Woven in Runes and Stardust (Set in Harry Potter universe)

The war had devoured Britain piece by piece, but inside Hogwarts, life clung stubbornly to its rituals — essays, gossip, and Quidditch matches — as though the castle itself defied the encroaching darkness.

For Artemis Lovelace, this victory should have been a triumphant one.

Her second paper on Charms Theory — her fourth published work before her thirteenth birthday — had been accepted into The Journal of Charms and Spellcraft, an honor so rare for a student, let alone a Second-year, that even the older Ravenclaws were impressed. She had poured months into the research, spending the summer refining theories late into the night, her hands cramped from sketching diagrams and her eyes blurry from cross-referencing texts. The recognition should have felt like proof that all the effort had been worth it.

Instead, it felt like vinegar on her tongue.

Because Gilderoy Lockhart — a preening, self-obsessed Fifth-year with a weakness for mirrors and applause — had decided to claim her success as his own.

"Oh, yes, well," Lockhart was saying over breakfast, his gleaming smile practically blinding the students nearest him. "Artemis was struggling, you see — Switching Charms can be so delicate, poor girl. Naturally, I took her under my wing." He gave a sigh, as though the sheer weight of his own benevolence had been exhausting. "I wouldn't say she stole my theory, per se, but you know how it is. One offers guidance, and the next thing you know — someone's rushing off to publish."

Across the table, Artemis' fork hovered mid-air, her knuckles white. The words floated down the table like a bad smell.

"That little—"

"Breathe," Henry Bell muttered beside her, his voice low but urgent.

The fork clattered onto her plate, drawing startled glances from several first-years. Artemis rose slowly, the kind of deliberate calm that made even her closest friends shift nervously.

She turned, her gaze locking onto Lockhart's smug face with all the intensity of a hex waiting to be cast. "Excuse me?"

"Oh! Artemis!" Lockhart's grin widened with false surprise. "Didn't see you there. Congratulations on the publication! Really, it's a testament to my mentoring skills, isn't it?"

"You—mentored me?" Her voice was soft, but it was the softness of a blade sliding from its sheath.

The Ravenclaw table stilled. Other tables, sensing the tension, gradually quieted. Even the teachers' table had started paying attention.

"Well," Lockhart said breezily, "we Ravenclaws do look out for each other."

Artemis' fingers twitched toward her wand. "You never so much as looked at my notes, Lockhart. You didn't even know I was writing this paper until it was published."

"Come now!" Lockhart gave a tinkling laugh, designed for charm. "No need to be defensive. We both know where the inspiration really came from."

"Oh, I know exactly where it came from," Artemis said, rising to her feet. "From me. My work. My sleepless nights. My spellwork."

"Well, let's not split hairs—"

She didn't let him finish. "In fact, why don't we test Lockhart's expertise right now?" Her wand spun lazily between her fingers. "I could demonstrate the spell I modified — oh wait, I already did. In a peer-reviewed academic journal. But since you 'mentored me so expertly,' I'm sure you'll have no trouble performing it yourself."

Lockhart's smile twitched. "Well, I—"

"Go on then. Switching Charms aren't that difficult, surely?"

The Great Hall had fully turned to watch now — Gryffindor and Slytherin students jeering openly, Hufflepuffs whispering in curiosity, and Ravenclaws exchanging knowing looks.

Lockhart's hand flapped helplessly. "I wouldn't want to—well, there's no need to—"

"Admit you lied," Artemis said coolly.

"Really, Artemis, this is unnecessary—"

"Admit it."

There was a long pause, then Lockhart gave a theatrical sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. If it matters so much to you." His smile barely flickered. "I may have… slightly exaggerated. Surely no harm done?"

The whispers followed him out of the Hall. But Artemis wasn't done with him. Not even close.

The retaliation began before lunch ended.

By dinner, the entire Ravenclaw common room knew. Artemis' friends had gathered, every one of them a willing accomplice in what would become a masterpiece of revenge.

"Public humiliation," declared Eliza Dawson. "The kind no amount of hair gel can fix."

"Long-lasting," Henry added. "So every time he looks in a mirror, he remembers."

"And elegant," Rosaline said with a sweet, sinister smile. "Because we're Ravenclaws."

But before they set their plan into motion, Artemis had official business. She knocked on Professor Flitwick's office door with a sheaf of documents and a determined expression.

"Miss Lovelace! Come in," Flitwick greeted her.

Artemis placed her notes, drafts, and the owl-post acceptance letter from The Journal of Charms and Spellcraft on his desk. "Professor, I need to file a formal complaint against Gilderoy Lockhart. He's claiming credit for my work."

Flitwick's face darkened, the twinkle in his eyes extinguished. "He what?"

Artemis detailed every boast, every lie, every overheard embellishment. Flitwick listened in silence, his fingers steepled. "This," he said at last, "is very serious."

He removed his spectacles and sighed. "I'll handle it."

Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw and a distinguished master of Charms, was not a man to tolerate academic dishonesty. When Artemis knocked on his office door, she had her evidence—her research notes, drafts, and even an owl-post confirmation from The Journal of Charms and Spellcraft acknowledging her as the sole author.

"Ah, Miss Lovelace! Come in, come in! What can I do for you?" Flitwick greeted her warmly.

Artemis wasted no time. "Professor, I need to file a formal complaint against Gilderoy Lockhart for academic fraud. He has publicly claimed that he tutored me and that my recent published work was stolen from him."

Flitwick's friendly demeanor vanished in an instant. His usually twinkling eyes hardened. "He what?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Artemis placed her documents before him. "He has been boasting all over the castle, sir. My friends have heard it, other students have heard it, and I refuse to let this stand."

The diminutive professor adjusted his spectacles and read through her documents with sharp scrutiny. "This is... very serious, Miss Lovelace. Claiming another's work is a disgrace in any academic circle. To think he would be so bold as to steal from a fellow Ravenclaw, let alone a younger student!"

He sighed and set the parchment down. "Rest assured, I will deal with this personally. I will summon Lockhart immediately."

When Gilderoy Lockhart received the summons to Flitwick's office, he had no idea what awaited him. Lockhart sauntered into Flitwick's office hours later, all gleaming curls and exaggerated charm.

"Professor Flitwick! Such a pleasure to—"

"Sit down, Mr. Lockhart."

That was when Lockhart noticed Artemis, seated beside Flitwick with the smuggest expression he had ever seen. His smile flickered.

The evidence was laid out — notes, drafts, testimonies from students. Lockhart tried to bluster, to charm, but Flitwick's voice sharpened with every denial.

"You've committed academic fraud, Mr. Lockhart. You're stripped of your position as Seeker."

"WHAT?"

"And you'll serve a month's detention — cataloging the entire library. Every. Single. Shelf."

Lockhart paled.

"Your parents will receive a full report," Flitwick added. "This will go on your permanent record."

Lockhart staggered to the door. Artemis leaned closer as he passed. "Madam Pince hates disorganized students," she whispered sweetly.

The door closed.

Of course, Artemis and her friends weren't done.

The next few weeks were a symphony of subtle sabotage:

Lockhart's hair potions replaced with Doxy venom, leaving him frizzy and horrified.A Whispering Charm turned every boast into babbling nonsense.Magnus enchanted his essays to rewrite themselves with ridiculous self-praise.An Exploding Snap deck timed perfectly to remove an eyebrow.

By November, Gilderoy Lockhart — future bestselling fraud — was little more than a humbled ghost, scurrying through hallways he once graced with unbearable self-importance.

Artemis had her real victory.

She hadn't just defended her name. She'd made sure everyone knew:

No one steals from a Lovelace and gets away with it.

And if Lockhart ever forgot, the next accident would remind him. 

Artemis or her friends never confessed to any involvement, of course. But whenever Lockhart passed them in the halls after that, he always seemed in a dreadful hurry to be somewhere else.

…

The shadow of war lingered over Britain, but inside the walls of Hogwarts, Artemis Lovelace and her friends refused to let it dictate every moment of their lives. They had made a pact: no matter how grim the outside world became, they would celebrate each other's birthdays in whatever way they could. And so, throughout 1980-81, as each of them turned twelve or thirteen, they ensured that the day was special in its own unique way.

For Iris, books were both comfort and adventure — so, naturally, her friends turned the library into a secret celebration hall.

"Madam Pince will have our heads," Magnus whispered as he helped string floating candles between the shelves.

"Not if she never finds out," Artemis smirked, flicking her wand to adjust the shimmering spell that made the enchanted books around them glow softly. Vivian and Sol Moonfall had charmed a few tomes to whisper birthday greetings whenever Iris walked by, and Henry Bell had painstakingly baked a chocolate cake in the kitchens (with some help from the house-elves, naturally).

Iris arrived just before curfew, lured in by Eliza Dawson's carefully orchestrated distraction about a mysterious book on ancient magics. The moment she crossed the threshold, the shelves themselves whispered, soft as turning pages: Happy Birthday, Iris.

She gasped, eyes wide with delight. "Did you—?"

"Of course we did!" Artemis grinned, pulling her into the circle where a pile of beautifully wrapped books waited. "And don't worry, we made sure you don't own any of these yet."

The night was spent devouring pastries, laughing in hushed whispers, and reading passages from their new books until they could barely keep their eyes open. It was, as Iris later told them, the most perfect birthday she could have imagined.

Vivian lived for music — so the Frog Choir Room became a private concert hall, complete with floating instruments and enchanted symphonies.

"You lot really went all out," Vivian grinned as she stepped into the transformed space. The room had turned into an intimate concert hall, floating instruments twirling midair, bewitched records playing enchanted symphonies from her favorite wizarding bands. The chandeliers swayed in time with the melody, the air shimmering with the kind of magic that felt older than Hogwarts itself.

Sol and Artemis had spent days charming the instruments to play upon command, and Magnus had managed to get a recording of Celestina Warbeck's newest hit weeks before its release (courtesy of a very well-connected cousin).

"Wait, are those—?" Vivian gasped, eyes landing on a set of enchanted self-playing drums in the corner.

"Yes, yes, I know you always wanted to play, so we figured—" Artemis began, but Vivian was already running to them, her hands hovering over the shimmering drumsticks.

"You are officially my favorite people ever," she declared before launching into an energetic (if slightly out-of-sync) drum solo.

The night turned into a whirlwind of dancing, loud music, and an impromptu concert where everyone took turns singing—some more horrifically than others. Gwenog Jones and Eliza Dawson attempted to duet, only to be booed into laughter for their atrocious pitch.

"This is the best birthday ever," Vivian sighed happily, flopping onto the couch at the end of the night. "Now if only I could get Warbeck herself to show up next year."

"Don't tempt Artemis," Magnus smirked. "She might actually make it happen."

For Magnus, dueling wasn't just a hobby — it was a calling. His birthday became a full-scale, underground dueling tournament.

"You better not get us expelled for this," Iris muttered as they set up the enchanted dueling circle in an unused classroom deep within the castle.

"Please," Artemis scoffed. "As if Flitwick would ever let us get caught."

Each person took turns battling Magnus, who, despite being the birthday boy, showed no mercy. Even Vivian's impressive Shield Charms and Sol's transfigured distractions couldn't stop him from emerging victorious in almost every round. Artemis, however, made sure to give him a challenge.

"You're not getting off easy just because it's your birthday," she warned, raising her wand.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Magnus smirked.

Spells whipped through the air, blue sparks colliding with gold, the room pulsing with every near miss and ricochet. They didn't stop until both were breathless, laughing through soot-streaked grins. 

Afterwards, everyone gathered around to enjoy a midnight feast, courtesy of the kitchens. Magnus was gifted a set of enchanted dueling gloves, guaranteed to improve grip and spell aim.

"Best tournament I've ever been in," Magnus declared, grinning as he nursed a slightly bruised wrist. "We should make this an annual thing."

Winter wrapped Hogwarts in frost and silence, but inside Ravenclaw Tower, warmth crackled in the hearth, and laughter made the cold a distant thing. His friends—Artemis, Rosaline, Eliza, Sol, Magnus, Vivian, Iris, and Gwenog—gathered in the Ravenclaw common room, which was warmed by enchanted blue flames crackling in the hearth.

Rosaline and Eliza had procured a small but decadent chocolate cake from the kitchens, and Sol had managed to sneak in a bundle of Choco Balls and Sugar Quills. Henry, as the youngest in their group, was spoiled thoroughly with gifts: a new enchanted quill from Artemis that changed colors when writing, a pocket-sized charmed telescope from Magnus, and a collection of wizarding comic books from Vivian.

Gwenog, in true Quidditch fanatic fashion, gifted him a signed Quaffle from an older Hufflepuff Chaser, which nearly made Henry faint from excitement. They spent the evening playing wizard chess, swapping stories, and laughing as they watched Sol's enchanted snowflakes drift lazily through the common room air.

The Dawson twins had always been opposites — Rosaline, drawn to books and quiet order; Eliza, to chaos and competition. Their birthday was a balancing act, just like them. So, Artemis and the group devised a two-part birthday celebration.

The first half took place in the Hogwarts library after curfew (with Madam Pince conveniently lured away by a staged book accident in the Restricted Section). The group set up a cozy book club night with Rosaline's favorite novels, magical trivia games, and enchanted story projections that brought the books to life. The second half transitioned to the Astronomy Tower, where Eliza's half of the celebration.

Under a sky thick with stars, lanterns floated like tiny suns, illuminating a midnight Quidditch match that felt more daring — and more necessary — than any official game.

Gwenog Jones even smuggled in a practice Snitch for the occasion, making it feel almost professional. When the match ended with Eliza barely managing to beat Gwenog to the Snitch, the birthday girls were treated to an elaborate midnight feast smuggled in from the kitchens, complete with a cake that changed flavors with every bite.

Rosaline and Eliza received matching enchanted bracelets from Iris and Vivian that glowed whenever the twins were within a few feet of each other. Artemis, in a move of quiet sentimentality, gifted them a handwritten book of inside jokes and shared memories over the years.

Sol had always been the one who lingered at the edge of the group, drawn to shadows and stories that felt older than the forest itself. His birthday, therefore, had to reflect the things he found fascinating.

Artemis and the others spent weeks preparing an 'Astral Mystery' event, crafting a series of enchanted star charts and riddles that led Sol through the castle and eventually out onto the Hogwarts grounds. The final destination was a secret clearing in the Forbidden Forest, where they had set up an enchanted night sky projector—courtesy of some complex spellwork from Artemis and Henry—showing celestial events from ancient wizarding history.

The highlight of the night was when an enchanted magical beast, a glowing silver Bird conjured from Artemis' experimental charms, appeared as part of the celebration. Sol, usually composed, was stunned into silence before grinning widely, declaring it "the single most impressive thing he had ever seen." 

The night ended with a storytelling session, where everyone tried to one-up each other with the most ridiculous ghost encounters they had experienced (or fabricated).

Artemis, despite being the de facto leader of their group, was the hardest to surprise — too sharp, too observant — but for her birthday, they wanted something even she couldn't predict.

For weeks, they pretended to forget, acting as though the war and their studies had left them too distracted to plan anything. Even Gwenog played along, making a loud comment the day before about "not having time for childish things like birthdays."

Then, on the night of her birthday, they led her—blindfolded—to the one place she least expected: the Hufflepuff common room. Through a combination of House favors, mischief, and sheer determination, they had managed to convince a few Hufflepuff friends to let them use the chamber for a single night.

The Hufflepuff common room glowed with soft, honeyed light, its cozy charm transformed into something magical — part archive, part celebration, all Artemis. There were floating quills that wrote personalized birthday messages mid-air, enchanted puzzles to solve for each gift, and even a miniature potion-brewing contest (which Henry won, much to Artemis' amusement). The crowning touch was a floating parchment that unraveled like a tapestry, spelling out every achievement, every spell mastered, every moment of brilliance she had ever earned.

For the first time in a long while, Artemis was rendered speechless. When she finally spoke, it was with a smirk, saying, "Fine. I suppose I'll keep all of you around."

The night ended with a round of butterbeer and enchanted fireworks that painted the ceiling with golden owls and silver stars—marking not only the day of Artemis' birth but the unbreakable bond of their friendship in the shadow of a war that loomed ever closer.

Their final celebration before summer belonged to Gwenog — and, of course, it had to happen on the Quidditch pitch. They gathered at the Hogwarts pitch, dividing into impromptu teams, with Artemis (reluctantly) acting as the commentator while Henry kept score.

The match was chaotic, with spells being cast mid-flight (some of which were definitely not regulation), but Gwenog was the undisputed star of the show. They tumbled onto the grass, breathless, aching, and grinning, the night sky endless above them.

Magnus gifted her a set of enchanted gloves that helped grip the Quaffle better, and Sol (to no one's surprise) composed an over-the-top ballad about her "grace and power in the sky." Artemis, in a rare display of competitiveness, bet her an entire box of Honeydukes sweets that Gwenog wouldn't make captain by fifth year. Gwenog, grinning, shook her hand.

Under the vast sky, they spoke in half-whispers — about next year, about the war pressing closer, about the terrifying wonder of what came next. But for now, laughter carried higher than fear.