For Gabriel, the first term at Hogwarts had become synonymous with one thing: cold.
As September faded into October, the castle was claimed by the crisp winds of mid-autumn. At first, Gabriel rather enjoyed it - the novelty of "cold weather clothes" was something rare for a boy born and raised in the arid climate of the Caatinga back in Brazil. There, the only reason for someone to wear long sleeves or cover their neck was to protect from a sun so fierce you could cook an egg by placing it into a cup of water and letting it outside.
And Gabriel, even at his most social, had never been much of an outdoorsman. He'd certainly play outside with the other children sometimes, but just as often he'd ask his mother to make some... polite excuses when they came calling for him - maybe he was occupied with 'chores', or had done something to get himself 'grounded', or perhaps he was merely 'not feeling well today'.
It wasn't until he arrived in the British Isles - with its dreary grey skies, biting winds, and constant rain - that he discovered a love for being outdoors. There was something charming about the way mist clung to the grass and how the air felt alive with chill.
But the novelty of those clothes passed quickly. Scarves itched and suffocated. Hats squeezed gave him headaches. Layers weighed him down and left him feeling stuffy. He longed for the simplicity of shorts and sleeveless shirts - anything that didn't make him feel like he was being smothered by wool.
His half-giant heritage did little to help him in the endeavor. Contrary to myth, most giants weren't particularly cold-resistant - Hagrid himself, offspring of one from the local breed, still wrapped himself up in enough fabric to clothe a small army. And the Gorjala from whom Gabriel descended were not special in that aspect.
So, as he had done before, Gabriel turned to his favorite spell: the Bluebell Flames Charm.
The first time he had used it to fight off the chill, on the last Halloween, he had lined his clothes with little glass flasks filled with enchanted blue fire. But this year, since the clothes themselves had become the problem, he decided to wear the charm directly.
The result? A few weeks of pandemonium at Hogwarts.
More than one startled student had stumbled upon the sight of a boy on fire while walking the corridors. More than once had a Prefect rushed to douse him with Glacius, Aguamenti, or the Flame-Extinguishing Charm - only for him to set himself on fire again moments later, shouting that they'd made it worse and screaming out of his lungs while sprinting off in circles as they chased after him in horror.
If Ravenclaw didn't win the Cup this year, his housemates would certainly place him at fault, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong.
By now, Gabriel had enough control over the spell to use the "condensing trick," wearing the flames like liquid ornaments - rings around his fingers, bracelets and anklets, glowing bands across his upper arms. The faintly flickering circle hovering above his head was his favorite, shaped like a halo and raining warmth on him.
Sometimes, his concentration slipped and the magic fizzled out, forcing him to pause and recast it. Keeping the halo steady was particularly difficult, and it had become common to see him with wand in hand at nearly all times.
Still, it wasn't just comfort that drove him. The aesthetic itself was greatly appealing -it made him feel... comfortable, perhaps.
He was also apparently not the only one who liked the looks of it. As he sat at the Ravenclaw table, waiting for the Halloween Feast to begin, Luna poked at said glowing halo above his head with gentle fascination. Her eyes sparkled like twin moons.
"Are you an angel?" she asked secretively. Gabriel couldn't tell if she meant it as a costume question or a genuine inquiry into some divine lineage.
"Well…" he said slyly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. "My name is Gabriel, you know."
Luna gasped softly.
"But you can't tell anyone, all right?" he whispered, extending his hand, pinky finger up.
She linked hers with his - so small compared to his own - and nodded solemnly, as if swearing the grandest of vows. Gabriel wasn't sure if she actually believed all the things he said or if she was just humoring him. Either way, it was adorable.
-~=~-
Dumbledore rose from his seat.
The Great Hall quieted almost instantly, hundreds of candles casting golden light upon his robes - tonight a deep violet trimmed with flickering silver stars.
"Before we begin our feast," he said, his voice carrying warmth and mischief in equal measure, "I must express my heartfelt admiration to the decorating committee. Never before have I seen a more enthusiastic use of floating pumpkins - or, indeed, so many skeletons dancing the Charleston."
Laughter rippled through the hall.
"As always, let us remember that this is a night for celebration - but also reflection. The world beyond these walls grows darker, and so it is all the more important that we find light - and laughter - wherever we may. So, eat well, laugh loudly, and try not to let any of the trick-or-treating ghosts startle you too much."
He clapped his hands once. Instantly, the tables filled with steaming platters and silver goblets.
"Happy Halloween!"
The Great Hall erupted into cheers as the feast began.
-~=~-
Gabriel had tucked into his meal with gusto. Since the start of his transformation, his already prodigious appetite had only grown. It was only thanks to the intense daily training he kept up - both at home and here at Hogwarts - that he hadn't ballooned into something more akin to an elephant than a human.
Tonight, though, he was eating even more, and much faster than usual. He wasn't sure why - only that some instinct told him to fill his stomach while he could.
That feeling was justified when Luna let out a small, distressed sound beside him - soft and plaintive, like a mewling kitten.
Gabriel swallowed one last piece of roast meat, closing his eyes to fix the taste in memory before glancing at her. "What's up, Luna?"
"Ginny's not here," she said simply, eyes roaming the Gryffindor table.
Gabriel groaned inwardly.
'What is it with Gryffindor girls and Halloween?' He cursed to himself.
He stared down at his plate morosely. It seemed to stare mournfully back at him. He brushed a hand over it as though in farewell.
"Don't worry, Luna," he sighed, patting her head. She looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. "I'll go look for her, alright? You stay here."
She nodded obediently - and the sight was so endearing it almost washed away his frustration. Almost. The faint smile tugging at her lips, however, told him she knew exactly what she was doing. He couldn't even muster a glare, only another resigned sigh as he rose from the table and made his way toward the High Table.
"Javé, Odin, Zeus, Nhanderuvuçu, Oxalá, Exu Caveirinha - whoever's listening, please don't let this be another bathroom troll situation," he muttered under his breath.
This time, at least, he was making sure he wasn't going in alone.
Ignoring the puzzled looks from students and professors alike, Gabriel walked behind the staff table, carefully avoiding Lockhart's side - there was no way he was dealing with that peacock tonight. He circled around until he reached Dumbledore, who was peering at him over his half-moon spectacles.
Gabriel bent close, hand half-covering his mouth, and whispered, "I've been having a bad feeling all night, like last Halloween. And Ginny Weasley from Gryffindor hasn't shown up to the feast all night."
Dumbledore hummed softly, a thoughtful, almost musical sound. Then he nodded once and tapped his goblet with a fingertip. The resulting chime reverberated strangely through the air.
"Come, my boy," he said, rising from his seat with unhurried grace. "I do hope you won't take offense - but I would very much prefer your instincts to be proven wrong tonight."
"Uh, yeah, sure," Gabriel replied, hesitating as he looked around. The atmosphere in the hall felt… odd. Then it clicked. "Why's everyone ignoring us?"
He already suspected, but this wasn't the kind of thing you just assumed.
"Merely a suggestion," the Headmaster explained pleasantly as they exited the hall. "A blend of Mind Charms - quite useful for ensuring one's quiet departure. It makes those nearby momentarily… overlook our presence."
Gabriel nodded, the Mind Arts did have a distinctive flavor he felt back there. Still, he frowned.
"That sounds way too powerful." He grumbled, though he wasn't quite sure why.
Dumbledore chuckled, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder as they began to climb the stairs. Despite affecting a frail appearance, Gabriel could feel the old man's strength in that light touch.
"That it does," Dumbledore said. "But there's a trick to it, you see. To affect so many minds at once, the magic itself turns out being rather flimsy. You may not have noticed, but several of my colleagues were entirely unaffected - merely pretending, so as not to disturb the illusion. Later on, even those most influenced will be able to recall our leaving, and should they do so, they will feel curiously uneasy about having ignored it at the time."
Gabriel made a sound of understanding and opened his mouth to ask something - but as soon as they reached the top of the stairs, the words died in his throat.
Hanging from a torch bracket by her tail was a cat - Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's half-kneazle companion - stiff and unmoving, the rigidity of rigor mortis evident in every limb. On the wall beside her were words written in the unfortunately familiar glistening crimson of blood.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Dumbledore's usual air of levity vanished in an instant. He released Gabriel's shoulder and stepped forward, his face shadowed by grim recognition.
Gabriel winced at the sight of the poor creature, then tilted his head, trying to make sense of the message. "The what of what?" he asked, approaching slowly. The stone floor squelched faintly beneath his boots - flooded, he realized, though that wasn't uncommon in this corridor.
"The Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore corrected, voice low and measured. His fingers brushed lightly over the cat's fur as he examined her. "It is rumored to be a hidden room in Hogwarts, built by Salazar Slytherin himself, without the knowledge of the other founders. Some say he brought his favored students here to teach them the darker paths of magic. And when he left the school, after a violent quarrel with Godric Gryffindor, he left behind a monster. A creature said to awaken only at the call of his true heir, when the time came to 'cleanse the school of the unworthy.'"
Gabriel lifted a single eyebrow. "And I suppose by 'unworthy' he meant people like me?" he asked dryly.
"Oh no," Dumbledore said, shaking his head gently. "From what little I've gathered in old records, Salazar had no quarrel with mixed blood or even nonhuman heritage. It was Muggle-borns he despised. He believed - quite wrongly, of course - that magic could not arise in those without magical lineage. That Muggle-borns had somehow stolen their power from others who should have had it by right."
Gabriel snorted. "My, such an open-minded bigot."
"Quite," Dumbledore agreed softly, a wry smile ghosting across his lips.
The silence that followed was heavy. The Headmaster raised his wand, tracing a slow, complex pattern through the air. A series of charms - some of which Gabriel found himself surprised by recognizing, others utterly foreign - washed over Mrs. Norris in shimmering ripples.
"So," Gabriel asked after a moment, "do you think the so-called Heir of Slytherin actually opened it?"
Dumbledore's expression lightened a touch. "Slytherin, as I recall, never had a particular problem with cats."
Gabriel blinked, then barked a short laugh. "A fake, then?"
"Most probably," Dumbledore said. "But genuine or not, whoever did this seeks to spread fear. They are, therefore, before anything else, a fearmonger. And there is one simple way to deal with such people - by giving their words precisely the value they deserve. Which is to say-"
He flicked his wand. The blood-red letters shimmered and vanished, the water on the floor evaporating into harmless mist.
"- none at all."
Gabriel stared for a beat, then smiled faintly. "Has anyone ever told you that you're quite charismatic, Headmaster?"
"Once or twice."
"What about dramatic?"
"Oh, plenty of times."
They shared a brief laugh before Gabriel's expression turned serious again. "What now?"
"Now," Dumbledore said gently, "you should return to the feast. Tell Professor McGonagall that I'll need her assistance, if you would. I'll have her check on young Miss Weasley while I investigate our little artist here."
Gabriel nodded, turning to leave - but paused, glancing back at the petrified cat in the old wizard's arms. "Will Filch be alright?" he asked softly. He'd never spoken to the man, but he'd seen how much the caretaker loved the grumpy creature. The thought of losing someone like that made his chest tighten.
"Oh, don't worry," Dumbledore reassured him. "It will be difficult for Argus to wait, but once the mandrakes your class is tending to mature properly, we'll be able to brew the antidote. Mrs. Norris has merely been petrified."
Gabriel exhaled in relief, smiling. "So she's not dead. That's good to know. Seems like Slytherin's monster isn't quite what it's cracked up to be, huh?"
With that, he gave the Headmaster a small nod and started down the stairs, casting one last glance backwards before disappearing around the corner.
When he was gone, Dumbledore stood alone in the corridor, the flickering torches throwing long shadows on the stone walls. He looked down at the motionless cat, expression distant.
Then he let out a quiet chuckle, tinged with something between relief and weariness.
"Good to know, indeed," he murmured, before turning and walking deeper into the darkened halls of Hogwarts.