Spring came to Hogwarts with a riot of color, the snow retreating from the grounds to reveal the first brave crocuses pushing through the soil. The lake sparkled in the rare sunlight, and the air hummed with that peculiar blend of pre-exam anxiety and restless teenage energy that seemed to fill the castle every year around this time.
For The WIX, it was a season of subtle, messy changes—some expected, some blindsiding.
"Alright," Eliza declared, kicking off her shoes and plopping herself onto the WIX study room couch one afternoon. "It's official. I am incapable of studying any more Transfiguration without turning into a table myself."
"I'd pay money to see that," Sol quipped from his usual seat, stretched out across two armchairs, balancing a textbook on his stomach. "Would make your Quidditch commentary more exciting."
"Speaking of commentary," Iris said, not looking up from her notes, "I heard you tried to flirt with Professor Vector when asking for extra Arithmancy credit."
"She has an excellent grasp of numerology, and I appreciate competence," Sol said solemnly. "Is it my fault if that appreciation comes across as devastatingly charming?"
"Devastating is one word for it," Gwenog snorted, leaning comfortably against Iris's side, their shoulders touching in a way that had long since become second nature.
Iris's face flushed slightly, but she didn't pull away. Their relationship had settled into something… steady. Quiet. Which was terrifying in its own right. They weren't perfect—Gwenog was brash and blunt, Iris overthought everything—but somehow, they made space for each other.
On the other side of the room, Artemis had her nose buried in her journal, supposedly working on runic sequences, but in truth, she was very aware of Magnus sitting at the table nearby. He wasn't studying, not really. He was transfiguring little bits of parchment into increasingly absurd shapes—a dancing badger, a tiny sword-fighting chicken, and what appeared to be a miniature dragon doing ballet.
It was ridiculous.
And weirdly endearing.
Artemis found herself watching the gentle curl of his mouth when something came out right, the way he glanced at her every so often—not seeking approval, just… checking in. She wasn't sure when Magnus Kane had gone from her best friend to something more, but the realization sat warm and weighty in her chest.
She wasn't ready to do anything about it. Not yet.
But she was starting to think about it. A lot.
"Where's Vivian?" Rosaline asked, flipping through Witch Weekly and absently braiding her hair into an increasingly intricate plait.
"Library," Eliza answered, not bothering to look up. "Again."
Vivian Delacroix, queen of confidence, was—by her standards—a mess.
The breakup with Ethan Selwyn had been surprisingly quiet. No public rows, no dramatic confrontations in the corridors. Just a quiet conversation in an empty classroom after one particularly brutal night of revision.
"I can't do this right now," Ethan had said, dark circles under his eyes and hands clutching at his hair. "My OWLs are eating me alive, and I'm crap at balancing things."
Vivian had folded her arms tightly across her chest and nodded. "Alright."
"Alright?" Ethan blinked. "You're not mad?"
"Oh, I'm furious," she'd said. "But I also get it."
That had been the end of it.
Vivian hadn't cried, not really. She'd just thrown herself into Wixen Chronicles work, exam prep, and aggressively updating her wardrobe to the point that her new 'post-breakup' aesthetic was drawing stares in the corridors.
The WIX weren't sure whether to be worried or impressed.
Rosaline, on the other hand, had fallen face-first into her first relationship with Marcus Fawley, a perpetually rumpled Gryffindor who had a knack for turning any conversation into a debate about magical creatures.
"It's cute," Eliza had said after their third 'not-a-date' study session ended with Marcus giving Rosaline an impromptu lecture about bowtruckles.
"It's exhausting," Rosaline had replied, though her smile gave her away.
But she liked him. He was earnest and sweet, and he never made her feel like she had to compete with her sister.
That was enough. For now.
The most surprising development, however, was Henry.
By Easter break, Henry Bell had finally, finally gotten over Vivian.
It had taken time—and some spectacularly bad poetry that Sol had discovered hidden in Henry's bedside drawer—but when Gwen Stuart from Hufflepuff paired with him in Herbology, things had shifted.
She was sunny and a bit scatterbrained, with ink-stained fingers and a laugh like bells. Henry was smitten before the second class ended.
"You're staring at her," Magnus pointed out during one post-class stroll back to the common room.
"Am not," Henry muttered.
"You're blushing," Magnus added.
"Am not."
"Merlin's beard, just ask her to Hogsmeade," Eliza groaned from behind them, slinging an arm around Henry's shoulders. "You're unbearable."
To everyone's surprise—most of all Henry's—Gwen had said yes.
They weren't dramatic or overly affectionate, but after a few weeks, seeing Henry with Gwen had become… normal. And good. Henry smiled more. Laughed more. Stopped comparing himself to the older WIX so much.
He was finding his own feet.
The end of the year loomed closer than anyone expected, the last few months unraveling in bursts of sunlight, exams, and awkward teenage growth. Sol's summer internship at the Ministry had everyone suspicious— none of them could quite figure out how he'd landed it, and his refusal to give a straight answer didn't help.
"Connections, darlings," he'd said airily one afternoon, leaning precariously back on his chair. "The Moonfalls have always been excellent at greasing the right palms."
"Your Mom works in broom import licensing," Rosaline pointed out.
"And yet," Sol grinned, "here I am, destined to spend the summer charming my way into the hearts of every single department secretary."
"We're going to have to visit him, aren't we?" Magnus asked Artemis quietly, watching Sol prattle on.
"Oh, absolutely," Artemis replied. "Someone has to make sure he doesn't end up in the Magical Law Enforcement holding cells for excessive flirting."
"I'm wounded you'd doubt me," Sol said dramatically, having heard every word. "Though, please do visit. My brilliance is best appreciated with an audience."
As the last Hogsmeade weekend before exams rolled around, The WIX found themselves sprawled on the grass outside the castle, bathed in that too-brief Scottish spring warmth. It was the kind of afternoon that made them all feel like time wasn't slipping through their fingers — even if it was.
Gwenog lay stretched across Iris's lap, hands lazily twirling her wand above her head. Every so often, Iris would tuck a strand of Gwenog's hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the way her friends exchanged knowing glances.
Magnus had made a quiet habit of sitting near Artemis, not pressing, not hovering — just there, a steady warmth at her side, his shoulder brushing hers just enough to remind her he was with her. If Artemis noticed, she didn't comment. But she didn't pull away either.
Vivian sat with her knees drawn up, sunglasses perched on her nose — a new, post-breakup accessory that suited her far too well. "Ethan tried to talk to me after class," she said, voice even, but her fingers fidgeted with a blade of grass.
"How'd that go?" Rosaline asked, gently nudging her sister's knee with her foot.
"I told him he could write a letter if he had something important to say," Vivian said. "I haven't gotten one."
No one offered advice — they'd all learned that Vivian didn't need advice. She needed space. And maybe just a hand to hold when the world spun too fast.
Henry, sprawled on his stomach beside them, was half-listening to the conversation, half-writing something on a parchment. His legs kicked idly in the air behind him, the casual comfort of someone who, for the first time in a long time, didn't feel like the outsider.
"What are you writing, Bell?" Gwenog asked, lifting her head slightly from Iris's lap.
Henry's ears went pink. "Nothing."
"Nothing's usually the most interesting something," Sol said, rolling onto his side. "Confess."
"It's just…" Henry hesitated, fingers tracing the edges of the parchment. "I was going to write to Gwen — my classmate Gwen, not you — about Hogsmeade."
Rosaline perked up. "Are you going to ask her out properly?"
"We've been on a few Hogsmeade trips already," Henry mumbled.
"Yes, but have you held hands? Bought her something that isn't a quill or chocolate frog?" Vivian asked.
Henry squirmed. "I gave her a book."
"Oh, Bell," Eliza sighed. "You sweet, oblivious little nerd."
"She liked it!" Henry protested.
"I bet she did," Artemis said softly, and Henry's face split into a grin. Artemis didn't say things just to be nice — if she thought something was true, she meant it.
Later that evening, the common room was quieter than usual — most students were either in the library or taking advantage of the fleeting sunshine outdoors.
The WIX gathered in their usual corner, journals open, linking runes softly glowing as they lazily wrote back and forth between them — across the room, across floors, between dormitories. Sometimes they didn't even need to talk aloud anymore.
Artemis glanced down at her personal page, the one linked only to Aunt Aurelia's matching journal. A new message shimmered to life in her aunt's elegant hand:
Remember to rest, my little star. Even the brightest minds need to pause and shine for themselves now and then.
Artemis swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat, but when Magnus's knee pressed gently against hers, grounding her, she remembered to breathe.
They were all in flux, all shifting — growing in different directions, discovering who they were outside the safety of The WIX, but still tethered to each other by something that couldn't quite be named.
And even if everything else changed, that wouldn't.
The last night before they left for the summer, they gathered in the astronomy tower, bundled in cloaks against the cool air, looking out over the dark grounds below.
"Next year's our OWL year," Magnus said softly. "Feels strange."
"Feels terrifying," Rosaline corrected.
"You'll be fine," Eliza said confidently.
"You're only saying that because you're good at everything," Rosaline grumbled.
"Not everything," Eliza admitted. "But some things. Like hexing anyone who messes with my twin."
Rosaline's smile was small, but real.
Artemis leaned against the wall, journal in her lap, fingers brushing over the worn leather cover. "I don't know what next year's going to look like," she admitted. "But I know I'm glad I have all of you."
"You're getting sentimental," Sol teased. "It's very unsettling."
"Shut up, Moonfall," Artemis said, but she was smiling.
The stars wheeled overhead, and below them, Hogwarts slept — ancient and unchanging — while nine messy, brilliant, ridiculous students sat shoulder to shoulder, caught between who they were and who they were becoming.
Together.
The Hogwarts Express stood gleaming at Platform 9¾, its red body glinting under the soft, cloud-filtered June sunlight. Students were already leaning out of the windows, shouting farewells or hastily scribbling down addresses to exchange letters over the summer. Trunks were being levitated onboard, enchanted cages rattling as restless owls hooted and mewled.
The WIX, of course, were among the very last to board.
"Come on," Eliza groaned, half-dragging her trunk behind her. "Why do we always leave this to the last second?"
"Tradition," Sol said breezily, balancing his own trunk on one shoulder and absolutely not helping anyone else.
"Poor life decisions," Artemis muttered, adjusting the strap of her bag where it dug into her shoulder.
"Oi, don't act like it's not your fault," Vivian shot back. "We only stayed because someone needed to double-check her notes for the tenth time."
"Runic arrays are delicate," Artemis said primly, though Magnus caught the tiny, sheepish smile she tried to hide. She was learning to accept their teasing, even when it was painfully accurate.
"Less arguing, more moving!" Gwenog called over her shoulder, already halfway onto the train with Iris's hand tucked securely in hers. Iris was still blushing slightly — she always did when Gwenog was casually affectionate in public — but she didn't let go.
By the time they found an empty compartment (no small feat, considering how long they'd dawdled), they were already exhausted. Trunks were shoved into the overhead rack with varying degrees of success — Rosaline's barely made it, Henry's had to be levitated back twice, and Sol's, naturally, ended up half-blocking the door for at least ten minutes before anyone realized it.
They sprawled across the seats in varying poses of dramatic collapse.
"I swear," Rosaline muttered, "I'm not moving until we're in London."
"Bold of you to assume you won't have to wrangle Marcus at some point," Eliza said, her smirk wicked. "Or defend him from me."
Rosaline's ears went pink. "Leave him alone."
"I make no promises."
The train had barely pulled out of the station when Henry — to no one's surprise — was the first to start writing in his WIX journal. The glow of the linked runes was familiar now, a soft comfort in the small, sunlit space.
Henry: Already miss Hogwarts. Summer is going to be so boring.
Vivian: It's been two minutes, Bell. Chill.
Henry: Easy for you to say. You're probably going to Paris again.
Vivian: Correction: Paris and Italy.
Henry: I hate you.
Magnus: Reminder that Henry's crush is in the same village he's going home to.
Henry: SHUT UP.
Gwenog, reading over Iris's shoulder, burst into laughter. "Aww, little Bell's love life is thriving."
"I'll throw myself off this train," Henry muttered, burying his face in his arms.
"You'll survive," Artemis said, smiling softly from her corner. "And besides, it's not like you'll be completely alone."
"No?" Henry lifted his head.
Artemis held up her own journal. "We're all still here."
Henry's face was half-buried in his sleeve, but they all saw the smile anyway.
The WIX journals made rounds through the compartment, everyone leaving increasingly ridiculous notes for each other, some meant to be found weeks later.
Sol: If you read this on July 15th, send me good vibes. I may or may not have accidentally charmed a Minister's desk to flirt back with him.
Gwenog: Iris, if you read this before you write me a proper letter, I will personally come to your house and steal your cat.
Eliza: Rosaline, if you don't try out the hair charms I gave you, I'm telling Mum you want to shave your head.
Rosaline: I'M NEVER TELLING YOU ANYTHING AGAIN.
At some point, Magnus slid onto the seat beside Artemis, his arm brushing hers, just barely.
"You nervous about summer?" he asked quietly, careful to keep his voice low enough that Sol wouldn't hear — Sol had an unfortunate talent for turning anything into innuendo.
"Not really," Artemis said, though she was staring out the window instead of at him.
"Liar."
She glanced at him, mouth twitching upward. "Maybe a little."
Magnus didn't press. He just pulled a small, carefully wrapped package from his bag and set it on her lap. "This is for when you're in your workshop and forget the outside world exists."
Artemis raised an eyebrow, but unwrapped it — a sleek enchanted hourglass, the kind that glowed softly when the sand ran out. A reminder to step away. To breathe.
"You're such a mum," she said, but her fingers curled around it tightly.
"Just looking out for you," Magnus said, casual and quiet.
Neither of them said anything else, but Artemis's fingers kept brushing against his when they reached for the same biscuit later. Neither of them pulled away.
In the far corner of the compartment, Rosaline and Eliza had sprawled across one another in some indeterminate pile of limbs — the kind only siblings could achieve. Rosaline was absently braiding a lock of Eliza's hair, her face unusually peaceful.
"Do you think next year will be different?" Rosaline asked quietly.
"Different how?"
"Now that we're not attached at the hip all the time."
Eliza's brow furrowed, but her voice was certain. "We'll still be us. I'll just be better at Quidditch, and you'll be better at… whatever fashion nightmare you're planning."
Rosaline kicked her shin lightly. "It's artistic expression."
"Right," Eliza grinned. "But you're still my twin. That doesn't change."
It was a simple truth, but it settled something fragile between them — the unspoken fear that growing apart meant losing something. It didn't.
The train rumbled along, hours slipping past in laughter, lazy games of wizard chess, and the occasional bit of frantic homework as they remembered the essays they were supposed to finish over the holidays.
The sun was low on the horizon when the train finally began to slow, Platform 9¾ coming into view.
"We should make plans," Gwenog said, stretching her arms over her head. "Like, proper plans. Everyone meets up at least once a month."
"That's what the journals are for," Henry pointed out.
"Yeah," Gwenog said. "But it's not the same."
There was a pause, and then Artemis — of all people — said, "She's right."
Sol sat up dramatically. "Who are you, and what have you done with Artemis Lovelace?"
"Shut up, Moonfall."
But they all grinned. Because they knew.
When they spilled onto the platform, parents were waiting, arms open, faces beaming. There were hugs and exclamations, hair-ruffling and exaggerated complaints about trunks being too heavy.
"Next year," Henry said, pausing before they split up, "it's gonna be even better."
"Of course it will be," Eliza said. "We'll make it that way."
The WIX exchanged one final look, a silent agreement forged not by words but by years — that no matter what the future held, no matter how far they stretched or who they became, they would always be The WIX.