Hogwarts: Echoes of Mischief

I always loved when Mum would tell me stories. They weren't like the ones in my picture books, where knights fought dragons or where magic was hidden under every rock. No, Mum's stories were different. She told me about the moon.

I'd sit beside her by the fire, my legs tucked up under me, my knees pressed to my chest as I let my chin rest on them, staring at the flickering flames. The light danced on her face, making her eyes gleam with something I didn't quite understand. Sometimes I'd watch the shadows play across the room, but when she spoke of the moon, it was like her words pulled me somewhere far away, to a place only she could describe.

"Mum," I'd ask, fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve, tugging it nervously, "do you think the moon is lonely?"

Her laugh was soft, warm like the glow of the fire, and it always made me feel safe. She'd look down at me, brushing my messy purple hair out of my face. "Not lonely, darling. It's waiting. It waits for someone to understand it, someone who'll listen."

I would always look up at her, not fully understanding, but believing her anyway. I didn't need to ask her what she meant. There was something in the way she spoke about it—like the moon wasn't just a rock, but a living thing, watching over us. And I knew that whatever it was, I wanted to understand it too.

I remember the nights we'd go outside, away from the fire, under the open sky. The world was quiet, just the sound of the wind and the soft rustling of the trees. And there it was—the moon, glowing above us, like an old friend with secrets only the stars knew. Mum always told me to look closely, to really see it.

There was something different about the way the moon looked then. It wasn't just silver and cold; it was soft, like it had its own pulse, its own heart that beat in rhythm with mine. I'd squint my eyes and tilt my head back, tracing the delicate lines of light that spread across the sky. The stars twinkled, far and wide, like a thousand eyes watching us. But the moon? It was like the heart of the whole night, watching over us, calm and patient.

I didn't know much about magic then, but as I gazed at it, I felt something—a tingle on the tips of my fingers, like I was meant to reach out and touch it. I would stretch my hand out toward the sky, my fingers tingling as if the very air around me was charged with something I couldn't understand. It made me feel so small, but also part of something bigger, like I was standing at the edge of a secret.

"Do you think the moon sees us?" I'd ask, my voice barely a whisper, like the stars were listening too.

Mum would smile, her lips curling just a little at the corners, her eyes soft with memories. "It doesn't just see us, love. It sees into us."

I loved that idea. The moon could see into us, deep into the quiet parts we kept hidden. It didn't matter if we were sad or happy or scared. The moon would understand, because it saw all of it.

One of Mum's favorite stories was about the lost star. She'd tell it to me every time we sat outside, gazing up at the same moon, the same stars. It wasn't a story about a prince or a princess or a dragon, but about a single star that had fallen from the sky. "It didn't burn out like the others," she'd say, her voice dropping low, "it landed in a dark forest, deep inside the earth. But no one could see it. Not at first."

I'd always wonder where the star went after that. I imagined it lying there, waiting for someone to find it, someone who wasn't afraid to look closely, to see the things no one else could.

"Do you think I could find it, Mum?" I'd ask.

She'd laugh softly, and it was like the sound was woven with magic. "Maybe, darling. But you have to look with more than your eyes. You have to see with your heart."

I'd smile at that, sitting back on my heels as I gazed up at the stars again, feeling the wonder settle deep inside my chest. I didn't know what it meant, but somehow, I believed her. I believed that if I looked hard enough, I could find something in those stars—something that no one else could see.

Mum's stories always made me feel like there was magic hidden in the world, waiting for someone who believed. And even though I didn't have a wand or know any spells, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could find that magic, too.

So I'd lie on the grass, my eyes wide, staring up at the endless sky. The moon was still there, watching over me, and I could almost hear it whispering, promising that I'd find what I was looking for. And for the first time, I felt like I was meant for something big. Something beyond the world I could see.

And that was the night I decided that, when I found the lost star, I'd make it shine brighter than anything else in the sky.