Chapter Text
Aldwynn sat on the low stone step by the keep’s rear door, a weak ray of spring sunlight falling across her boots. In the courtyard beyond, the last mounds of snow had dwindled to muddy slush, and patches of brown grass were just visible.
Since Imbolc, the world around her had begun to thaw and stir, yet within the castle walls, so little seemed to have changed.
She was free now to wander the courtyard and even the outer yard, but despite that freedom, she still felt largely left to her own devices.
The routines of the keep continued as if untouched by the promise of spring, and Aldwynn often found herself idling alone, wondering when real change would come.
In the days that followed, each morning dawned a little earlier and a little brighter. Aldwynn took advantage of the melting snow to explore wherever she was permitted: pacing the lengths of the inner courtyard walls.
These small adventures were a relief after the long confinement of winter, yet even with the world opening up, Aldwynn felt an aimlessness tug at her.
No new lessons or duties filled her days. She would wander until midday, then perhaps sit in the library with an old chronicle or watch the maids sew by the kitchen hearth.
Often she ended up simply gazing out a window at the gray sky, her mind drifting. There was a sense of anticipation in the air that she couldn’t shake, a feeling that things were on the verge of changing, but what those changes might be, she had no idea.
Aldwynn sensed it in subtle ways: in the way the horses in the stable stamped and snorted, eager to be out; in the way the castle folk talked more of planting and less of rationing.
Something was coming.
Whether it would be for better or worse, she couldn’t tell.
That uncertainty settled in her stomach as a mix of hope and worry. Some nights she lay awake listening to the last winter winds howl, imagining possibilities both exciting and frightening, a message arriving with new instructions for her and Aldred, a sudden decision by Godric that could upend their quiet life, or perhaps nothing at all, which in its own way was an unsettling thought.
Imbolc had come and gone, and still she waited for her own spring to begin.
This morning, however, brought a small break in the sameness. Aldwynn was turning a dried pinecone over in her hands, lost in thought on the doorstep, when she heard Godric’s voice calling from within the great hall.
“Wynnie! Aldred!” came the deep, resonant call that could only belong to Godric Gryffindor. It echoed off the stone corridor leading to the hall, firm and clear.
Startled, Aldwynn dropped the pinecone. It tumbled into a puddle at her feet as she hastily stood.
Godric rarely called for them directly, so something about his tone quickened her heart.
She dusted off her skirts and hurried inside, almost colliding with her brother, who had come running from the direction of the armory at the sound of their names.
In the shadow of the entryway, Godric awaited them.
He stood with arms crossed, a formidable figure backlit by the morning light streaming through the high windows.
His auburn hair and beard caught glints of sun, and his presence filled the hall with quiet authority. Aldwynn noticed a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he watched them gather before him, a mix of patience and expectation in his eyes.
“There you two are,” Godric said, his voice warmer now that they were near. He placed one broad hand on Aldred’s shoulder and the other on Aldwynn’s, a gesture both gentle and steadying. “Come with me. There’s work to be done.”
Aldwynn traded a brief, wide-eyed glance with Aldred. Work? she wondered. What sort of work would require Godric himself to fetch them?
Aldred merely shrugged, excitement barely contained in the slight grin tugging at his lips.
Together, the twins fell into step behind Godric as he set off down one of the main corridors of the keep.
They walked at a brisk pace, Godric’s long stride covering ground quickly.
Aldwynn had to mind her footing to keep up, her soft leather boots whispering against the cool flagstones.
As they moved deeper into the castle’s interior, familiar landmarks slipped past: the tapestry of a roaring lion that hung near the library door, the alcove where an antique suit of armor stood guard, and the narrow spiral staircase that led down toward the storage cellars and workrooms.
Godric led them down that spiral now, the sounds of the busy upper halls fading behind as they descended.
With each step, the air grew tinged with new scents, earthy and herbal.
At the bottom of the stairs, they turned into a short passageway. Here the smell became stronger: a mixture of dried herbs, old wood, and a trace of fragrant smoke.
Godric pushed open a heavy oak door bound with black iron, and a wash of warm, spiced air flowed out.
Inside was the potions chamber, already aglow with golden light. Aldwynn stepped in and paused just over the threshold, her eyes sweeping across the room.
Along one wall stood rows of shelves lined with ceramic jars and glass vials, each labeled in neat ink.
Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters overhead, tied with twine: she spotted rosemary, sage, and lavender among them, their scents gently perfuming the air.
In the corner, the small hearth built into the wall crackled with a low fire.
This fire had been lit as part of the Imbolc ritual and kept alive ever since. It cast dancing shadows that made the room feel alive with flickering movement.
A long wooden work table dominated the center of the chamber.
Upon it lay burlap sacks of various sizes, a mortar and pestle, a few clay bowls, and wicker baskets filled with seeds and dried roots.
Everything the household would need for brewing tonics and planting the herb garden in spring seemed to be assembled and waiting.
Godric crossed to the hearth first.
He crouched down and stirred the embers with an iron poker, causing a brief swirl of sparks.
“Still burning,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Aldwynn edged a little closer, drawn by the warmth radiating outward.
She could feel gentle heat on her face and hands.
The fire had been fed with special oils and incantations on Imbolc night; it was said to bless the space and all within it. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Aldwynn liked to believe she could sense a trace of that magic lingering.
Godric rose from the hearth and turned to face the twins. His expression was resolute, as it often was when he was about to give orders, but his eyes held a certain brightness.
“Spring is nearly upon us,” he said.
He rested his hands on his hips, surveying the worktable laden with supplies.
“We’ve prepared through the long winter for this moment, especially with our Imbolc rites, and now it’s time to put those preparations to use.”
He gestured to the table. “All of this must be organized and readied. We’ll be planting new herbs in the garden beds and brewing fresh tonics for the season’s needs. Wynnie, Aldred, I want you both to help with this.”
Godric’s tone was firm, but not unkind. “Under Phelan’s guidance, of course.”
Aldwynn’s heart gave a small leap at his words. This was more responsibility than they’d ever been directly given.
Sorting ingredients and preparing for planting might seem like simple tasks, but in a household like the Gryffindors’, such tasks were essential and usually entrusted to experienced staff.
That Uncle Ric wanted her and Al to take part meant he trusted them to contribute to the keep’s well-being.
She felt a spark of pride at that thought but it was quickly tempered by nerves.
What if she did something wrong, mis-sorted an herb or ruined a seed?
“Phelan will be here shortly. He’s far more skilled in potion-making and herb lore than I am,” Godric said, a wry smile touching his lips.
“I’ll leave the finer details to him. Listen well to his instructions, this is an important part of your learning.”
“Yes, sir,” Aldwynn replied quietly. Beside her, Aldred straightened and answered with a confident, “Yes, sir,” as well.
Aldwynn noticed her brother’s voice held a note of eagerness. He was likely already imagining the hands-on work to come.
Godric regarded them both for a moment. In the quiet, the fire’s crackle was the only sound. He gave a single satisfied nod. “You’ve both grown over the winter,” he said thoughtfully, his gaze briefly softening. “It’s time you take on more responsibility in this household.” He reached out and squeezed Aldwinn’s shoulder,just a brief, firm squeeze, but enough to send warmth through her.
Then he did the same to Aldred.
He paused at the threshold. “I’ll check on your progress later,” he added.
Then Godric left, closing the heavy door behind him with a thunk that echoed in the enclosed chamber.
Aldwynn exhaled, not realizing until then that she had been holding her breath. The room suddenly felt very quiet and a bit bigger without Godric’s broad figure occupying it.
She exchanged a tentative smile with Aldred.
They were alone now, alone in this room full of mysterious ingredients, about to do real work that mattered. It was both exhilarating and daunting.
They had never done anything that mattered.
Only a moment passed before the door opened again, this time admitting Phelan of the Wold.
He entered soundlessly, yet his presence was unmistakable. Phelan was a man who carried the aura of the forest with him: he had a way of moving that was unhurried, deliberate, as if he were strolling through trees rather than halls.
He appeared to be in his late forties, perhaps fifty, his face lined and weathered, browned by sun and wind.
A neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard framed a mouth often set in a neutral line. He wore a cloak of dark green wool, the edges embroidered with subtle motifs of oak leaves and vines.
A few dried leaves and burrs clung to its hem, suggesting he’d been out and about in the woods earlier. In his arms he carried a shallow wooden tray laden with tools: small trowels, a pair of shears, a coil of twine, and a marble mortar with its pestle.
The metal and stone implements clinked softly as he came inside.
Phelan stopped just inside the room and inclined his head to the twins in a minimal nod.
Strands of his brown hair, streaked liberally with gray, escaped from a leather tie and fell around his sharp, attentive eyes.
Those eyes, a pale gray like morning mist, swept over Aldwynn and Aldred, then the worktable, then the hearth, taking in the entire scene in one composed glance.
“Good, you’re here,” he said.
His voice was quiet but carried easily in the small chamber.
It had a certain gravelly quality, like a low rumble of distant thunder, yet each word was enunciated clearly.
“Good morning, Master Phelan,” Aldwynn replied politely. Aldred echoed her greeting with a simple, “Morning.” Both twins stood respectfully still, hands at their sides.
Phelan did not offer pleasantries or smiles; he merely set his tray of tools down on a corner of the worktable and got straight to the matter at hand.
“We’ve a fair bit to do,” he said briskly, surveying the array on the table. “All these seeds and dried herbs need organizing and preparing. Some will be planted out in the herb garden, some stored for potion-making. We must ensure everything is ready for spring’s arrival.”
As he spoke, Phelan moved along the table, gesturing with long, callused fingers at various items. Aldwynn noticed how he treated the bundles of herbs and sacks of seeds almost like one might handle a sleeping animal,careful and deliberate.
“The Imbolc hearth has kept these seeds warm,” Phelan continued, nodding toward the fire.
“Now we’ll wake them and sow them in good time. The dried herbs on the shelves,” he pointed toward the wall of jars, “need to be checked. We’ll use many of them to brew fresh draughts, and some we’ll propagate anew.”
Aldwynn listened in silence, absorbing the list of tasks. She detected a subtle reverence in Phelan’s tone when he mentioned the seeds and herbs.
Though he spoke very matter-of-factly, it was clear he had great respect for these materials.
They weren’t just supplies to him; they were things of life and potential.
Aldred, who had been shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to another, finally spoke up.
“How do we wake the seeds, Master Phelan?” he asked. His eyes were bright with genuine curiosity.
Phelan regarded Aldred for a moment. He seemed to consider the question seriously, as though weighing how best to explain.
“We wake them by giving them what they need to start growing,” he answered. “Warmth, moisture, soil, simple things. But first, we sort them by type and purpose.”
He picked up a large burlap sack from the table and loosened its drawstring. Beckoning the twins closer, he poured a portion of its contents into his palm.
A handful of small, hard black seeds rolled in his hand. “Step up here, both of you,” Phelan said.
Aldwinn and Aldred came around to stand on the opposite side of the table from him, leaning in to see.
“These are hellebore seeds,” Phelan explained. The seeds in his palm were like tiny obsidian pebbles.
“Collected last autumn from the hellebore plants by the garden wall.
Hellebore needs the cold, these seeds have slept all winter, and the last bit of frost will help them sprout.
We’ll be sowing them very soon, while the nights are still cool.”
Aldwynn remembered the hellebore plant: an evergreen with dark, leathery leaves that sometimes bloomed in late winter with pale flowers.
She watched as Phelan picked up a quill and a strip of parchment. With efficient strokes, he labeled the bowl “Hellebore – sow at once.”
His handwriting was sparse and clear.
Next, Phelan pointed to a nearby wooden tray where several gnarled, brown root clumps lay nestled in damp moss.
Tiny green shoots were poking out of one end of each root. “Valerian,” he said. “These are roots, not seeds.
They’ve already begun to sprout under the moss. We’ll need to divide and replant them outside.”
He turned to Aldred. “Aldred, fetch me the large shears from the tray there, and the sack of compost by the hearth.”
“Yes, sir,” Aldred responded smartly. He moved around the table to where Phelan had indicated.
A burlap sack filled with rich, dark compost sat near the fire, and next to it, propped against the wall, were various tools.
Aldred grabbed the iron garden shears from the tool pile and hefted the sack of compost with his other arm. He brought both to Phelan and set them down carefully.
While Aldred did this, Phelan turned to Aldwynn. He inclined his head towards the shelf of jars.
“Aldwynn, I want you to check our dried herb stores,” he instructed.
“Start with the top shelf and work your way down. Take down each jar and see how much is left and whether it’s still good. If anything has spoiled or run low, set it aside and let me know. If the jars are full and the herbs look fine, you can leave them be after checking.”
“Yes sir,” Aldwynn replied, feeling a mixture of determination.
She knew better than to rush handling any potion ingredients.
Moving to the shelf he indicated, she stood on her tiptoe to reach the top row.
Her fingers closed around a cool glass jar. It was sealed at the top with waxed cloth and twine.
Inside, she saw a tumble of small white and yellow dried flowers. The label tied to it read Chamomile in looping script.
Carefully, Aldwynn lifted the jar down and held it up to the light. The chamomile blossoms inside rattled softly. The jar was about half-full. She loosened the tie and sniffed, an apple-sweet scent wafted out. Chamomile, used often in calming teas and potions, still potent by the smell of it.
Satisfied, she secured the covering again and set the jar aside for a moment so she could report its status when asked.
One by one, Aldwynn tended to the jars on the shelf. Next was peppermint: crushed dark-green leaves that filled their jar nearly to the top, exuding a sharp, cool fragrance even through the cloth cover.
Then rosemary needles, dried to gray-green slivers (a full jar of those as well).
Lavender buds in another, a handful of sprigs of dried sage tied together in a ceramic canister, and so on.
Each container she handled with respect, gingerly lifting and peeking in or sniffing as needed.
She found no sign of mold or dampness.
Imbolc’s thorough cleansing and the constant warmth of the hearth had done their job in preserving everything.
As she checked, she murmured little notes under her breath: “Peppermint, nearly full… Rosemary, plenty left… Lavender, still fragrant…”
It helped her keep track.
Meanwhile, at the center table, Phelan had begun demonstrating to Aldred how to divide the Valerian root.
Aldwynn glanced over as she returned a jar of dried feverfew to its shelf.
Phelan held one of the knobbly roots in his hand and positioned the shears at a point between two tiny budding shoots.
“Cut here,” he instructed.
Aldred brought the blades down with a firm snip, cleaving the root into two smaller pieces.
He looked pleased with himself as the sap oozed from the cut.
“Good,” Phelan said. He rarely lavished praise, but Aldwynn could tell by his tone that Aldred had done it right on the first try.
“Now each piece will grow into a new plant.
Wrap those in the damp cloth so they don’t dry out before we plant them.”
Aldred nodded and gently placed the divided Valerian segments onto a moist strip of linen Phelan had laid out.
Aldwynn allowed herself a small smile.
Aldred’s usual impatience was nowhere to be seen; he was absorbed in the careful work, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Seeing her typically restless twin take such care gave Aldwynn a little surge of confidence for her own task. If Aldred could focus and do well under Phelan’s watchful eye, she could too.
By now she had gone through most of the top shelf. She realized she’d need the stool to reach the last two jars tucked in the corner near the ceiling.
One contained feverfew leaves and the other comfrey roots, both important medicinal herbs.
She fetched the three-legged wooden stool from under the table and set it firmly on the stone floor.
Aldwynn stepped onto the stool and carefully lifted down the heavy ceramic jar marked Comfrey.
It was still sealed with wax, comfrey roots were stored in oil to preserve their potency, and opening it unnecessarily could let in spoilage.
She decided to trust that its contents were fine, given the seal was intact and there was no rancid smell.
She placed the comfrey jar back and took down the feverfew.
Inside were brittle green leaves used for pain-relief potions.
They looked a bit sparse, perhaps they had used quite a bit for winter fevers.
It wasn’t empty, but Aldwynn made a mental note that feverfew was a candidate for replanting more this spring.
She stepped down from the stool just as Phelan turned toward her.
“How do the stores look?” Phelan asked.
He had finished with the Valerian and was wiping the sap from the shears. His gray eyes settled on Aldwynn, expectant.
Aldwinn quickly gathered her thoughts and answered, ticking off her findings.
“Chamomile is about half-full but still good. Peppermint, rosemary, and lavender are all plentiful. The sage bundle is a bit dry but usable. Garlic in oil is still fresh, nearly a full jar.”
She gestured to each as she mentioned them.
“Feverfew leaves are running a little low. Comfrey root jar is sealed and feels full from weight. Nothing appears spoiled.”
Phelan listened, his expression unreadable as always, but he gave a single approving nod when she finished.
“Good. We’ll make note to grow extra feverfew when we can. Everything else sounds sufficient.”
“The winter stores held well. Thank you.” Though simply stated, it was clearly an acknowledgment of her thoroughness.
Aldwynn felt a flicker of pride and ducked her head to hide a pleased smile. Coming from Phelan, even a mild thank you or good was high praise.
Phelan then moved toward the hearth. “We’ll want to use some of this,” he said, mostly to himself. He picked up a small wooden scoop and a shallow bowl from his tray of tools, then knelt by the fire.
Using the scoop, he gathered some of the soft gray ash that had accumulated from the ritual hearth fire’s slow burning.
The ashes glowed faintly as he disturbed them, and a very fine cloud of silvery dust rose before settling.
Aldwynn watched curiously as he filled the bowl with ash and returned to the table.
“This,” Phelan said, setting the bowl down gently, “is ash from the Imbolc fire.” The significance was not lost on Aldwynn. That fire had been blessed in the name of renewal and protection.
“We’ll mix it into the soil and the seed beds. Its magic has been infusing the herbs and seeds all this while, and we’ll carry that blessing into the earth when we plant.”
Aldwynn peered into the bowl. The ash looked unremarkable at first, just powdery gray-white fluff.
But when she looked closer, she noticed tiny motes that caught the light like minute sparks. On impulse, she reached in and touched the tip of her index finger to the ash.
It was still faintly warm, like the memory of a touch, and it sent a mild tingling sensation up through her hand.
Startled, she drew her finger back and rubbed the ash between her thumb and forefinger.
It almost felt alive with leftover energy.
Phelan had been watching. He arched one thick eyebrow. “You feel it, don’t you?”
Aldwynn nodded silently. She couldn’t quite articulate what it was, only that the ash didn’t feel like normal, inert ash. It retained a whisper of the Imbolc fire’s power.
“The ritual’s magic lingers,” Phelan confirmed, matter-of-fact. “Even in the ash. Even in the seeds that were kept near the flame.”
He allowed himself the ghost of a smile, more in his voice than on his lips. To him, this was all as expected, no wonder or surprise, just the natural order of things.
He divided the ash into two portions, pushing each toward the twins.
“Go on. Mix a handful of this ash into each of those seed sacks,” he instructed.
“Gently. Make sure the seeds are lightly coated. This will warm them and protect them once they’re in the ground.”
Aldwynn and Aldred moved eagerly to comply. They each took up an open sack of seeds.
Aldwynn’s sack contained the hellebore seeds Phelan had poured out earlier.
Aldred’s held another kind, small pale seeds she thought might be monkshood.
Following Phelan’s guidance, Aldwynn scooped a handful of the soft ash and sprinkled it into the mouth of the sack.
Then she reached in with both hands and carefully tumbled the seeds around, mixing ash and seed together.
Beside her, Aldred did the same with perhaps a bit less finesse, one of his scoops sent a puff of ash into the air, and he coughed. Phelan shot him a mild glance of reproof for the clumsiness, and Aldred more carefully folded the sack’s top closed and shook it to mix the contents.
Working with the ash and seeds was messy but oddly soothing.
Aldwinn’s fingers became coated in fine gray dust as she repeated the process for each sack of seeds lined up on the table.
She felt the granules of ash and the hard little seeds rubbing against her skin, and the warmth of that magical residue gradually spread into her palms.
It was as if she was kneading a bit of life into these dormant things.
She imagined the seeds almost like tiny living creatures, stirring from slumber as they were jostled and warmed.
Aldwynn realized with a small thrill that she was, in a sense, performing magic right now.
There were no spells spoken, it was just the ash and the seeds, and yet it felt significant.
The magic was in the materials and her mindful actions.
It was a quiet, earthy magic, the kind that didn’t call attention to itself but made all the difference when the time came for growth.
In all her waiting and wondering after Imbolc, she hadn’t considered that learning magic might begin like this: with dirt under her nails and a subtle heat in her fingertips, rather than with incantations and sparks of light.
After coating the last batch of seeds, Aldwynn tied up the top of its sack with a bit of twine. Her hands were now thoroughly smudged gray, and a streak of ash had even made its way onto the cuff of her sleeve.
She didn’t mind at all. She set the sack aside with the others and looked up just as Phelan came around to inspect their work.
He peered into one sack, feeling the weight of it, then gave a satisfied grunt. “That’s enough ash. Well done.”
Before they could move on, Aldwynn found herself speaking up, voicing a question that had been nudging at her thoughts. “Master Phelan, may I ask, why do we put the ash on the seeds?”
Phelan paused and regarded her calmly, as though unsurprised she wanted to know the reasoning.
“Because ash does two things,” he explained. “It feeds the soil and wards against blight. The ashes from wood are full of minerals, good for plants. And this ash was part of a blessing. It carries protective magic. Sprinkling it on the seeds gives them a bit of extra strength and protection when they’re planted. Think of it as sending them into the world with a warm cloak against the chill and a safeguard from pests.”
Aldwynn absorbed that. It made sense: something as humble as ash could carry both nutrients and magic.
She gently brushed her ashy hands together. In doing so, she recalled how stagnant and powerless she had felt during the long winter, like a seed buried in frozen ground. Perhaps all along, she too had been gathering small bits of “ash” in her life: experiences, lessons, blessings like the Imbolc ritual, waiting for the right time to use them.
The metaphor comforted her. If a seed could emerge strong after a dark season, maybe she could as well.
By now, the bulk of the work was done.
The various kinds of seeds were sorted into labeled bowls or tied packets, each touched by the Imbolc ash.
The dried herb inventory was accounted for and the Valerian roots were ready to be replanted.
Phelan rolled up the sleeves of his tunic slightly and said, “We’ll finish up with the wildflower seeds, and that should do for today.”
He pointed at a large clay jar on a lower shelf that Aldwynn hadn’t checked yet.
“In that jar are mixed wildflower seeds, poppy, cornflower, calendula, a bit of everything. Lady Gryffindor always preferred sowing some wild blooms around the outer gardens.”
Aldwynn went to retrieve the jar he indicated.
It was large and when she removed its lid, she saw a mix of seeds in all shapes and sizes, like a gathering of tiny pebbles in shades of black, brown, and tan.
The fragrance from it was subtle, a dusty floral.
Phelan took out several empty little canvas pouches from the cabinet and handed them to Aldwynn and Aldred.
Together, under his direction, they scooped and measured the wildflower mix into these smaller pouches.
As they worked, Phelan spoke in his calm, factual way, sharing a bit of history unprompted.
“It was the custom of Lady Ilene, Lord Godric’s mother, to scatter wildflower seeds at the first sign of spring,” he said.
He mentioned it so casually that Aldwynn nearly missed the personal note in it. “Good for the bees, she’d say, and good for the soul to see color after a long winter. We keep that tradition still.”
Aldwynn listened intently. She had never heard Phelan mention Lady Ilene before. The Lady of Gryffindor had died some years ago; Aldwynn was too young to remember her well.
It made Aldwynn smile, picturing the stern-faced woman from the portrait in the hall tossing handfuls of seeds onto the soil with hope for blossoms.
It was a gentle tradition, and Aldwynn felt honored to help continue it in her small way.
She exchanged a look with Aldred, who grinned, perhaps also imagining their formidable grandmother figure delighting in wildflowers.
Soon they had filled and tied several pouches of wildflower seeds, ready to be sown along the outer garden and meadow when the weather was right.
Phelan secured the lid back on the large jar, leaving some seeds inside for later use, and then surveyed the table one final time. All tasks laid out had been completed.
“That will do for now,” Phelan announced.
He wiped his hands on a rag, brushing off lingering soil and ash.
Aldwynn stepped back from the table and realized with a small laugh that she and her brother must look quite the sight: Aldred had a smudge of dirt across his cheek and ash dusting his dark hair, and Aldwynn herself had bits of dried leaf clinging to her skirt and hands as gray as a chimney-sweep’s.
They were dirty and a little tired, but it was a satisfying kind of messiness. She felt useful. She felt involved.
Aldwynn glanced shyly at Phelan, he nodded once. “Well done,” he said, simply.
Two brief words, but coming from Phelan they carried weight. Aldwynn’s heart lifted. She caught Aldred breaking into a grin at the acknowledgment.
Before any further conversation could unfold, the door to the potions room creaked open and Godric stepped in.
He had evidently returned to check on their progress as promised. His gaze swept around the room, taking in the orderly table with its sorted seeds and the twins with their ash-streaked faces.
A broad smile broke across Godric’s face at the sight.
“I see a great deal has been accomplished,” he said jovially.
He walked over to the table, inspecting the bowls of seeds and the labeled packets.
He lifted one pouch and peeked inside, finding the wildflower mix. “Excellent,” he nodded, tying it closed again.
“The gardens will flourish thanks to this work.”
“They did well,” Phelan reported, his tone pragmatic but with a hint of pride on behalf of his young charges.
“Everything is in order. We’ll be ready to begin planting at dawn tomorrow.”
Aldwynn felt a pleasant warmth bloom in her chest at Phelan’s commendation and Godric’s evident approval.
She hadn’t realized how much she craved validation until now, but hearing it made the morning’s labor feel truly meaningful.
Godric clapped Aldred on the shoulder, raising a small cloud of ash from the boy’s tunic, and gave Aldwynn a wink.
“I trust you found the work educational,” he said, phrasing it half as a statement and half as a gentle tease.
Aldred, ever eager, bobbed his head. “I did! I learned how to split Valerian root, and that hellebore seeds like the cold, and how ash can protect seeds…”
He trailed off, realizing he was rattling off too enthusiastically. Composing himself, he added more softly, “It was good, sir.”
Aldwynn nodded in agreement.
“It was interesting,” she said. Her voice was a bit quiet, but steady. “I learned a lot as well.”
“Good,” Godric replied. He looked between the two of them with what might have been pride.
“This is just the beginning, you know. There is much more to learn in the days to come.”
The twins exchanged a quick look, excitement dancing in Aldred’s eyes, and in Aldwynn’s, a cautious spark of hope.
Godric thanked Phelan for guiding them, and Phelan inclined his head, already beginning to tidy the last of the tools on the tray.
“We’ll continue at first light,” the steward said to the twins. “Don’t wear yourselves out this afternoon; tomorrow will be a full day of planting.”
That was his way of telling them to rest up without exactly fussing over them.
“We won’t, sir,” Aldwynn assured him. She already felt a pleasant kind of tiredness in her limbs from the morning’s work, but it only served to remind her that she had done something worthwhile.
With that, Godric gestured for the twins to accompany him out. Aldwynn followed, and Aldred bounded at her side.
Stepping into the corridor, Aldwynn felt the cooler air raise goosebumps on her skin after the warmth of the potions chamber.
Godric walked ahead, already speaking to a passing guard about setting up tables in the courtyard for sorting seedlings tomorrow.
Aldred jogged a few paces to catch up with Godric, eager to overhear the plans for the next day.
Aldwynn lagged just a step behind, flexing her fingers and rubbing the remaining ash between them thoughtfully.
She could still smell the mix of rosemary and smoke on her hands.
Inside her, emotions swirled gently like the motes of ash in the air: pride at having helped, relief that she hadn’t made a mistake, curiosity for what tomorrow would bring, and underlying it all, that persistent uncertainty.
What Aldwynn did not realize was that this was the beginning of her magical learning.
No, she hadn’t cast any spells, but she had learned to read the language of seeds and herbs, to sense magic in ash and earth.
It was a foundational kind of magic, the root from which greater skills could grow.
Still, she wondered if there was more to it. She wondered if taking on these duties meant something more complicated for her and Aldred’s future in the Gryffindor household.
More responsibility often came with more expectations. Would they be expected to take up Phelan’s role one day, managing all the potions and plantings?
Was this work simply the first step toward a life of stewardship and service? Or a test to prove themselves worthy of greater teachings, maybe even formal training in spellcraft down the line?
The possibilities spun in her mind.
Change was indeed coming; the evidence was all around her.
Aldwynn closed her eyes for a moment and tilted her face to the sun. Whatever the coming days held, be it the straightforward joy of learning or the more complicated weight of new duties, she knew change was inevitable, like the turning of the seasons. And unlike the passive waiting of winter, she was now part of that change, actively working and learning, her hands literally in the soil of it.
A small smile found its way to her lips as she opened her eyes and hurried after Godric and Aldred.