security washed over her. She couldn't help but curl her own lips, the earlier displeasure dissolving. She quietly shifted her numb, cold fingers closer to Lynn's arm, which rested on his knee, wrapped in the light gold Star-Moon scarf, feeling the reassuring warmth radiating from there.

"Order! Order!" Wood had to blow his whistle, forcibly suppressing the chaos. "Tryouts continue!"

The tryouts ended with Harry catching the test Snitch. Wood rushed over excitedly, clapping Harry hard on the shoulder, announcing on the spot that he was Gryffindor's new Seeker! The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers.

On the way back, the snow crunched underfoot. Hermione and Lynn walked side by side. Hermione hugged the empty thermos, in high spirits.

"Just now... it was you, wasn't it?" Hermione couldn't help but ask quietly, her eyes bright as she looked at Lynn. "Malfoy's shoe?"

Lynn didn't deny it. He only said flatly, "He was too loud."

Hermione laughed, her breath misting in the cold air. "Well done! That duck... pfft!" She remembered the ridiculous sight and couldn't help laughing again.

Lynn watched her smiling face, his eyes softening slightly. He noticed a few crystalline snowflakes clinging to the tips of her hair, peeking out from under her woolen hat.

Naturally, he raised a hand, gently brushing the snowflakes from her hair. His fingertips grazed the cool edge of her ear.

Hermione's laughter stopped abruptly. Her body stiffened slightly, and her cheeks flushed a deep red, like plum blossoms blooming in the snow. She quickly lowered her head, her heart racing uncontrollably. How many times was this now? His natural, protective touches?

Lynn withdrew his hand, the tips of his fingers still carrying the chill of melted snow and the soft feel of her hair. He said nothing, simply continuing forward.

Hermione lagged half a step behind, watching Lynn's straight back, the light gold scarf she had knitted herself, patterned with stars, fluttering slightly in the cold wind. She unconsciously touched the cold Star Moon Brooch on her chest, then the hair he had just brushed. An indescribable, bittersweet flutter spread through her heart. She took a few quick steps to fall back in step with him.

Snowflakes fell silently, blanketing the castle's ancient stone steps. A quiet understanding, audible only in the sound of falling snow, flowed between them. Hermione stole a glance at Lynn's calm profile. He seemed... so close to her, yet also... hiding so many secrets of the stars. She quietly extended a finger, through the thick woolen gloves, and with the lightest, most tentative touch, brushed the back of Lynn's hand hanging at his side.

Through two layers of wool, the touch was very light, very indistinct.

But Lynn's step paused, almost imperceptibly. He didn't turn his head, nor did he pull away. He simply let that tentative, dependent contact exist through the fabric. The Star Stone on his chest pulsed with a clear, warm beat.

Hermione's finger jerked back as if burned. Her cheeks grew even redder, her heart pounding as if it might leap out. She hurriedly looked down, staring at the footprints her boots left in the snow, but the corners of her mouth unconsciously curved up.

The snow fell harder. But the silent warmth between the two seemed to melt the cold around them. The start of the new year unfolded in the faint light of the snowy field and the quiet, tentative exploration of feelings.