Penwick

When her father told her they were invited to a New Year's gathering, June had assumed he meant something like the Selwyn holiday parties of her childhood.

Those, of course, had not been casual.
Not remotely.
Even the house elves had worn cufflinks.

“Very casual, Junie, nothing fancy, just a bonfire and a bit of food."

June had looked at him tentatively for a full five seconds before carefully asking, “Casual as in not black tie? Or are we talking actual casual where I can wear pants?"

Phinehas feigned offence. "Actual casual!" he insisted. "Just a little impromptu gathering for the Brynwell Theatre Company and their families."

Which, in hindsight, was a very poor description.

Because as they approached the company's Artistic Director's house (house being a modest word for a three-story place perched like a crown over the Welsh coastal cliffs), June realized very quickly that her father’s idea of casual was wildly, absurdly wrong.

Lanterns flickered across the lawn, the bonfire towered over the garden shed. What was at least seventy scarf-and-mittened people milled across the property, steaming mugs in their hands, and the scent of mulled cider drifted on the cold air.

June wrapped her coat tighter, struggling with the wind. Not formal, no. Yet hardly the “little impromptu gathering” her father had portrayed it as.

Theatre people, she was learning, didn't do anything halfway.

Inside the gates, the noise swelled: laughter, music, the occasional shriek from a child convinced snowballs should be thrown regardless of whether they were inside or outside. Someone had conjured glittering confetti that hovered like a low constellation over the nearest hedges.

“Didn't realize just the company and their families would be this many people,” Phinehas muttered. He looked almost boyish, nervous and slightly overdressed even in his thick sweater.

June nodded, eager to wander and explore, but also deeply overwhelmed by all of the newness and loudness around her. New Year's Eve was a good night for observation. People revealed strange truths about themselves on threshold days.

A woman with a sharp bob of silver hair and velvet shawl appeared in the doorway.

“Phinehas!” she exclaimed, sweeping forward to peck both of his cheeks. “Such an honour to have you here. And you must be June, I'm Margie! You know, your father is somewhat of a celebrity to us. We used to do book club during our off-season, 'The Selwyn Study.'” She waggled her eyebrows at Phinehas. “Anyways, welcome, welcome! Come warm yourselves before you freeze solid!”

June gave a courteous smile. “Thank you for having us over.”

"Nonsense. Tonight is for family and fools. Make yourselves at home." She disappeared with the ease of someone who'd been hosting parties for decades.

June barely had time to sip her cider when they were approached again by a tall man with laugh lines deep as valleys and a girl with bright red plaits who looked about eight.

"Phinehas, is it?" the man asked. "I'm Idris, I usually do lighting design. This is my daughter, Ffion."

Ffion grinned. “Dad says your books have too many fights but that the dialogue is 'shockingly competent' for a novelist.”

Idris's grin stiffened awkwardly. “I didn’t say that.”

“Did too,” said Ffion.

June bit back a laugh.

Across the lawn, a person waved enthusiastically, a woman holding two plates piled with cheese. "Selwyn! Over here! We've been arguing about whether Castle Around Your Bones is secretly a political allegory!"

Phinehas inhaled sharply through his nose. “Oh dear.”

-

After a bit of wandering around the party, admiring the house, meeting some new classmates, munching on charcuterie boards that were spread inside and outside of the home, June made her way toward the bonfire. The air was crisp and chilly outside, but not unbearable. A few small dogs wove between June's legs as she overheard bits and bobs of conversation.

“I swear that costume was not that tight during fittings-”
“-and then he dropped the entire cake-”
“-no, I’m telling you, the ghost light actually moved on its own...”

June warmed her hands over the flames, letting the heat settle into her gloves. Someone attempted to start a sing-along. Someone else immediately shut it down. Glasses clinked. A sparkler sizzled.

A woman stood near one of the oak barrels repurposed as a drinks table, holding a mug and listening to the costume designer ramble about hemlines. Dark hair tucked behind one ear, coat open enough to show a burgundy sweater beneath.

Phinehas joined June at the fire, and more introductions followed. A props master named Dorian who insisted June take extra marshmallows in her cocoa five times (there ended up being more marshmallow than cocoa in the end). A stage manager named Eleri who spoke at the speed of a racing broom.

Every so often, June caught her father glancing at her as if to confirm she was present. He did that sometimes after the divorce, after the quiet months, like he needed proof she hadn’t slipped away too.

She smiled back each time. Unspoken support.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later, after the third round of mulled cider, after the fireworks testing, after Phinehas had been guilted into telling the story of how he accidentally set his desk on fire while writing his first novel, that the woman from earlier approached them.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked lightly.

Phinehas blinked. “Not at all, no."

Someone called out that it was one minute until midnight.

She nodded. “I'm Liora Marwood, thought I should introduce myself properly before we all freeze. Sorry, didn't seem like there was a good time to do it earlier. You're Phinehas, I know that much,” the two shook hands, "and you must be his daughter?" Liora extended a hand.

June shook her hand politely. “June Selwyn.”

"You must be attending Hogwarts, then, am I right?"

She shook her head. "No, I just transferred to Penwick this year, actually."

Liora nodded in the polite way you nod in small talk. "Well then, best of luck to you."

Someone called Liora over to help settle a debate about Shakespeare. She excused herself with a small nod and slipped away.

A countdown began somewhere nearby, and people gathered closer to the fire to get a better look at the fireworks once the clock struck midnight. Snow, real or conjured, June couldn't tell, began to drift.

She stood beside her father, shoulders brushing, watching sparks climb into the dark sky. This night would fade soon, becoming just another memory. June tucked her gloves tighter into her sleeves and lifted her chin as the crowd counted down.

10...
9..
8…

And she didn’t think about school or stress or family legacies.

7...
6...
5...

She thought, This year will be different, I know it.

And the fire roared on.