XXXXX𝕿welve AM sharp.
Fireworks.
The concept embodies the love that a certain part-veela received impeccably; abundant while it lasted, but quickly forsaken. Eight years since her birth before she was forgotten. Shunned. Deemed impure by those who had raised her and claimed to have loved her. It was then that she was sent to England, an empty shell. Or was it more than that? After all, the siren had always felt more than others, her pain turning into relentless emotions. But year after year, she grew, and now, at 27 years old, Helen felt complete at last. As the fireworks illuminated the night sky, coloring the dark canvas that stretched out over London, something changed inside the part-veela. A dial moving up one digit, the irresistible euphoria of being older: this was her day. This day, she was special, deserving more than ever of the love she hadn't received in ever so many years. Shunned for so long, and still, she persevered. She wasn't just "fine"; at long last she was truly happy, truly satisfied with her life, because the wish she had made 365 days prior had come true. Her life had stabilized, she genuinely liked what she did and she had earned it: a position as librarian at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
During most years, Helen would always plan New Year's day carefully. In 2019, on her 20th birthday, that had even meant enrolling in a skiing competition against @Anthonie Engelbrecht, now a friend of hers. But this time, things were different. The part-veela had refrained from making plans; not by necessity, but by choice.
This day would reflect that. Helen returned to her apartment once the fireworks had ended with a certain warmth in her heart that felt like a long lost dream; never had she felt so serene despite the reign of sound she had only just left behind, for this was real. As her shoes clicked upon the cobblestones, every previous birthday began to replay through her mind, every laugh, every tear. During each of these memories, one moment always lingered longer than the others, coming back at the very end like the outro of a song playing a line on repeat over and over again: the candles on the cake extinguishing, a wish being made. It had never been difficult for her to utter those hopeful words in her mind in the past, it was a tradition she had never thought to question. Every wish marked unfulfillment, she came to realize, one more thing that she didn't have: a home, a family, a real job… the list was never gone completely.
Today was different, however. January 1st of 2026, and for the first time, Helen Aletheia Doukas had nothing to wish for.
It was a feeling that felt foreign in her dictionary, the longing being woven into her soul, of being the person she was supposed to be, the person people would finally understand, and ever so much more. And still, it came as a pleasant surprise to the heart, one that she would hold tight, refusing to let it slip away. Not this time, not ever again.
Serendipity.
𝕳elen didn't even need to stifle a yawn as she awoke, her blue eyes slowly opening. The breeze through her room seemed to carry a newfound energy of sorts, and for a fleeting moment, she didn't realize what day it was. Everything seemed almost normal for a moment, another day, another dollar – but maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't need to spend a dollar for this particular day. Realization didn't hit like a rock, only slowly dawning upon her, the date on her alarm clock connecting countless memories and recalling the meaning of last night's spectacle of colors flying through the sky.
As the woman came to full consciousness, she took a moment to step outside, onto the balcony of the apartment she had rented for the holidays. As a student, the holidays were hardly a time to distract herself from what was going on in her life. It cleared out space for the hidden pain of not being genuinely loved to crawl out of its lair, inching through each crevice of her bones and limbs, suffocating her, swallowing her whole, prayers to the gods to restore her human visage without the tears and numbness being all that was left of her hollowed out soul. This was not who she was meant to be, this was not correct. The real her was buried by this strange thing possessing her, young Helen reasoned. In reality, however, it was the lack of love after the age of eight and the insecurity she didn't realize she had deep down from the lies her parents had told her about being "impure". The nanny they had sent to take care of her had always treated her well, but she was not the same as a true mother, nor would she ever be.
During her first three years of high school holiday life, that had always been her standard mentality.
Who was she? Human or holy? Veela or siren?
Was she meant for this life?
Where would she find her place, truly?
When would she stop tricking herself into thinking everyone loved her,
and that she was alright?
Three years in, four to go, and finally, a blessing bestowed itself upon her. A new beginning at Durmstrang Institute, and 14-year-old Helen finally had a sense of renewed chances, an end to the insecurities she never thought she had. But this was all a trick of the gods.
A letter with a seal too familiar for her own good. An invitation – but more of an order than a request – to reside with her elders once more during the following summer. Written in cursive, sweetly scented paper feigning innocence. The reality of it? Helen Aletheia Doukas was meant to be used as a mere weapon for their sickly plots, which never came to fruition. The summers in Greece, the winters in Scandinavia.
Once again, this became protocol, until she stripped herself from her chains at long last.
Who had she become, though?
Was she really free? Scars on the inside,
would she heal?
Where would she go next?
What was her destiny?
Was Hogwarts her destiny?
–––
Holidays were different now.
As the woman lived at Hogwarts and any pay to reside there had already been deducted from her paycheck, everything left was fair game for both saving up – after all, it was clear that her destiny was never certain anymore, it seemed – and the school breaks such as Christmas. Helen had specifically ensured that she would be in London on New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, and had rented an apartment in accordance with that intent. She did not want a big birthday celebration– no, not this time. On the contrary, she had chosen to make her day as normal as possible, for she did not want anything more than she already had at this moment in her life, and in a certain sense, that decision was meant to symbolize such.
Stepping back into the room, Helen slipped an apron over her head and began baking in the small kitchen that the apartment offered. The act of making a tasty dish had always been calming for her, a hobby that she had picked up during her travels, learning how to cook and bake many different foods from a multitude of cultures. One of these was the Swedish cinnamon roll, a lovely dish that took a while to make but was worth the wait. As she worked, a sweet scent reached her nostrils, reminiscent of ever so many other times that she had made this very same dessert in the past. Although they would need to sit for a long time before they could be deemed ready, Helen had always been an early riser, awaking as the birds sang their first songs of the day, and time was not scarce.
While the rolls were in the oven, the part-veela began to prepare herself for the day. Her routine was structured and methodical, accounting for every step with measured precision. First came a quick shower, accompanied with lotion and perfume, after which she donned the outfit she had decided upon– a white blouse and blue jeans, simple but fit for her needs. Her hair was next on the list, not exuberant but brushed and nice-looking, enough for her destination plus a little more. Once finished with that, the woman went on to doing her nails, as she did on most occasions, a routine that came almost unconsciously. After all, even when her teenage years had ended, she never fully stopped caring about her appearance. Each detail was as precise as her muscle memory would allow it, nothing below perfection. As she applied the final touches, she looked at her work with satisfaction, and stood up to take the cinnamon rolls out of the oven not long after.
With nothing more to be done, Helen placed the rolls in a basket, pulled on her coat and heels, and closed her apartment door behind her.
Instead of using magic, she would be using public transportation today, just like the many times she had traveled through London as a child. Having time is a blessing, and Helen had that asset, granting her the ability to do as she chose. The bus was not a minute late, a feature that Helen both noticed and commended, as she climbed the steps onto the red vehicle and paid for her ticket. After taking her place in the center of the platform and checking that she had everything she needed once more, Helen's visage turned toward the large window.
The route wasn't new to her, but rather much like a tale told many times over again without losing its quality. Scenes of her youth flashed through her mind as the bus sped along, memory and reality becoming one, until the voiceover announcing her stop finally drew her attention away from the clear glass between her and her past.
A large building stood in front of her, a destination awaiting its attendees, vast in space and knowledge but hardly a soul to be found within its walls. It was New Year's Day after all, and while most libraries were closed on that very celebration, exceptions such as this one presented themselves from time to time, especially for (temporary) staff – including Helen herself – and dedicated students, or even any wizard able to trick the system from time to time.
It didn’t take long before the woman had positioned herself at her post, sorting books and accepting requests from those unable to find what they were searching for. On the desk close by stood the basket of cinnamon rolls, free for anyone to take, and serving as the occasional snack for herself as well. The work she was doing was the standard procedure, for at the end of the day, there wasn't much difference as a librarian in the wizarding world than one in muggle society. Apart from the technology available for students and staff in her current location, the library itself was almost identical in function to the one in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After all, everyone lived in the same world, only a secret apart.
It was this that had been one of Helen's greatest realizations throughout the years after graduation, on her voyage of self-discovery and freedom at long last. Her doubts about who she was, whether she was who she was meant to be, they were all linked to one thing.
Identity.
But over time, passing through both wizard and muggle communities, she came to realize that everyone had the same hopes and dreams, and that those dreams were what had forever tied mankind together; the aspirations that they would forever hold on to, birthday wishes being a manifestation of such desires, a fragment of the game called life.
That was what made today so perfect.
Helen did not need anything special to be truly happy.
Not anymore.
