THE LOST DOG ' s. black

[19] normalcy

   THE early morning light filtered through the frosted windows, softening the common room's edges and casting a warm glow across the rows of armchairs and tables. I had a letter from my father clutched in my hand, the parchment still crinkled from my impatient fingers.

After the accident last year, my father’s recovery had been slow but steady. I knew the essentials from my last visit home, but the letters filled in all the spaces in between. He wrote to me often—small things, mostly. He knew how hard I took his injury, and he knew how I worried, though I tried not to let it show.

The owl who’d delivered his letter—a small, scruffy barn owl that I’d dubbed “Wool”—had been waiting for me at breakfast. I’d exchanged a few pieces of bacon for his delivery and then sat, letting my friends’ chatter float around me as I read.

“El!” Del called, nudging my shoulder with hers. “What’s that smile about?”

“Oh,” I said, almost startled at the question. I hadn’t realized I’d been smiling. “Just a letter from my dad. He’s… well, he’s doing better.”

She gave me a broad grin and then returned to her toast, happily leaving me to my thoughts. I folded the letter carefully, the words still lingering in my mind.

__

My day passed like any other, the hours weaving together with the familiar rhythm of classes and corridors, notes and parchment. But the letter was a comforting weight in my pocket, something grounding to touch whenever I felt my mind drifting.

Between classes, I pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, tapping my quill against it thoughtfully before starting my reply.

Dear Dad,

I got your letter first thing this morning. I’m glad to hear you’ve been feeling well enough to manage the garden!

School’s been the usual mix of chaos and quiet—I think I like it that way. Umbridge is still… well, Umbridge. Let’s just say her teaching methods are a bit lacking, but I’m managing. Del and I are keeping each other sane.

How’s your arm feeling? You didn’t mention it in this last letter, so I hope it’s mending. And did you try that herbal tea I sent you? Visit Mum for me, please.

Write soon. I miss you.

Love, Eloise.

That night, as I finished tying the letter to Wool’s leg, I paused. I’d always thought Hogwarts was a place of adventure, the kind of place where I could escape from home and find a world of my own. But tonight, as the owl flew into the darkness, I felt a tug—something small but certain—reminding me that home wasn’t something you ever really left behind.

__

The Gryffindor common room was alive with a kind of feverish energy, a fire burning from both the crackling hearth and the pride of the House itself. We’d won the Quidditch match, and though I usually kept my excitement quieter than some, even I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as we lifted the House Cup and cheered for our team.

The celebrations lasted well into the night, students chanting, singing, and laughing over snacks smuggled up from the kitchens. I lingered at the edge of the room, sipping pumpkin juice and watching the joy play across the faces of my friends. But after a while, the noise and heat felt overwhelming, so I slipped away, the hum of celebration fading as I made my way down one of the deserted corridors.

I was halfway to the Owlery, thinking I might send a quick note to my dad about the match, when I spotted a familiar figure lingering by the window, his back turned as he looked out at the dark grounds below. It was Draco Malfoy, alone and uncharacteristically quiet.