Gabriel stepped off the Hogwarts Express into a blur of voices, steam, and winter chill. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was alive with chaos: trunks clattering down from the train, owls hooting indignantly from their cages, parents waving frantically to catch sight of their children, and siblings running into one another's arms. The iron arch of the platform let in shafts of pale winter light, making the breath of hundreds of witches and wizards puff white into the air. The scent of roasted chestnuts from a cart mixed with the oily tang of train smoke, a strangely cozy combination.
For most of the students, the air was brisk. For Gabriel - who had been born in a place he often described as "just a few degrees shy of Hell" - it was murderously cold. He had bundled himself into layer after layer until he looked less like a boy and more like an overstuffed burrito with legs. Still, when the sharp wind carried flakes of snow past his face, he couldn't help but grin. The cold might be cruel, but the snow certainly made it worth it.
He waved Hermione and Neville off, the three of them parting with a promise to write, then scanned the crowd for the one person he knew would stand out.
And there she was.
His mother's warm brown eyes - his old eyes - were fixed on him with a mixture of fondness and sharp appraisal. Her hair, long and dark as coffee beans, was tucked into a style that matched the eccentric fashion she had adopted since they arrived in Brittain: a Victorian-gothic ensemble of midnight blue, black, and silver. Even her lipstick shimmered in cold cobalt, and her eyeshadow glimmered like powdered sapphires beneath her lashes. She raised an eyebrow at his changed features but smiled all the same.
When Gabriel reached her, she dropped gracefully to her knees, arms open - only to blink when she realized his growth spurt had put his chest level with her head. A startled laugh escaped her, and instead of hugging him there, she scooped him up with surprising strength, spinning him in a circle. Gabriel made a show of groaning in embarrassment, but her shushing only made her hold him tighter before finally setting him back down.
"You've changed," she murmured, hands roaming to straighten his scarf, smooth his sleeves, cup his face. "So different in just a few months." Then her voice hardened slightly as she caught a lock of his hair between her fingers. "Though I suppose we can't blame it all on puberty…"
Her hands tightened at his shoulders. Gabriel quickly smiled, easing the weight of her stare. "I missed you too, mãe."
She exhaled, eyes softening, then smirked at the sight of his padded layers. "You're forgetting something."
He blinked innocently. "Am I?"
With one deft hand she pinched his cheek. "Don't play dumb. Did we sleep in the same bed last night?"
Gabriel let out a gasp, eyes wide in mock revelation. "Ah! Bença, mãe!"
"God bless you, you little miscreant," she said, finally releasing his cheek. With a flick of her fingers, his trunk and bags clattered to life and floated after them. "Come. There's an Apparition station here around the corner."
Gabriel 's face fell. "Oh, no."
"Don't be dramatic," she chided.
"We could take the Knight Bus. Or fly! Or even use Floo!"
"The Knight Bus doesn't pass through our home. I didn't bring the car. And you hate Floo," she reminded him smoothly.
"And I-" He stopped himself just short of saying he hated Apparating with her, but the sharp glint of her smile told him she'd already guessed the thought.
The Apparition Station stood at the far end of the platform, cordoned off with wrought-iron fencing inscribed with glowing runes. Beyond the fence shimmered a faint distortion, like heat-haze, where the anti-apparition wards lifted in a narrow channel. Aurors patrolled the perimeter in dark-blue robes with enchanted badges glinting on their chests, wands loosely at their sides but eyes sharp. Each parent-child pair had to pass through a checkpoint: names and wand signatures recorded, tickets issued, and all under the stern gaze of Ministry officials.
Gabriel and his mother cleared the checks with ease, the whole process taking but a few moments. On the platform itself, faint silver circles were painted on the stone floor, each space set for a traveler.
Gabriel shuffled into place. He bent his knees, curved his back, clenched fists and buttocks, and squeezed his eyes shut like a soldier about to be shot.
His mother snorted and smacked him between the shoulder blades.
The world tore apart.
Apparition was less like movement and more like being wrung through a straw made of space. Pressure crushed every part of Gabriel's body at once, his chest squeezed flat, his ears roaring, his eyes full of blinding white. His own breath felt stolen. Then, suddenly, everything snapped back into place.
They emerged into a glade blanketed in snow, the air crystalline and cold. Pines and birches rimmed the clearing, their branches heavy with ice, while a blue sky stretched sharp and clear overhead. Mountains loomed in the distance, their ridges jagged white against the horizon.
All of which Gabriel might have admired - if not for the fact that they were several hundred feet in the air.
His scream tore across the clearing as gravity yanked him downward. His mother's delighted laughter carried alongside his panic as they plummeted together. Only at the last moment did her wand flick, slowing their descent until they drifted gently onto the soft snow.
The instant his boots touched solid ground, Gabriel cut his screaming off and straightened as though nothing had happened.
"So dramatic," she teased, shaking her head. "I thought your fear of heights would be over after flying lessons."
"I'm not afraid of heights," he said stiffly. "I'm afraid of falls. Those are two very different things."
She laughed.
Their home rose before them: a dwelling carved directly into the cliffside, the raw stone shaped by ample use of the gouging charm and transfigurations. The lowest level opened outward with a vast charmed glass wall, unbreakable and gleaming, through which Gabriel could see the living room glowing warmly within. At its back, two staircases branched: one plunging downward into the many laboratories his mother kept, the other spiraling upward into the family's quarters. His own room occupied the second level, hers the third, both marked with wide circular windows divided by a cross-like design.
And now - Gabriel noted with surprise - a fourth floor crowned the structure, smoke curling from newly built chimneys. Two side-doors flanked the living room as well, stonework still sharp from fresh spells.
She caught his look. "One of the many joys of a home like this: I can remodel whenever I please."
"You could've just expanded some flat in London for the same result," he pointed out.
She sniffed. "Do you know what rent costs in London?"
He arched an unimpressed eyebrow. They both knew money wasn't her problem.
Mature as always, she blew a raspberry at him and marched toward the stone steps. "Besides, expansion charms wreak havoc on appliances. Can't have the neighbors complaining when every toaster in the building starts coughing sparks."
Then she turned him by the shoulder, gesturing at the scene before them.
The glade sparkled in the winter light. At its center lay a clear artificial lake, dotted with vast vitórias-régias, their broad leaves rimmed with frost. Along the edges, a garden of enchanted fruit trees and bright flowers spilled colors even through the snow. Tiny winged fairies flitted among little birdhouses now claimed as their homes, waving merrily at Gabriel. To the left, a circle of rune-carved standing stones glowed faintly, warming the snow to create a patch of vivid green grass. Overhead, frost-laden branches arched into natural patterns like cathedral ribs.
"Besides," his mother said softly. "We wouldn't have this view in London, would we?"
Gabriel's lips curved despite himself. "No, I suppose not."
-~=~-
A short while later, Gabriel had stowed his luggage away and was sprawled on the sofa, eyes fixed on the television. Somehow, impossibly, it was broadcasting a Brazilian channel. He had long since stopped asking how his mother pulled off feats like this - it was magic, obviously, but the how of it all was a mystery he hadn't the foggiest on how to even start solving.
The smell reached him before she did: coffee rich with condensed milk, chocolate powder, and cinnamon. His favorite. He accepted the cup with a grin, savoring the warmth and sweetness, while his mother perched nearby with her own mug of pitch-black coffee. She wrinkled her nose at his concoction, half-smiling, half-wincing.
"I have no idea where you got this taste from," she said dryly.
Gabriel stuck his tongue out at her, only for her finger to flick it faster than his eyes could follow. He nearly spilled his drink in surprise.
"Hoh?" she teased, eyes narrowing with mock menace. "Four months away, and already so disrespectful. I did buy a new belt this week - should I test it on your butt?"
"No, mãe! I was joking!" Gabriel clutched his cup as though it were a shield, scooting closer to her side with exaggerated despair.
She snorted but let him settle against her, draping an arm over his shoulders. Her fingers pinched the fabric of his outer coat, testing its thickness. She hummed.
"Quite warm," she observed. "Did you use some kind of general warming charm? Or one more directed at clothes?"
"Neither." Gabriel smirked. With a flourish, he pulled open the coat to reveal rows of potion vials sewn along the lining. Within each glass cylinder, crystalline blue flames flickered and danced.
Amused, his mother plucked one free and turned it in her hand. "Bluebell Flames," she murmured. "Produces light, never burns. Warms when cold, cools when hot. Quite the gentle spell, isn't it?"
She inspected the flame, her right eyebrow rising. "And impressive control. You've kept all of these burning all this time, each in a separate vessel. You must have practiced a great deal."
Gabriel puffed his chest out smugly. "Well, yes. But the idea wasn't entirely mine. Hermione's the one who taught me the spell - she's been carrying hers in a little jar everywhere since winter started. I just… improved the concept."
"Ahhh." His mother 's lips curled in mischief. "Hermione, hm? Sua namoradinha."
Heat rushed to Gabriel's cheeks, though he forced his face into a deadpan mask. "Don't even start with that."
Her laughter rang out loud and unrestrained, making his blush deepen as he hid behind a sip of coffee. When she finally calmed, she tilted her head thoughtfully, repeating the name under her breath as though tasting it. "Hermione…"
"Mãe-"
"It's quite the unusual name," she mused, ignoring him. "Daughter of Menelaus and Helen of Troy. Means 'Wellborne.' But it also means 'Of Hermes.' I suppose the girl must be very clever?"
Gabriel sighed, defeated. "She is. But that has nothing to do with her name."
"Of course not," she said, in the playfully condescending tone only a mother could manage. "Ah, but I do recall another Hermione - Shakespeare's Winter's Tale. Perhaps your friend is fated to marry a deeply envious man?"
Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Divination's unreliable at the best of times. Name divination's even worse."
She chuckled. "True, but it is still something one must take into consideration. Never name something without care. Look at yours; Gabriel. Strength of God. Divine strength. Strong as a god. Quite fitting for the son of Eloá, don't you think?"
"Oh no," Gabriel groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. "My mother has fallen for the same trap as every half-accomplished wizard of antiquity, she developed a God complex."
"Shush," she sniffed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can walk on water, turn it into wine, multiply fish," She counts, lifting a finger for each 'miracle', "I've also made light and life, didn't I? All that's left is to create a world of my own. Then I'll deserve the title."
Gabriel took another sip of his coffee, sighed theatrically, and patted her head as one might humor a child.
Her laughter burst out again as she locked an arm around his neck, grinding her knuckles into his hair. "Pirralho."
"Mãe! Careful! The coffee!" he squawked.
Her laughter echoed through the living room as he flailed, their mugs clinking safely together. And that was how the evening settled, warm with laughter, coffee, and the familiar comfort of home.