The air at Hogwarts crackled with the unmistakable energy of a new school year. The castle, which had felt oddly serene over the summer, was once again alive with the sound of chattering students, enchanted quills scribbling furiously over fresh parchment, and the occasional loud explosion from the direction of the Gryffindor common room.
For the WIX, their return to Hogwarts was marked by two things: the continued expansion of The Wixen Chronicles and the growing complications of being teenagers.
As they stepped into their fourth year (and in Henry's case, his third), everything seemed… different. Maybe it was because they had outgrown some of their old habits, or maybe it was the way their group felt more aware of one another in ways they hadn't before. Either way, change was in the air.
But nothing had made that change more apparent than the upcoming Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match in October.
For the first time, their friend group would be split between two sides of the pitch—Eliza Dawson, newly made Chaser for Ravenclaw, and Gwenog Jones, a formidable Beater for Hufflepuff since her second year.
And neither of them planned on losing.
"You do realize you're dead, right?" Gwenog smirked, balancing a Quaffle between her hands as they lounged in the lawn one evening. "The second you step onto that pitch, Dawson, I will be sending Bludgers your way."
Eliza rolled her eyes but smirked. "Please, Gwenog. If you think you can take me down before I score at least three goals, you've got another thing coming."
"Three? That's bold," Artemis remarked, flipping through Advanced Spell Theory without looking up. "Confidence is important. Delusions, however, are dangerous."
"Oh, shut up, Lovelace," Eliza huffed, tossing a balled-up piece of parchment at her.
Sol, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, leaned back on the tree. "So what happens when the final whistle blows? Are we going to need a mediator?"
"I don't see why," Eliza said loftily. "By then, Gwenog will have accepted defeat."
Gwenog snorted. "You'd better hope I don't knock you off your broom."
"Oh, please. I'd dodge it gracefully."
The tension between the two was half-friendly, half-serious—competitive fire burning bright in both of them.
But their Quidditch rivalry wasn't the only complication among the WIX.
Henry Bell, for instance, had developed what could only be described as an excessive and painfully obvious crush on Vivian Delacroix.
Everyone knew it.
Everyone, that is, except Vivian herself—who was either genuinely oblivious or pretending not to notice.
Henry, normally confident when speaking about academics or The Wixen Chronicles, turned into a blushing, stammering mess whenever Vivian was around. He suddenly cared a lot about how he looked, which was why he'd started fixing his hair each morning (not that it helped).
And Vivian?
Well.
She was the same as always—Stunning, effortlessly charming, annoyingly clever, and entirely uninterested in romance. Or, if she was interested, she wasn't showing it.
Eliza, never one to let a moment pass, took every opportunity to poke fun at Henry's misery.
"If you sigh dramatically one more time while staring at Vivian, I will hex you," she muttered as she walked to Transfiguration while dropping Henry off at charms.
Henry scowled. "I was not sighing dramatically."
"You were, though," Sol added helpfully.
Meanwhile, Magnus Kane was having his own quiet struggle—one that involved Artemis.
For months now, he had been crushing on her, but Artemis, ever focused on her research, was utterly oblivious.
She spent most of her free time buried in spellcraft theories, her mind flitting between experimental charms and publication deadlines. The very idea of not working on something seemed foreign to her.
And Magnus?
Well, he didn't know how to get her to notice him.
Rosaline, who had an eye for these things, had tried to offer advice.
"You know, if you want Artemis to notice you, you might have to interrupt whatever overly complicated research she's working on."
Magnus groaned. "Yeah, because that won't backfire."
But perhaps the person suffering most was Iris Lawrence, who had fallen hopelessly for a seventh-year prefect—a very pretty Malia Falguni who, unfortunately, only saw Iris as a child.
It was an agonizing realization.
One that led to Iris staring wistfully across the Great Hall, her heart sinking every time the seventh-year Girl passed by without a second glance.
"You know you're being ridiculous," Artemis commented dryly one morning as Iris sighed into her pumpkin juice.
Iris groaned. "You don't understand."
"I do. You're pining. It's very tragic."
"It is tragic."
Eliza, overhearing, smirked. "You're also fourteen. You do realize that, right?"
"I am aware, thank you," Iris muttered, shoving toast into her mouth to avoid further questioning.
Just when it seemed like tensions couldn't rise any higher—between Quidditch, unspoken crushes, and new rivalries—Dumbledore stood up at the High Table one evening early in October, clearing his throat.
The Great Hall quieted.
"Ah, my dear students," he began, his blue eyes twinkling. "As we find ourselves in the first year following the end of dark times, I believe it is important to remember the light that remains."
A murmur ran through the students—Dumbledore didn't often reference the war so directly.
"As such, in celebration of this new era, Hogwarts shall host a Halloween Ball—a grand affair, to mark the first anniversary of a world free from terror."
Excited whispers erupted instantly. A ball?
"In just under a month, the Great Hall shall be transformed for the occasion. I encourage each of you to prepare accordingly." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "And perhaps consider brushing up on your dancing skills."
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Artemis barely reacted—her mind had already begun categorizing The Wixen Chronicles' next issue.
Henry, however, turned an alarming shade of pink.
Magnus suddenly looked very determined.
Iris?
Well.
She looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.
Eliza, meanwhile, looked far too entertained by all of this.
"Well," she said, glancing at the others. "This just got very interesting."
And so, as the school year truly began, everything was set in motion.
A Quidditch rivalry that would test friendships.
New crushes that were bound to end in either disaster or triumph.
And a Halloween Ball that none of them could quite prepare for.
Hogwarts, as always, promised chaos.
And the WIX?
Well.
They were ready.
…Or at least, they thought they were.
The morning of the first Quidditch match of the season dawned crisp and golden, the October sky clear except for the occasional gust of wind rustling through the trees surrounding the pitch. The castle was alive with excitement, students buzzing in the corridors, house banners waving from balconies, and enchanted pennants flickering between Ravenclaw blue-bronze and Hufflepuff yellow-black. The first match was always the most unpredictable—every house eager to assess their competition, every player desperate to prove themselves.
The WIX had secured their usual seats early, tucked amidst the sea of Ravenclaws, though their cheers would be equally loud for both teams. Their loyalty to Eliza and Gwenog, each playing on opposite sides, had them in a tricky position, but there was no denying that most of them leaned toward their own house. Even so, Gwenog had earned their respect over the years, and no one could deny she was a formidable player.
"Not that we have favorites or anything," Sol said, stretching back lazily, hands behind his head. "But I do like celebrating victories, and Ravenclaw does happen to be the house that buys us extra butterbeer after a win."
Gwenog, passing by to join her team, shot him a glare sharp enough to slice parchment. "Enjoy it while you can, Moonfall."
Down on the pitch, Madam Hooch blew her whistle, calling the captains forward. Derrick Montgomery, Ravenclaw's seventh-year captain and Keeper, strode forward, shaking hands with Marcus Woodcroft, Hufflepuff's sixth-year captain. The teams stood ready, brooms in hand, eyes locked onto the center of the pitch.
High above, the commentary box crackled to life as Gryffindor's newly appointed commentator, Duncan MacDonald, took his seat with a self-important air.
"Alright, Hogwarts, let's get this match underway! Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff! Will our dear bookish house live up to their strategic reputation, or will the hardworking badgers crush their spirits?"
Madam Hooch stepped onto the field, silver whistle glinting in the sunlight. "Mount your brooms!"
The players kicked off the ground, soaring into the air as the balls were released. The Quaffle shot upwards, and the game was on.
It took mere seconds for Ravenclaw to assert dominance. Aaron Li snatched the Quaffle first, weaving through the air before passing it seamlessly to Sofia Reed. The two fifth and sixth-years played with practiced ease, moving the ball like an extension of their own bodies. Eliza dove forward, positioning herself between the two defenders, then shot past them with a feint, catching Sofia's pass mid-air and launching the Quaffle straight past Woodcroft before he could react.
"Merlin's beard! Eliza Dawson just scored within the first thirty seconds! That's how you begin your quidditch career!" Duncan shouted over the roar of the stands.
The Hufflepuff section groaned as the scoreboard flickered: 10 - 0 to Ravenclaw.
Gwenog, gripping her bat tightly, immediately went on the offensive. She sent a Bludger flying toward Eliza, but Julian Harper, Ravenclaw's fifth-year Beater, intercepted it mid-air and sent it right back toward Hufflepuff's Chasers, forcing them to scatter.
Hufflepuff's team was young, with Brian Digby, a third-year, and Freddie Stretton, a second-year, still adjusting to the pace of the game. Their Seeker, a second-year recruit named Noah Flint, had never played a match before, and though he was fast, he lacked experience. Lydia Abbot, their most seasoned Chaser, managed to break through Ravenclaw's defensive play, dodging Owen Carter's attempts to block her, and shot straight for the goalposts.
"Abbot's making a run for it—she's got an opening! Montgomery's in position—oh, and it's in! Hufflepuff scores their first goal of the match!"
The scoreboard flickered again: 10 - 10.
The game continued at a breakneck pace, but it was clear within the next half-hour that Ravenclaw's well-practiced team had the advantage. Their passes were seamless, their formations precise, their strategies near flawless.
Aaron and Sofia each scored two goals, and Eliza, still riding the high of her first point, scored twice more. Every time Hufflepuff seemed to gain momentum, Ravenclaw's experienced Chasers would pull ahead again, weaving through the sky in tight, calculated formations.
"Ravenclaw's offense is relentless today," Duncan observed. "And I gotta say, Dawson might be new, but she's playing like she was born on a broomstick."
Gwenog fought to keep her team in the game, hammering Bludgers with terrifying precision, forcing Ravenclaw's Chasers to dodge constantly. She managed to disrupt their rhythm enough for Brian Digby and Freddie Stretton to each score a goal, bringing Hufflepuff's tally up to 30 points. But it wasn't enough to counter Ravenclaw's ten goals.
And then, an hour into the match, the Snitch appeared.
A flicker of gold near the stands, darting just out of reach.
Both Seekers spotted it at the same time.
Natalie Sinclair, Ravenclaw's fifth-year Seeker, dove into a sharp spiral, Noah Flint right behind her. The crowd gasped as they streaked across the pitch, weaving through players, pushing their brooms to the limit.
"Flint is tailing Sinclair—can the Hufflepuff Seeker pull off a miracle today?"
Flint, inexperienced but quick, tried to close the gap, but Natalie had been playing for years. She twisted, cutting him off, her hand outstretched. The Snitch darted up at the last second—Natalie followed, pushing forward—
And then, her fingers closed around it.
The whistle blew.
The roar of the Ravenclaw stands was deafening.
"RAVENCLAW WINS! Natalie Sinclair catches the Snitch! Final score, 250 to 30!"
The team landed one by one, greeted by an explosion of cheers. Derrick Montgomery hoisted Natalie onto his shoulders as the crowd chanted her name, the Ravenclaw banners rippling through the air.
Eliza landed with a smirk, stretching her arms as she walked toward Gwenog. "Ten goals. Three from me. And the Snitch caught in an hour. I believe that's what they call domination?"
Gwenog rolled her eyes but wasn't upset. "Enjoy it while you can, Dawson. The Cup's not won by a single match."
She clapped Eliza on the shoulder, hard enough to make her stumble slightly, and strode off with the rest of her team. She wasn't sulking. She was already planning her next move.
Up in the stands, The WIX had cheered for both teams, but there was no denying their excitement for Ravenclaw's win.
Sol and Henry clapped Eliza on the back, grinning as she basked in her victory. Vivian smirked, arms crossed. "Not bad, Dawson. But can you keep that up against Slytherin?"
Magnus, ever analytical, commented on the match strategy. "Ravenclaw had better coordination. Hufflepuff's younger players will improve, though."
Iris turned to Gwenog as she passed by. "You were carrying half your team today," she said, offering a supportive nod.
Gwenog shrugged. "Next time, I won't have to."
As the celebrations continued, Artemis watched Gwenog closely. She wasn't discouraged. She was analyzing. Already considering weaknesses, already thinking ahead.
She'd be back. And she'd be better.
The season had only just begun.