Mornings in Ravenclaw Tower began with sunlight pouring in through arched windows and the whisper of enchanted parchment shuffling itself into neat stacks. The common room was high, airy, and filled with warmth—both in color and in atmosphere. Books floated lazily between shelves, and a magical quill sometimes corrected grammar in midair.
Hallie loved it.
She adored the way the castle breathed around her, like a living storybook waiting to be read. Every hallway held secrets. Every painting offered gossip. Peeves, who once terrified her while reading about him, now waved at her like an old friend and only occasionally dropped ink bottles near her.
After a week of classes, she had learned three important things:
Charms was her favorite class.
Professor Flitwick practically sparkled whenever she raised her hand—which was often—and she discovered quickly that magic liked her. Spells came easily. Wandspark leapt to life the way a well-loved pet answers a call. "Lumos" felt like a heartbeat. "Wingardium Leviosa" was ballet.
She had more friends than she could count.
Not in the empty, celebrity way she worried about, but real ones. Padma, of course, was her closest confidante—witty, sharp, and a little obsessive about schedules. Neville grew into himself slowly, like a shy flower blooming under her steady smile. Even Ron, who was in Gryffindor, waved excitedly in the corridors and saved her a seat in Herbology.
Her charm was... escalating.
It wasn't just about kindness anymore. People were enchanted by her. Literally, maybe. A fourth-year Slytherin named Marcus followed her around for a full day claiming he'd "felt inspired." The Fat Friar blessed her with "exceptionally radiant aura." And one time, Snape—Snape!—deducted points from Draco Malfoy after he called Hallie "too pretty to be clever."
She didn't know whether to laugh, blush, or panic.
But it was in the library that Hallie truly noticed something was shifting.
She liked the quiet. The smell of paper, ink, and centuries. One afternoon, while researching the history of rowan wands, she found herself curled into a high-backed armchair in a reading nook surrounded by floating candles.
"Mind if I sit?" came a voice. It was her.
Luna Lovegood.
Barefoot again, wearing a necklace made of acorn caps and humming under her breath.
Hallie nodded.
Luna sat beside her, folding her legs beneath her robes. For a few moments, they just read in silence.
Then: "You're very soft to look at."
Hallie blinked. "Soft?"
"Like a lullaby," Luna said dreamily. "People get quiet around you. You make them feel safe."
Hallie didn't know what to say. It was a compliment, but not a normal one. Then again, Luna wasn't normal. She was honest.
"Thanks," Hallie said softly. "I think I like being soft."
Luna turned to look at her with those big, silvery eyes. "Do you like being a girl?"
That made Hallie pause.
She thought about the mirror. Her hair brushing against her cheeks. The way robes felt when they swished just right. How emotions now rose so easily to the surface—not out of weakness, but because the world finally fit. How smiles felt more sincere, and how she never missed shaving.
She smiled. "Yeah. I think I do."
Luna reached over and gently touched her hand. Not romantically—just presently. "I think you were always meant to be."
Later that evening, as she climbed back into bed and pulled the star-scattered quilt up to her chin, Hallie stared at the ceiling and thought about that moment.
You were always meant to be.
She'd spent her first week marveling at the world, at the magic, at the fun. But now... she was starting to marvel at herself. Not the girl she'd become, but the girl she always could have been.
Being Hallie wasn't about starting over.
It was about finally being true.