Invisible String | TVD x WIZARDING WORLD

DEAREST MOONBEAM

The second day at Hogwarts began with Hermione pulling the blankets off me like I was a stubborn troll.
"Up. Now. We have Potions in exactly forty-five minutes and breakfast stops being served in twenty."
I groaned into my pillow. "Have mercy."
"No time for mercy," she said, already dressed in her pristine Gryffindor robes, hair tied back like she meant business. "We're first-years, Diana. We can't afford to be late — especially to Snape's class."
Ugh. Right. Snape.
I rolled out of bed, cold stone nipping at my feet, and dragged on my own robes. The Gryffindor colors were bold and bright — the red a little too flashy for my taste — but they fit better today than they had yesterday. I pulled my hair into a quick half-twist and grabbed the letter I'd written the night before.
I stared at it for a second, the parchment soft and worn at the edges from being folded and refolded too many times.
I heard Hermione's voice before I saw her. "Diana, are you ready?"
I glanced down at the letter in my hand, then back up at the door. A small smile tugged at my lips. "Coming," I called, slipping the parchment into my robe pocket as I padded out of the dorm.
We stepped into the Gryffindor common room, and immediately I was greeted by the sound of absolute mayhem—Fred and George Weasley, collapsed in their usual armchairs by the fire, laughing like lunatics. I mean actual stomach-clutching, foot-kicking, we're-going-to-die-here laughing.
Hermione and I shared a look.
"What now?" I muttered, already heading toward the scene of the crime.
Fred caught sight of me first, wiping tears from his eyes. "Oh, Diana," he gasped, like I was his last lifeline.
"Tell me," I said, folding my arms, "what has the two of you so... mentally unhinged this morning?"
George tried to sit upright but failed spectacularly. "Zungle—snort—bang flooped the biscuits, you see?"
"And then—" Fred wheezed, "he just—spangled the trousers!"
I blinked.
Hermione sighed beside me, pinching the bridge of her nose. "They've finally gone mad."
"I think it's contagious," I whispered.
Fred suddenly pointed at me, dramatic and wide-eyed. "What's this then?" he said in a tone of utmost scandal. "Is that a letter I see in the fair lady's hand?"
George gasped in exaggerated horror. "A letter! Don't tell me—could it be? A love note from some mystery admirer?"
"Sworn to secrecy, no doubt," Fred nodded solemnly. "Maybe it's that Ravenclaw who stares at you like you invented oxygen."
I rolled my eyes. "It's for my dad, you clowns."
George raised an eyebrow. "Exactly what a girl would say when she's been caught."
Fred leaned forward with a wink. "Next she'll say, 'It's just homework' and then write Dearest Moonbeam at the top."
"Oh, you caught me," I said flatly, clasping my hands to my chest in mock horror. "How did you ever guess? I've written a ten-page ode to Cedric Diggory's cheekbones and now I must flee to the Owlery to post it with trembling hands and a single rose."
Fred clutched his heart. "It's always the quiet ones."
"Tragic," George sniffled. "Star-crossed."
Hermione was clearly trying not to laugh, and failing. I gave the twins a mock glare.
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got very serious correspondence to deliver—completely devoid of romance, glitter, or rogue cheekbones," I said, giving them a pointed look.
Fred and George both saluted me as I turned to go, their faces still flushed with laughter. I rolled my eyes again, but couldn't help the amused curl of my lips.
Honestly, they were impossible. Endearing, ridiculous, absolute menaces—but impossible.
"Come on," I said to Hermione as we made for the portrait hole. "Let's get out before they start reciting poetry."
"Too late," George called after us. "Oh Diana, bright as phoenix fire, your quill doth burn with secret desire!"
I didn't even bother turning around. "You're both going to trip over your own egos and fall down the stairs one day."
"And when we do," Fred called sweetly, "we'll shout your name in slow motion."
I shook my head. Life in Gryffindor Tower was nothing if not theatrical.
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are we sure it's this way?" Hermione asked for the third time, peering around a spiraling staircase that looked like it hadn't been used since the founders were still picking wallpaper.
"Not even a little bit," I replied, sighing as we passed yet another identical stone archway. "I think the castle's playing some sort of joke on us."
"I wouldn't put it past it," Hermione muttered, checking behind us as if the staircase might vanish. Again.
We'd taken at least five wrong turns, two misleading staircases, and one highly suspicious passage that led straight into a broom cupboard. The journey to the Owlery had become less of a mission and more of a test of our patience—and possibly our sanity.
When we finally stumbled through the right door and into the Owlery, it felt like a triumph worthy of fanfare.
The air was crisp, filled with the faint scent of straw and feathers. High beams stretched above us, crisscrossed with perches and nests, where owls of every color and size sat watching like feathery judges. The breeze fluttered through the open windows, ruffling feathers and cloaks alike.
Hermione and I looked at each other—and burst out laughing.
Uncontrollable, doubled-over, can't-breathe kind of laughing. The kind that bubbles up when you've had just enough chaos to tip you over the edge.
"I was ready to send a smoke signal," I gasped.
"Or just bribe a passing owl to find the Owlery for us," Hermione added between snorts.
I wiped my eyes, still grinning, and reached into my pocket for the letter. The parchment felt warm from being held, the ink a little smudged at the edges from my thumb.
I whistled softly, and moments later, a familiar flutter of wings announced Phineas's arrival. He landed beside me with practiced grace, his brown feathers shimmering faintly in the light.
"Hey, boy," I said fondly, gently stroking his chest. "I've got something for you."
I tied the letter to his leg, careful not to make the knot too tight. "This one's for Damon. You know where to go."
Phineas blinked at me—steady, proud—and with a swift beat of his wings, launched himself into the morning sky.
I watched him soar, shrinking into the distance.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed another owl. Pale white, gliding silently overhead with a letter clutched in its claws. The seal on the envelope glinted faintly in the light, a deep green pressed into the wax.
I barely spared it a glance before turning back to Hermione.
"Come on," I said, brushing owl feathers off my sleeve. "Let's get out of here before we end up stuck in another armor hallway."
"Lead the way," she grinned. "Preferably one that doesn't talk back."