The entire WIX had gathered for annual Dawson New year Party, Parties Artemis had always found overwhelming as a child but now found oddly comforting with her friends scattered across the halls. Sol and Magnus were already posted by the punch bowl, Magnus leaning back in a velvet armchair while Sol dramatically lamented the lack of any proper chaos so far.
"Where's the drama?" Sol asked, waving his glass around. "It's a party full of nobles, social climbers, and journalists. Someone ought to be hexing someone else by now."
Magnus, half-smiling, nudged him. "Give it time."
Across the room, Tonight's hostess Rosaline and Eliza stood by the Christmas tree, no longer looking like identical reflections. Rosaline's new passion for fashion had resulted in her wearing a deep Red dress with flowing sleeves, her hair styled in soft curls threaded with gold charms. Eliza, by contrast, had gone for practicality—a sleek forest-green ensemble, her hair tied back in a braid that somehow managed to look effortlessly cool.
"It's weird," Sol whispered to Magnus. "I keep thinking one of them's been Polyjuiced."
Magnus elbowed him. "They're figuring themselves out. Leave them be."
Artemis, looking regal and at ease in a midnight-black dress with silver constellations embroidered along the hem, wove through the crowd, balancing the role of friend and schemer with practiced ease. At her side was Iris, looking uncharacteristically confident in her emerald robes. The presence of Gwenog, who had arrived ten minutes earlier with a wicked smile and a sprig of mistletoe tucked into her braid, might have had something to do with that.
Vivian, leaning on the bannister of the grand staircase, surveyed the room like a queen presiding over her court. Ethan Selwyn, looking slightly out of place but wearing his usual Slytherin confidence like armor, stood at her side, more reserved but present nonetheless.
But the one person Artemis had been keeping an eye on all evening was Henry.
He wasn't miserable, not exactly. He smiled in all the right places, laughed when someone made a joke, and accepted the plate of spiced biscuits an elf offered him with a polite thank-you. But there was a distance to him, a thin veneer of pleasantness stretched over something more fragile underneath. He lingered at the edges of conversations instead of in the middle. Even when Eliza looped her arm through his and dragged him into a conversation about Quidditch, his smile never quite reached his eyes.
It was Magnus who found her first, slipping into her orbit near the grand fireplace. "We need to do something for him."
Artemis didn't need to ask who 'him' was. "I know."
"Has he talked to anyone?"
She shook her head. "Not really. Not even Eliza. He's trying, but I think he's… I don't know. Lost."
Magnus hesitated, then said, "We need to remind him that we're his, too. That he's ours."
Artemis's smile was small but genuine. "I might have had an idea."
"Do tell."
She glanced toward where Henry was attempting to balance a goblet of cider and a precariously large gingerbread biscuit, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "His birthday's next week."
Magnus blinked. "It is?"
"You're a terrible friend."
"Excuse me for not memorizing everyone's birth charts."
Artemis ignored him. "We throw him a surprise party. Nothing huge—just us. He hates being the center of attention, but he deserves a night that's just for him."
Magnus's grin was slow and warm. "I love it. Operation Bell-itastic Birthday."
"We're not calling it that."
"We absolutely are."
As they started plotting, Vivian, Iris, and Sol drifted into their circle, catching the tail end of the conversation.
"Party?" Sol asked, eyes lighting up.
"For Henry," Artemis said. "He's been feeling left out."
Vivian's expression flickered with guilt, and for a moment, the usual sharpness in her gaze softened. "Yeah. That's fair."
"Good," Artemis said. "Because we're all making it happen."
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of elegant chatter, bad dancing (courtesy of Sol and Gwenog, who attempted to waltz and only succeeded in knocking over a decorative vase), and more food than any reasonable gathering required. But under it all, the WIX were quietly laying plans.
The next day, in a smaller, quieter but equally beautiful home, Henry Bell sat between his parents, his hands clasped around a mug of hot cocoa, the warmth barely seeping into his skin.
Elizabeth Bell, ever the composed solicitor, glanced at her son over the rim of her own cup. "You've been quiet tonight."
Henry shrugged. "It's a party."
"That's not an answer," his father Alan said softly.
Henry hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to them—it was just that putting it into words felt too big, too messy. But this was the first time they'd all been together without a million other obligations pulling them apart, and something inside him uncoiled just enough to let it out.
"I feel like I'm on the outside of everything," he admitted. "I love the WIX. They're my best friends. But… they're all older. They're all figuring out who they are, and they have each other, and I'm—"
"You're not sure where you fit," Elizabeth finished softly.
Henry nodded.
Alan leaned forward, resting a hand on Henry's shoulder. "It's not easy being the youngest in a group like that."
"They never make me feel left out," Henry rushed to say. "Not on purpose. It's just… they have all these inside jokes and projects and things they talk about, and I'm still the kid tagging along."
Elizabeth's smile was sad and fond at once. "You know, when I was at Hogwarts, I was the youngest of my friends too. It's easy to feel like you're playing catch-up."
"But you're not," Alan added. "You bring something to that group none of them have. You've got this curiosity, Henry, and this kindness. You see things they don't."
"I don't want them to see me as just the kid," Henry said quietly. "I want to matter."
"You already do," Elizabeth said, squeezing his hand. "But if you want to feel like you matter more, sometimes you have to show them who you're becoming."
Henry swallowed hard. "What if I don't know who that is yet?"
His father smiled. "Then you figure it out—with them. And with us."
The knot in Henry's chest loosened, just a little. "Okay."
"And maybe," Elizabeth added with a smile, "you let us throw you a proper birthday this year."
"Or at least something that doesn't involve you hiding in your room," his father added.
Henry smiled, the first real one in days. "Deal."
Unbeknownst to him, the WIX were already three steps ahead.
In the next couple of days, plans for Operation Bell-itastic Birthday (Still Not Calling It That) were set in motion. There were arguments over cake flavors, debates on whether confetti was festive or obnoxious (it was both), and an ill-advised attempt by Sol to commission a singing portrait that nearly ended in disaster when the portrait developed a lisp.
But for Henry Bell, the boy who had always felt like the tag-along little brother, it was going to be a birthday to remember.
Because in this house, and in this family they'd built for themselves, no one was left behind.
A Morning after New year dawned with a thin frost clinging to the windows of Lovelace Manor, sunlight glinting off the snow-dusted grounds. The house was quiet, post-holiday lull settling over its ancient halls, but in the smaller sunroom off the eastern wing, there was a meeting brewing.
Elizabeth Bell sat gracefully in one of the high-backed chairs, her tea steaming gently as she smiled across at Artemis. The closeness between them had been forged years ago — after Artemis lost her parents, when Elizabeth had stepped in, not as a surrogate mother but as something softer, quieter. A steady hand when the world tilted too far. The kind of adult who never spoke down to her, who listened when the grief made Artemis silent.
Now, Elizabeth's smile was warm but thoughtful. "I wanted to talk to you about Henry's birthday."
Artemis, curled on the window seat with her own cup of tea balanced on her knee, arched a brow. "We were actually going to bring that up to you."
Elizabeth blinked. "Oh?"
Artemis smirked. "The WIX has been planning a surprise party for him. We figured he needed… I don't know. A reminder."
"Of how loved he is," Elizabeth finished softly.
Artemis's smile turned gentler. "Exactly."
"Well." Elizabeth set her teacup down. "That makes this easier. Alan and I were thinking of hosting it at the house — a proper family gathering. But I love the idea of you lot helping plan it."
"Perfect." Artemis's mind was already racing with ideas. "The adults can handle cake and making sure the extended family shows up. We'll handle the fun parts."
Elizabeth's eyes twinkled with quiet amusement. "I'm sure Henry will appreciate the combination of responsible adults and whatever chaos you're planning."
Artemis shrugged. "Controlled chaos."
That, Elizabeth clearly doubted, but said nothing. Instead, her expression softened. "He's been a bit lost lately. I know you've noticed."
Artemis's throat tightened. "Yeah."
"I think sometimes it's hard being the youngest in a group like yours." Elizabeth's smile was fond, no trace of blame. "You're all so brilliant, and Henry… he feels like he's constantly trying to catch up."
"We never meant to make him feel that way," Artemis said quickly. "He's—he's Henry. He's one of us."
"I know." Elizabeth's hand covered Artemis's briefly. "But sometimes, it's not about what you mean. It's about what someone feels."
Artemis swallowed hard. "Then we're going to show him. Loud and clear."
Elizabeth's smile widened. "I knew I could count on you."
Later that afternoon, when the WIX reconvened in the drawing room, Artemis dropped the news like a live Dungbomb.
"So, we're officially co-hosting Henry's birthday party with his parents."
Rosaline, who had been flipping through one of Artemis's prototype communication journals, blinked. "Wait, what?"
"They're hosting a proper family gathering," Artemis explained. "But we—meaning us—are in charge of making it Henry-worthy."
"Henry-worthy," Sol repeated. "So… highly specific, deeply personal, and at least 30% chaos?"
"Exactly."
Eliza leaned back, balancing her chair on two legs. "Good thing we've been planning this for a week."
"Wait," Magnus frowned. "Does that mean there's going to be… family? Like, the actual Bell family?"
"All of them," Artemis confirmed. "Including little Katie."
"Isn't that Henry's cousin?" Sol asked.
Eliza grinned. "Mr. Bell's niece. Technically his first cousin once removed. But yeah, Katie's adorable. If you let her, she will absolutely steal your wand and demand you duel her."
"I like her already," Gwenog said approvingly.
"Also," Artemis added, tapping the table for attention, "Aunt Aurelia's coming."
The room went quiet for a moment. Everyone knew how much Aurelia Lovelace meant to Artemis — how she was the last real piece of Artemis's family left. The fact that she was making the trip, despite her health, meant more than Artemis was willing to say out loud.
"So," Vivian said, smoothly shifting the subject to spare Artemis's emotions. "Gifts. We agreed we'd all do something personal."
"Got mine sorted," Sol said smugly. "A personalized map of all the best hiding spots in Hogwarts. For when Henry needs to escape us."
"Practical," Iris said. "I'm writing him a letter. A proper one. Just… everything I'd say if I thought he'd actually sit still long enough to hear it."
"Same," Eliza admitted. "Except I'm also giving him my old Ravenclaw scarf. I think he secretly wanted it when we were little."
"Rosaline and I are working on something together," Vivian said. "A scrapbook — photos, notes, all our ridiculous Chronicle headlines with his bylines highlighted."
Artemis smiled faintly. "Perfect."
"What about you?" Magnus asked.
Artemis's fingers traced the edge of her communication journal, its leather cover still faintly warm from recent enchantments. "I was thinking…" She hesitated, then pushed the journal into the center of the table. "A set of linked journals. For all of us."
Sol's brow arched. "Like the test versions we worked on?"
"Better." Artemis's eyes shone with quiet pride. "Each of us gets one. There's a private section, just for each person. But there's also a shared group chat section — anything you write there shows up in everyone's copies. Real-time."
Magnus's eyes widened. "You made magical group texts?"
"Basically." Artemis grinned. "And — each one has a spare linked journal. A small one. We can give it to someone outside the WIX — family, siblings, anyone we want to stay connected with."
"That's brilliant," Gwenog said, awed.
"Henry's going to love it," Iris added softly.
Artemis took a breath. "It's not just for Henry. It's for all of us. So no one ever feels out of the loop again."
The silence that followed was warm and full — the kind of silence where nothing needed to be said, because they all understood.
"Alright," Sol said after a moment, clapping his hands together. "So, we've got heartwarming gifts, family chaos, and emotional vulnerability covered. Who's handling the actual party?"
"Eliza and I will handle food," Rosaline said. "We have contacts."
"Gwenog and I will handle games," Sol said. "Explosive or otherwise."
"Vivian and I will run interference with the adults," Iris added. "Make sure Henry doesn't suspect anything."
Magnus grinned at Artemis. "And you?"
Artemis tapped the journal again. "I finished these."
That night, after most of the house had gone quiet and the snow outside settled into a soft, peaceful blanket, Artemis sat at her desk, one candle flickering low.
The colorful leather journals were laid out in a neat row, each cover embossed with its owner's initials: A.L., M.K., S.M., R.D., E.D., V.D., I.L., G.J., H.B.
She traced her fingers along the spines, murmuring the final linking charm, feeling the magic hum softly under her skin. This was her gift — a tether to bind them together, no matter how far apart they might drift.
And in the empty space beside Henry's journal lay the smaller, unmarked one — the extra copy linked just to his. Artemis had plans for that one.
A gift for his parents.
A way for them to write to him, to check in without sending owls, to remind him that they were there even when they couldn't be.
She sealed each journal with her wand, then sat back, exhaustion tugging at her bones. The party was tomorrow. The house would be full of love and noise and cake and Henry's wide-eyed, overwhelmed smile.
But tonight, it was just Artemis and her work — and the quiet, certain knowledge that no matter how hard growing up got, none of them would do it alone.