Consolidation
The past twelve hours had been a whirlwind of activity aboard the Arcanis. Scans were reviewed, data was cross-referenced, and every potential anomaly was flagged for further analysis. Hermione had pushed for one last, albeit brief, visit to the mysterious ship’s interior, and Elena, after some deliberation, agreed that a final exploration was necessary to ensure nothing had been overlooked. The secondary exploration yielded only marginal results: some additional data buried within the ship’s systems—logs from its original mission and its trajectory before it disappeared. Though fascinating, the records offered little immediate relevance to their mission and were quickly relegated to the “secondary importance” pile.
The information from the pedestal remained the focal point, a tantalising puzzle that demanded their full attention. Hermione meticulously documented every detail, her notes as precise and exhaustive as ever. Meanwhile, Theo scrawled his theories in a haphazard, albeit insightful, manner that frequently tested Hermione’s patience. Draco, ever composed and methodical, dedicated himself to cross-referencing the magical findings with muggle data, his exacting thoroughness earning the occasional exaggerated eye roll from Theo.
Communication between the Arcanis and the Earth-based team had been sparse, per Elena’s orders to maintain radio silence until all data was compiled for a comprehensive debrief. Despite this, the enchanted notebook glowed faintly at regular intervals, a quiet reminder of the wizarding team’s eagerness for updates.
Now, with their findings in order and no immediate tasks to occupy their hands, the trio found themselves in the kitchen, seated around the collapsible table alongside Robert and Aditi. The air was thick with the tension of waiting, the kind of quiet that inevitably set in after days of relentless activity.
Robert leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he surveyed the group. “I’ve got to hand it to you lot,” he said, his tone a blend of admiration and dry humour. “We’ve been dreaming of a moment like this for years, but you’d think finding out we’re not alone in the universe would send most people into a tailspin. Yet here you are, handling it all… remarkably well.”
Theo grinned, propping his chin in his hand. “Well, what can I say? We’re a resilient bunch. If you think this is wild, you should’ve seen us in school. This is practically a holiday by comparison.”
Aditi raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze flicking to Hermione. “School prepared you for alien life, did it?” she asked, her tone skeptical but not unkind.
“Oh, you should have seen her, she—”
Hermione quickly cut him off, shooting a pointed glance at Draco and Theo before replying carefully, “Let’s just say… we’ve had our fair share of extraordinary experiences.” She offered a small, enigmatic smile, which Theo immediately seized upon with his usual flair.
“Oh, we’ve faced extraordinary, alright,” Theo said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Of course, Hermione here always managed to make it look effortless. Me? I’m more of a ‘grace under pressure’ kind of guy.”
Draco snorted, his grey eyes narrowing slightly. “Grace is one word for it.”
Robert chuckled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension in the room eased. “Well, whatever your background, it’s clear you’re good under pressure. Not everyone can keep their head in a situation like this.”
Aditi nodded, her expression thoughtful and tinged with unease. “Still, I can’t help but wonder… what happens when we get back? How do we even begin to explain this—to the world, to ourselves?”
Hermione shifted in her seat, her fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. “One step at a time,” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “The plan for revelation will come.”
The weight of what awaited them pressed heavily on the group, smothering any lingering traces of levity. Ever the one to defuse awkward silences, Theo finally broke the quiet, his tone light but with an undertone of sincerity that belied his usual playfulness.
“Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m calling dibs on the first interview when we get back. ‘Theo Nott: Alien Whisperer.’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Draco rolled his eyes, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I think we’d all be better off if you whispered a little less.”
Hermione bit back a laugh, shaking her head as she glanced between the two. For a moment, the tension lifted, replaced by the fragile comfort of shared humour.
The moment didn’t last long; the fragile respite soon broken by Elena’s sharp, clear voice through the comm system.
“Granger, contact your team on Earth. Request an audio conference—secure line, restricted to those briefed on the nature of your… specialised expertise.” Elena’s tone was measured, but the authority in her words was unmistakable. “Have them include your minister in the call. We’ll meet on frequency 152.95. Will 10 minutes suffice?”
Hermione’s head jerked up, her brow knitting in confusion. “Kingsley—the Minister?”
“Yes,” Elena confirmed. “Is the timing manageable?”
Hermione nodded slowly to herself, recovering quickly. “Ten minutes should work. They’ve prepared emergency portkeys for situations like this.”
“Good.” Elena’s tone remained clipped as she continued, “Make it clear this conference is strictly confidential. Everyone should gather at their stations to prepare.”
The line cut off before Hermione could ask more. She exchanged glances with the others, but it was Aditi who broke the silence.
“Portkeys? Can wizards travel instantaneously?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and disbelief.
Theo leaned back in his chair, his smirk as casual as ever. “Portkeys are great, but apparition is where it’s at. A bit rough on the stomach if you’ve had a big meal, though. What do you say, Robbie? Fancy taking a spin when we’re back?” He ended with a wink.
Robert’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he shook his head with a mix of exasperation and amusement, letting out a short laugh. “I think I’ll need to see this apparation first.”
Draco let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his temples as he unbuckled himself from his chair and stood. “Shacklebolt isn’t going to be pleased with us.”
“If Kingsley’s more concerned with the Statute of Secrecy than the impending arrival of an alien race,” Hermione said, her tone sharp and resolute as she pulled her notebook closer, “then I’ll make sure he reevaluates his priorities. Though, I trust he’ll understand the gravity of the situation—and if not, I’ll happily remind him of the last time he underestimated my determination.”
Aditi let out an amazed laugh, her expression caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You weren’t joking about extraordinary experiences, were you?”
Hermione shot her a brief, knowing look, one that was both modest and confident. Without another word, she opened the enchanted notebook and began writing. Her pen moved swiftly as she penned a concise but formal request for an audio conference over the comms system. Before signing her name, she paused, her expression hardening as she added the final line:
Minister Shacklebolt’s presence is requested. A matter of urgency.
Satisfied, she closed the notebook and set it aside, her focus already shifting to the task ahead.
By the time they reached their stations and tuned in to the agreed-upon frequency, the Earth team was already gathered. Antonio Rodotà’s calm, authoritative voice greeted them first.
“We’re calling to check in. Kingsley Shacklebolt, a key figure who works closely with Granger, Malfoy, and Nott, has joined us today. Please begin—we’re eager to hear your report on the ship.”
“Hello, Minister,” Elena interjected smoothly, her tone carefully measured, balancing respect with urgency. “I understand your previous need for secrecy, but that time has passed. What we’ve uncovered here is… extraordinary. We no longer have the luxury of avoiding hard truths, including your denial of magic. What we have to tell you will fundamentally change our understanding of life—on Earth and far beyond. And, frankly, our knowledge of magic is the least of our concerns now.”
There was a tense pause before Shacklebolt’s deep, steady voice came through the line. “Elena, I’m listening. Please, explain.”
Elena launched into a concise, no-nonsense summary of the events leading up to and following Hermione’s medical emergency. Her tone softened only once as she concluded, “Minister, I must emphasise that their disclosure of magic occurred only after this crisis left them with no viable alternative. Transparency, at this point, is not a choice—it’s a necessity. The stakes are simply too high to proceed otherwise.”
The tension in the room was palpable as they awaited a response. Faint murmurs crackled over the comms, fragments of discussion too garbled to discern clearly. Hermione could feel her pulse quicken, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension stirring within her. She could also feel Theo’s unease—a nervous, jittery energy simmering beneath his usual mask of levity—and the faint, tightly coiled tension radiating from Draco, sharp and precise like a blade held just shy of a strike. The connection between them made their emotions impossible to ignore, each reaction bleeding into the others like watercolour on damp parchment.
Then Rodotà’s voice broke through, briefly audible, before being abruptly cut off by Shacklebolt.
“Enough,” Shacklebolt said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “I understand. I trust that my team would not have breached the Statute of Secrecy without significant cause. Now, share everything you’ve learned.”
Hermione felt a rush of relief at his words—Shacklebolt was calm, measured, and, most importantly, open to hearing the truth. That relief was mirrored by Theo, who exhaled audibly and leaned back slightly, his posture losing some of its earlier tension. Draco, however, remained rigid, his tension simmering just below the surface. Through the bond, Hermione caught the edges of his thoughts—relief, yes, but also a deep wariness. He trusted Shacklebolt, but only to a point, and the risk of rejection still loomed large in his mind.
Draco didn’t speak, but Hermione caught the faintest flicker of encouragement through the bond as he brought his eyes to her, a subtle but steady reassurance that she wasn’t alone in this. She straightened slightly, drawing strength from both of them as she prepared to respond.
Elena exhaled, her gaze shifting to Hermione. “Ms. Granger, you’re the most familiar with the details. Please, proceed.”
Hermione gave a small, steady nod, her focus sharpening. “Understood,” she said, her voice calm but resolute as she leaned forward, ready to explain everything.
As Hermione concluded her explanation, a weighty silence fell over the communication channel. For several moments, no one spoke, the enormity of her words hanging in the air like the distant hum of the Arcanis’ systems. Finally, it was Quince who broke the stillness.
“Incredible,” he breathed, his voice trembling with awe. “Absolutely extraordinary! Magic, not as an anomaly of our world, but as a gift from beyond our stars. This changes everything—our history, our understanding of ourselves—everything. My dear Hermione, you’ve just rewritten the foundations of magical theory!”
Quince’s enthusiasm radiated through the connection, and Hermione could practically hear the grin stretching across his face. “Imagine it!” he continued, his voice rising with excitement. “We are not simply born magical; we are inheritors of a celestial legacy. To think, the very core of what makes us magical comes from beyond our world. The implications are endless—our ancestors, our evolution, our connection to—”
A loud thump echoed through the comm system, cutting Quince’s words short with a startled yelp. The interruption was swiftly followed by Throckmorton’s sharp, no-nonsense tone, slicing through the room like a whip.
“Hambledon, that’s enough.” His voice carried a commanding weight that instantly quelled Quince’s fervent excitement. “Theoretical implications aside, you’re missing the more pressing issue—the aliens. This ship didn’t just wander here; it arrived with purpose, with a means of intergalactic travel far beyond anything we’ve imagined. If they’ve refined a form of intergalactic apparition, they could appear at any moment. And when they do, what happens if they expect us to greet them with open arms? We need to prepare.”
Cervantes, her voice steady but laced with unease, spoke up. “We’ve had no direct contact—no clear indication of their intentions beyond what Hermione has uncovered in the prepared message. There are too many unknowns. Are they peaceful? Do they even recognise our concept of peace? And if they are peaceful, how can we realistically maintain the Statute of Secrecy under such circumstances? And if they’re not… are we even remotely prepared to face that?”
Rodotà, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. His words came slowly, as though he was forcing them out against a tide of disbelief. “You’re suggesting that an entire community of extraterrestrial beings, capable of creating magic as we know it, could arrive at any moment?” His voice wavered, the usually unflappable Director General suddenly sounding very human. “And we have no plan. No precedent. This… This is…”
“Madness?” Shacklebolt’s deep, calm voice rumbled over the line, cutting through the Director’s faltering. “Perhaps. But it’s the truth. And while it is extraordinary, as Quince so eloquently put it, it is also a monumental threat if handled improperly.”
Hermione leaned forward, her voice breaking in with urgency. “Please, we have no reason to assume hostility. The spell I used—what revealed their intentions—isn’t common or easily performed. The vast majority of what I learned was embedded within the ship and the organism itself. This wasn’t just a prepared message; it was an intentional connection. And make no mistake, they are coming.” She paused, her voice trembling slightly before regaining its firmness. “But I’m confident they mean us no harm. They’re refugees, for Merlin’s sake! They’re desperate, not dangerous. I don’t yet know how we’ll navigate this with the larger magical and muggle communities, but we have to try. We’re their last hope.”
Shacklebolt’s pause was deliberate, his words carefully measured when he finally spoke. “This information is to remain strictly between those in this room and on this call. The wizarding world is completely unaware, and the muggle world knows even less. For now, it must stay that way until we can prepare a unified and controlled response.”
“Agreed,” Throckmorton said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “The last thing we need is mass panic or rogue elements making this situation even worse. We need to get ahead of this—and quickly.”
Hermione’s voice broke through the conversation, steady and measured despite the tension in the room. “We have some time, but only just. Based on the information I’ve gathered, their method of apparition—if you can even call it that—can’t be executed on a large scale. But make no mistake, they will arrive within six months. They’re already preparing to travel.”
Throckmorton’s reply was sharp and direct. “What we need is clarity, preparation, and resources—not idealism.”
“Then let’s make sure we’re ready,” Cervantes interjected, her tone firm and resolute. “Starting with this ship. We’ve collected everything we can from it, and towing it to the International Space Station is pointless now. We don’t need it in Earth’s orbit to study it further—we’ve already uncovered all it has to offer. It’s time to send everything we’ve gathered back to Earth, cut our losses, and bring the Arcanis home.”
Rodotà hesitated, the weight of the decision etched into his expression. “You’re suggesting we abandon the ship entirely? Just leave it out here, unmonitored?”
“It’s not abandonment,” Cervantes replied, her voice as sharp as her reasoning. “The ship has served its purpose—it’s little more than a shell now. Its systems are inert, and frankly, towing it closer to Earth would be a waste of time at this stage. We can monitor it remotely for any changes. Our priority needs to be preparing humanity—both magical and non-magical—for what’s coming.”
Shacklebolt’s voice came through the line again, calm yet commanding. “I agree—the ship stays. Transmit all the data you’ve gathered through secure channels immediately, and begin preparations for your return. I’ll reach out to the muggle Prime Minister and start coordinating our next steps. A full debriefing will take place as soon as you’re back on Earth.”
Hermione exchanged a glance with her team, their expressions tense and unreadable. Finally, she gave a firm nod, her voice steady and resolute. “Understood, Kingsley. We’ll begin transmitting the data immediately.”
“Good,” Shacklebolt replied. There was a brief pause, then his voice softened slightly. “And Hermione… well done. You and your team have achieved more than I could have ever imagined. I’m grateful you chose to take this on.”
The line went silent as the connection severed, leaving the room steeped in stillness. For a long moment, the team remained quiet in the dim glow of the consoles, the faint flicker of lights reflecting the weight of their next steps. The enormity of what lay ahead settled over them like a heavy cloak, unspoken but deeply felt by them all.
“Well,” Elena said at last, her tone measured, her eyes scanning the team thoughtfully. “You seem to have a strong rapport with your minister, Ms. Granger. It’s clear he trusts you—and rightly so.”
Draco’s lips twitched into the faintest of smirks, his tone light but tinged with dry humour. “You’re speaking to the Golden Girl of the magical world. There’s little she could do wrong in his eyes—or anyone’s, really.”
Hermione shot him a sharp look, her cheeks colouring faintly. “Don’t start,” she muttered, brushing an invisible speck off her sleeve. “Kingsley values competence, that’s all. He knows I get things done.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “Oh, of course. Nothing to do with saving the world on more than one occasion.”
Elena’s eyebrow arched slightly as she glanced at Hermione. “Regardless of the history, that trust is an asset. And in situations like this, assets matter.”
Hermione exhaled softly, her fingers trailing along the edge of her console. “Respect from Kingsley isn’t about favour—it’s about results. I’ve just done what needed to be done, like anyone else would.”
Draco leaned forward slightly, letting out a quiet snort, his drawl carrying just enough amusement to soften the jab. “If by ‘doing what anyone else would have,’ you mean repeatedly throwing yourself into life-threatening situations and somehow walking out alive, then yes, spot on.”
“Speaking of catastrophes,” Theo chimed in, his tone mock-serious as he tapped his chin in exaggerated thought. “Any bets on how the Daily Prophet is going to spin this once it all comes out? I can see it now,” He spread his arms theatrically, as if framing a headline in the air. “‘Golden Girl and Ex-Death Eater Team Up to Save Earth, Somehow.’”
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, Merlin. Don’t even joke about that.”
Elena’s eyes flicked between the trio, her expression thoughtful and measured. “If we manage to get through this in one piece, we’ll need to sit down and go over your shared history properly. There’s clearly a lot I don’t know about your… dynamic, and I suspect it’s as complicated as the situation we’re in now.”
Her tone remained even, but the faintest hint of curiosity slipped through as she added, “From what I’ve seen, your experiences run deep—and that’s worth understanding. You’re apart of my team now.”
Theo grinned broadly, leaning back with mock offence. “Oh, don’t let this well-oiled machine fool you. We’ve had years of vigorous character-building exercises. Mostly involving barely tolerating each other.”
Hermione shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “I’d be happy to tell you the stories, Elena. But I have a feeling you might regret asking once we get started.”
Elena raised an eyebrow, her tone dry but measured. “Regret or not, it sounds like understanding those stories might give me better insight into how you three work together—and how you ended up here, of all places. For now, let’s focus on making sure there’s a ‘later’ for that conversation.”
The brief moment of levity faded, replaced once more by the gravity of their situation as they each turned their attention back to the looming task ahead. As they moved into action, the Arcanis hummed with renewed purpose. The alien ship remained dark and silent in the void outside, but its presence loomed large, a reminder of the answers—and challenges—waiting beyond the stars.
The hum of the Arcanis had become a familiar backdrop to their days, but now, as the team shifted into preparations for their return home, it carried a bittersweet finality. Robert had just finished helping the trio secure their stations and had gently suggested they take some time to rest.
“Now that we’ve confirmed none of you have any aerospace experience,” he quipped with a half-smile, “why don’t you all just take a moment to prepare for our return? Things will be chaotic enough once we get back, so let’s try to get as much rest as possible before then.”
Theo raised a hand in an exaggerated salute, his grin broad. “Aye aye, Captain.”
Robert rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about “utterly impossible specialists” as he floated toward the cockpit.
Now, tucked into their bunks in the dimly lit crew quarters, the trio had little to do but wait. The quiet seemed to invite reflection, and naturally, the conversation drifted toward the one thing that weighed on all their minds: the connection they shared.
“Do you reckon it’ll still work?” Theo asked, his voice softer than usual in the stillness. “The whole… feeling thing? Once we’re back on Earth?”
Hermione turned onto her side, resting her head against the edge of her bunk. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “It would make sense if it’s tied to proximity. But if the changes to our cores are permanent…” Her voice trailed off as she considered the implications.
Draco, lying on the opposite side of the room, glanced in her direction, though she couldn’t see him in the dim light. “The question isn’t just whether it’ll continue,” he said, his voice low and contemplative. “It’s how far it’ll reach. Could it stretch across cities? Countries?”
Theo snorted softly, shifting in his bunk as he propped his arms behind his head. “Our very own cosmic group chat?” He paused, his grin audible in his tone. “Knowing my luck, it’ll be tied to proximity, and I’ll be stuck feeling your emotions every day, Draco. Only Hermione will get to know peace again—she’s got that whole ‘workaholic solitude’ vibe. Meanwhile, you’ll be stuck with all my… whatever.”
The words were light, playful, but the undercurrent of unspoken emotions made itself known in the quiet that followed. Hermione’s chest tightened as she felt a faint pang of sadness—not only her own. Across the room, Draco felt it too, his own conflicted emotions mingling with hers as they reverberated between them.
Theo must have sensed it as well, because he sat up abruptly, clapping his hands once in mock enthusiasm. “Right then, I’m going to go… do something useful. Maybe stare out a window and contemplate the mysteries of the universe.” His grin was audible as he added, “You two enjoy your heartfelt soul-searching. Don’t get too weepy—I’ll feel it.”
With that, he pushed off the edge of his bunk and floated toward the exit, leaving Hermione and Draco alone in the quiet.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of unspoken feelings settling heavily in the space between them. Finally, Hermione broke the silence.
“You know,” she began hesitantly, her voice softer than usual, “I never really thought I’d get to know you. Not… like this.”
Draco turned his head toward her voice, though she still didn’t look at him directly.
Hermione hesitated, searching for the right words. “I think… I’ve enjoyed it,” she said finally, her voice steady but quiet. “Getting to know the real you, I mean. Not the Draco Malfoy I knew at Hogwarts, or the one I assumed you’d become after the war. Just… you.”
Draco let the words settle, his chest tightening in a way he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. “I could say the same,” he admitted after a beat. “You’re not the insufferable swot I always thought you were.”
Hermione gave a soft laugh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “High praise coming from you.”
Draco’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though there was a hint of hesitation in his voice. “You’re not what I expected, Granger. And… if I’m honest, I wouldn’t mind continuing this. Getting to know you, I mean. Once we’re back.”
Hermione’s gaze finally lifted, meeting his in the dim light. Her stomach fluttered as she felt the sincerity in his words—not just in his tone, but through the unspoken connection that tied them together. “I’d like that too,” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with a quiet warmth.
Draco’s smirk deepened, though it softened into something almost self-conscious. “Well,” he said dryly, a hint of humour creeping into his tone, “considering the world as we know it is ending, maybe I’ll finally dodge the Daily Prophet running some nonsense about how the ‘former Death Eater dosed the Golden Girl with Amortentia.’”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “You really do have a way with words, don’t you?”
Draco’s smirk returned in full force. “It’s a gift.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the tension between them giving way to an unexpected warmth. For a moment, the hum of the ship was the only sound between them, grounding them in the present while their thoughts reached toward an uncertain future.
After a beat, Draco spoke again, his tone casual but deliberate. “How about this: the day after we’re back, dinner. Somewhere neutral. Muggle London.”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard. “Muggle London?” she repeated, her curiosity evident.
Draco felt the flicker of her surprise through the connection and let out a quiet laugh. “What? You think I don’t know my way around the muggle world?”
Hermione’s lips curved upward, amusement flickering across her face. “I think you knowing your way around anything muggle-related is… surprising.”
Draco leaned back slightly, his expression adopting an exaggerated air of seriousness. “Well, consider it part of my reformation arc. I’ve made an effort, Granger. Believe it or not, I’m quite capable of navigating muggle London.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “Alright, then. Where do you suggest?”
Draco hesitated for only a moment, then said with a confident air, “Trafalgar Square. Easy to find, plenty of landmarks nearby. And it’s close to some of the nicer restaurants. I can pick where to eat—assuming you trust my taste.”
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head. “Trafalgar Square. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that.”
Draco smirked, his tone teasing. “What were you expecting? Diagon Alley? I’m not dragging you to the Leaky Cauldron for a proper dinner.”
She bit her lip, her amusement softening into something warmer. “Alright. Trafalgar Square it is. But don’t think this means I’m going easy on you, Malfoy. If you pick the wrong place, I’ll know.”
Draco let out a low chuckle, the sound carrying just a hint of genuine anticipation. “You’ll find I have excellent taste, Granger.”
Their laughter mingled briefly, the moment feeling surprisingly light against the backdrop of their shared uncertainties. For the first time in what felt like days, they both allowed themselves to relax—if only for a little while.
The sound of the door sliding open shattered the moment, and Theo floated back in, a wide grin plastered across his face. “Merlin’s beard, I could feel all of that,” he said dramatically, throwing his arms up as if performing on a stage. “I hope you two finally sorted things out, because let me tell you—feeling your painfully awkward attempts to hide your feelings was absolutely exhausting.”
Hermione groaned, her cheeks flushing as she buried her face in her hands. “Theo—”
“Don’t worry,” Theo interrupted with a mockingly serious tone, his grin only widening as he swung himself into his bunk. “Your little secret’s safe with me. For now.”
Draco rolled his eyes, his voice dry. “How generous of you, Nott.”
“Oh, I’m a giver,” Theo quipped, reclining with a theatrical sigh. “But really, spare me next time, will you? That whole ‘longing glances and emotional undercurrents’ thing might actually kill me.”
Hermione peeked through her fingers, her exasperation fading just enough to let out a reluctant laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible? No,” Theo shot back with a smirk. “Just extremely perceptive. You’re welcome.”
Draco’s eyes met Hermione’s across the room, and they shared a quiet smile. Whatever lay ahead—aliens, a new world order, or an entirely redefined understanding of magic—they might just end up facing it together.
With a handful of hours left until their return to Earth, the weight of what awaited them loomed heavily over the trio. The ship hummed with the quiet efficiency of its systems, but its usual rhythm now felt charged—anticipatory, almost alive with the gravity of what they carried. Hermione busied herself with organising their findings into a clear and comprehensive report, every note and scan meticulously arranged for the debrief they all knew would shape what came next. Theo, ever Theo, oscillated between focused bursts of work and sharp-witted distractions, his humour a fragile shield against the unease threading through the ship. Draco, quiet and methodical, alternated between brooding silence and moments of sharp precision, his mind clearly bracing for the questions, scrutiny, and doubt that would await them upon landing.
They had confronted the unknown in the stars, but Earth—the divided, uncertain world waiting below—was a far greater challenge. Together, they prepared for the reckoning ahead, each of them carrying their own burden. The hum of the Arcanis filled the silence, steady and unchanging, as the trio silently resolved to meet whatever came next head-on. The next 80 hours would be their last moment of calm before the world, and everything they thought they knew, changed forever.