➣ 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟓 “𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝘾𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨”
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At first hour in the morning, Minerva McGonagall welcomed him at the school's entrance; very formal, very tense as she always was.
She scorted him to the entrance of the headmaster's office, at the bottom of a magical staircase guarded by a stone gargoyle.
"Cockroach Clusters," Minerva sighed; she clearly didn't enjoy Dumbledore's ridiculous passwords very much.
Once the staircase was revealed, Minerva slightly bowed to him. "Please go up, Mr. Cardona, Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you."
Pedro responded with a bow, "I thank you, Minerva, please have a great day."
He was surprised Dumbledore had responded to his request for a meeting so quickly; maybe the old man could actually read the urgency of the situation, or maybe he was too excited to excuse his way out of it — not that Pedro was going to allow him to.
"Pedro," Dumbledore greeted him at the door.
"Albus," said Pedro, shaking his hand.
"Please come," said Dumbledore, walking ahead of Pedro and behind his desk to sit.
"I assume you know why I came," said Pedro, taking the seat in front of Dumbledore, and scratching Fawkes' red head.
"The Triwizard Tournament, of course," said Dumbledore. "I've already spoken with Harry and Nicolás."
"So they said," retorted Pedro.
“Pedro, I assure you —”
“Albus, from where do you get the audacity to keep uttering those words to me or my family?” Pedro raised a questioning brow at the headmaster.
“That’s not —”
“Time after time you have failed to provide anything you have assured us of. Time after time you have proven yourself to be someone my family cannot rely on, under no circumstances. This year, so far, two months into classes, you have yet again proved futile in your attempts to make your school a safe place,” said Pedro.
Most of the portraits of previous headmasters, previously sleeping in the high morning, woke up, blinking lethargically at them.
"I think you have the wrong understanding of how things have developed, Pedro —"
"Do I, Albus?" said Pedro. "Because this is but one item more to the seemingly ever-growing list of questionable things that have taken place in this school under your direction, and I would very much appreciate an answer for them."
He didn't wait for Dumbledore to respond before standing up. He started to pace the room, looking at the portraits who looked back at him with interest.
"For the sake of this meeting, I will try to avoid mentioning the many times you have crossed my family in your search for the greater good," said Pedro, rolling his eyes. "In my grandson Caelum's first year, right here in these very grounds, under your nose, a student, one Rowan Khanna, if memory serves me right, was killed, by a professor hired by you, no less."
"That's what students claimed —"
"Claimed?! Don't speak to me like Caelum hadn't been here himself, Albus. Or as if my daughter, as an Auror, hadn't helped your students catch that killer! And why don't we start with Harry now?
"In his first year, my daughter, Carolina, sent him his father's Invisibility Cloak, because we thought he could use some connection to his dead parents, and somehow you found a way to benefit from it, didn't you? Letting Harry run around with it, letting him the free way to sneak and see that blasted Mirror of Erised, feeding into him the need to fight battles so far above his scope. You knew all you had to do was slightly nudge him in the right direction and he would end up taking it upon himself to retrieve the bloody Philosopher Stone, taking no less than other two students with him!
"You put Harry in harm's way because you assumed Voldemort wouldn't be able to hurt him!"
"And he wasn't hurt, Pedro. I can assure you that the decisions I take are extensively deliberated," said Dumbledore in that annoyingly calm voice, as if mere mortal problems were so beneath him.
"Deliberated?" asked Pedro aghast. "Can you, in good conscience, call that deliberating? Please explain to me, how long did you deliberate that sending a group of eleven-year-old students into the Forbidden Forest at midnight was an acceptable punishment? Do I even have to begin and explain how a Unicorn being hurt on your school grounds should've set all of your alarms on?
"The punishment system of the school has been updated, Pedro, Mr. Filch is—"
"Yet another one of your very questionable decisions when it comes to hiring staff," Pedro scoffed.
"I didn't expect you to be prejudiced about Squibs," said Dumbledore, almost triumphantly.
"Oh, please, don't get self-righteous with me, Albus. Hiring someone — indifferently of their magical capability —, who enjoys the thought of torturing children concerns me. And let's not even get onto how you hiring him in pity only serves to undignify the man even more. How dare you put a non-magical person to deal and clean up the magical messes from your magical students? If you really wanted to help the man, you would've offered him any of the other posts that don't require magic."
"Pedro, it doesn't work like that. I'm trying to make Hogwarts a welcoming place for everyone," said Dumbledore calmly.
"Oh, yes? Please do tell me how the way you alienate the Slytherins and show a very clear bias towards the Gryffindors helps in your plans exactly."
“I’m always working towards the —”
“Greater good, yes, Albus, the entire Wizarding World knows that by now,” Pedro rolled his eyes; one of the portraits, a black-haired man, scoffed in agreement. "Tell me exactly, how does having a Death Eater work towards Hogwarts' safety?"
Dumbledore's eyebrows almost reached his hairline. "I assume you're talking about Severus? Because I talked this with the past Minister for Magic, Severus —"
"Switched sides when it was convenient for him, yes, Albus, I know. I know it was him who brought the prophecy to Voldemort, the one that made him put his eyes on the Potters —"
"How would you know that?" Dumbledore cut him off.
Pedro smiled derisively at him. "The shadows listen, Albus, everywhere, all the time," he said ominously. "But that's not the point. The point is that, in your desire to guard Severus, you offered him the position as Potions master here, at a children's school, to a man who very clearly despises children. I won't even mention the atrocities Severus probably did while working as a full-on loyal and devoted Death Eater, and I don't think I have to mention the things he does to the children here, because you clearly don't care for that."
"You haven't worked as a headmaster, Pedro, is very easy to judge from the outside," said Dumbledore, slightly frowning. "The ability to have a wide sight is—"
"Oh please, cut that off, Albus. You may be fifty years older, but don't you dare patronize me. I don't need such thing as a 'headmaster's wide sight' to understand that hiring a murderer, Dark Arts lover, who gets off from terrifying children to be a teacher is not a wise idea, nor one made with the children's best interests at heart. It is, after all, just like all the decisions you have taken as a headmaster, measured against your personal agenda.
“But let's not allow your... sneakiness, to distract us. Allow me to continue on Harry’s second year, Nicolás’ first here after transfer.
“I won’t even dwell on how questionable your record of hired Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers is, but seriously, Gilderoy Lockhart? I wonder what was going through your... whimsical... mind when you made that choice.”
“There is plenty to be learned even from a bad teacher, Pedro: what not to do, how not to be," said Dumbledore, as if that made were some kind of deep philosophy only he really grasped on.
Pedro scoffed. “Of course, Nicolás mentioned you said that. But tell me, Albus, is that reason for the so-called greatest headmaster of the self-proclaimed most important magic school in the world to hire a man he himself knows to be a fraud?” asked Pedro.
Dumbledore remained silent, by now, there was no twinkle in his pale blue eyes.
"Now, how was it that the thing that worried you the most during the Basilisk attacks was none other than the reputation of your school? Five muggle-born children were petrified, and your school was kept open and full of students for the Basilisk to keep attacking! The most sensible thing any respectable headmaster with the smallest consideration would've done was to send his students back to the safety of their homes while competent authorities handled the situation.
"But of course, someone of your station would've done no such thing. Just the year before you strategically awarded Harry and his friends with enough house points so that Gryffindor could take the cup from Slytherin, but that was not all, you used that as an incentive for them to continue and try to solve the school's problems, which may I clarify, are none of their business, less of all, of their competence to handle.
"Ginny Weasley would've died in that chamber had Harry and Nicolás not arrived. Hell, Harry would've died there had you not sent your Phoenix! Tell me, Albus, where is the precaution in that? How does your brilliance shine through these kinds of events?"
“I sent Fawkes to Harry with the Sorting Hat,” said Dumbledore, gesturing to where the Sorting Hat now rested atop a shelf.
“Of course! Because sending weapons to a child with no previous explanation of how they work is such a genius move! The only reason I stood up to Malfoy and the rest of the Board of Governors and had you reinstalled as headmaster was because I hoped, at the very least, that you would do something.
“But should we even begin to talk about what happened last year?”
“The positioning of the Dementors around the grounds was out of my control, Pedro, and you know that. I also hired Remus in hopes he could make Nicolás feel more comfortable.”
“I know Fudge, probably better than yourself, so I’ll grant you the Dementors point, but Remus? Can you really assure me there was no secret scheme, no underlying plan, and no hidden intention behind his post? Don't think for a single moment that I think my Remus as unworthy of the post, but you?”
Dumbledore’s eyes widened for a slight second.
“I don’t know how you think my family operates, Albus, but that’s trust and loyalty. Who do you think my son-in-law searched council with when you started to prod him with weirdly personal questions at his workplace?
"Should I even mention how questionable was your posting of Hagrid as the Care of Magical Creatures professor?"
Dumbledore frowned and opened his mouth indignantly, but Pedro kept talking.
"And no, Albus, I have absolute no issue with Hagrid being a half-giant. Hell, my daughters were friends with him when they attended this school. But I still think that, no matter how good-natured Hagrid is, or how much he loves Magical Creatures, the post of a professor should be filled by someone who is actually trained and qualified for such.
"Hagrid was expelled in his third year, for heaven's sake, Albus. And don’t even get me started with Sirius.”
“What Sirius did was all his own responsibility,” said Dumbledore, his face once again composed. “It was his constant presence on the grounds that attracted the Dementors and prompted them to hurt Harry.”
“That’s true,” said Pedro mildly. “But tell me, whose fault was that Sirius ended up in Azkaban in the first place?” he raised an inquisitive brow at Dumbledore, who remained silent. “If there’s something you need to know about us Cardonas, is that we don’t forget, Albus, neither the services nor the wrongdoings that are bestowed upon us, and I'd dare say yours precede you.
“Now, it’s only been two months of classes for this school year, and my grandsons had to witness the Unforgivable Curses in a classroom, not to mention they all were subjected to them.”
“Professor Moody assured me both, Caelum and Harry, had been able to fight off the Imperius Curse,” said Dumbledore hotly.
Pedro raised his brows as his eyes widened. “And you think attempting to kill someone is just fine as long as it stays as an attempt?
“No, Albus, it is not. And that’s beside the point. Stuff like the Unforgivables should stay far away from the classrooms, and any child for that matter. Besides what you may think, I also know dark times are approaching, but I don’t consider it worth it to sacrifice my grandsons’ childhood in its name.
“But Harry is not your grandson,” said Dumbledore considerably.
“My wife and I held as much love for Lily and James as we did for Remus and Sirius when they started to date my daughters. My daughters may not have given birth to him, but we all love Harry as much as we do Nicolás and Caelum. And maybe you need the reminder, so I’ll give it to you, Harry is Carolina’s godson, and now her adopted son; you would do well to remember that.
“And that’s not even all that’s happened in these two months. No matter how much my daughters and I argued against it, Fudge still approved the reinstalment of this stupid tournament — albeit with some more grounding rules.
“And you were supposed to ensure that your Age Line would keep underaged students out, but it is to my understanding that you had no way to provide that their names couldn’t find other ways into the goblet.”
“How can you possibly ask such a thing from me, Pedro?” asked Dumbledore surprised.
“Something, Albus! You had to ask for something from them! This is a binding contract for God’s sake! How can you ask a bunch of children to merely drop a piece of parchment with their names and their school and call it a day? You had to ask something more from them!”
“Magic is not limitless, Pedro,” argued Dumbledore.
"A drop of blood would've sufficed, Albus! What is a more powerful substance for our kind than blood? What carries the absolute certainty of our identity if not our blood? You’re asking them to decide if they want to risk their lives, that’s the least they can give in exchange! If your Age Line can read the age of the student trying to pass it, there are spells to make that bloody goblet know the age of someone based on their blood! It would even let the goblet know if the person who’s dropping the paper is the one of the written name!
“Now because of your mistake my grandson will have to participate in a tournament he didn’t ask for!”
“Pedro, I swear it, if there was anything I could do to change the situation —”
Pedro stopped him with a hand.
“Don’t you see it, Albus, there’s nothing your empty words can offer me or my family. I thank you for your time, even if there was nothing of value for me, I hope I gave you some new… perspectives to think.”
And without waiting for Dumbledore’s answer, Pedro Cardona strode out of the headmaster’s office, not before one of the portraits scoffed and said “It was about time someone took the oaf down his high horse.” It was no other than Phineas Nigellus Black, ex-headmaster of the school.
And for one moment, Pedro felt good about having a Black backing him up, no matter how much Sirius would hate it.
He stood for a moment at the door, and over his shoulder, he said, “As he is still a minor, my daughter and I will be waiting for an exact and detailed itinerary of everything involving Harry and the Triwizard Tournament.”
He walked down the ridiculously circular staircase and strode towards the entrance where Minerva greeted him again.
"I assume your meeting with the headmaster went well, Mr. Cardona?" she asked as they walked out.
"You probably know Albus better than I do, Minerva dear, I can only hope to have gotten through his... whimsical thoughts," he said, and Minerva's lips quivered for a moment. "However, I will probably rest better once you take over this place."
"I couldn't be sure if that day would ever come," said Minerva.
"We shall see, Minerva," Pedro said with a small bow as they reached the outside of the Anti-Apparition Charms of the school. He nodded towards Minerva and Apparated back home.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
It was a cold morning, with a slight rain pouring outside. Inside, the seemingly endless candles that illuminated the castle made it feel like the last moments of cold as the spring got hold, even if in reality the fall was giving way for the winter.
In his endeavor of not speaking to Cedric, Nicolás had chosen not to break his fast in the Great Hall, like any normal student, and instead decided to go down to the school library to occupy his mind on his absorbing Castelobruxo courses.
At six in the morning, as Madam Pince was only opening the library, Nicolás walked it, six books in his hands, ready to take on his Theory of Magic work.
For this year, and in preparation for his upcoming E.A.M.I. exams, he wanted to take the work sent by Professor Zapata a step further, and actually modify a pre-existing one or create his own spell.
His plan was simple: modify one to see how actually hard it was, and then try and create his own one, probably for the next year.
Choosing what spell to modify was something he spent his entire holidays thinking about before coming to a decision. Back when he was around eight or nine, long before he got his wand, his father had thought him a very useful spell. As the Reserve was so big, and they sometimes walked around it at night, he taught him a quick tracking spell so he could always find his way to him.
The nightly cold air hit his skin as he walked beside his dad with quickened short steps. With a white-knuckle grip, he held to the leg of his dad's trousers for dear life. It would've been entirely pitch-black if not for the silver light coming from the tip of his father's wand.
A little over a week had passed since Nicolás had faced his first Boggart on this very same grounds. He had accompanied his father to help a hurt Unicorn, when he faced the shape-shifting entity that took the shape of his biggest fear: loss. Every time he closed his eyes, behind his eyelids, he could still see his parents' bodies lying on the forest ground, motionless, ravaged, and turned into bloody pulps.
It had taken long hours of encouragement and endless reassurance from his mom and dad to coax him to step out of the cottage.
It was only the warmth of his father's leg as he held to it, and the weight of his large hand on the top of his head that kept him stable as they walked under the large shadows cast by the trees; it was the only things that prevented him from running back to his mom's arms.
They walked until they reached a small clearing, the trees around them covering the moon's silver light.
"You okay there, Love?" said Remus, looking down at his son with a soft smile.
Nicolás shook his head, burying his face into the side of his father's leg.
Remus chuckled softly, ruffling his son's jet-black hair. "I know you don't like it here right now, My Love, but sooner or later you'll have to get over it, you know."
"No, I don't," argued Nicolás, muffled by his dad's trousers.
With a gentleness his younger self thought impossible, Remus unburied his son's face from his leg. Nicolás' eyes were dangerously red and shiny at the edges, and he crouched to his level.
"Yes, you do, Nico. You love this Reserve," said Remus.
"It scares me," argued Nicolás in a whisper.
"We're all scared of things, Darling. But you love living in this Reserve, and you love tending to these Magical Creatures. You cannot let your fears keep you away from that which makes you happy."
Nicolás' dark wide eyes were transfixed on his dad's scarred face, searching for something to doubt, and as always, he failed at it. There was nothing but endless honesty in his dad's words, and gentleness in his hazel eyes.
"Do you trust me?" Remus asked.
"Always," said Nicolás in a heartbeat.
Remus stood tall once more. "Let me show you something, yes?" he said.
Carefully, he walked several paces back and away from Nicolás, telling him to stay put. He put a hand on his chest and said, "Dilectus Meus," and softly, a shiny golden string, as if made by large fireflies, appeared in the air, connecting the space between Nicolás and his father.
Nicolás waved his hand through the golden light, the particles of magic moved around his skin, emanating a soft and welcoming warmth.
Remus started to walk back to Nicolás as he spoke.
"This is a small spell I created back in Hogwarts," said Remus. "It doesn't require a wand to be cast, and it will always take you back to me or anyone you desire — anyone who you love.
"Why?" asked Nicolás.
"Darling, I had my own share of fears back in those days. It's not — it's not easy to grow up as a Werewolf and I was defenseless against my self-doubt. It helped me to have something I could see connecting me to those who I love.
"Now, why don't you try it?" Remus encouraged. "The incantation is 'Dilectus Meus'."
For the next half an hour Nicolás, with his still under-developed Latin, tried to imitate the incantation until finally, a golden string came out of his chest, connecting with his dad's chest. And for the first time in days, Nicolás felt like everything would be okay.
As he argued with himself about how to modify his father's spell, Cedric entered the library and sat in silence next to him, placing his own books on the table.
Without a word, Cedric, very carefully, placed three scones wrapped in a large napkin. It was a peace offering.
Muttering a thanks, Nicolás ate them.
“Are you gonna give up with it?” asked Cedric as they exited the library almost two hours later.
Today marked the third day Nicolás refused to speak to Cedric. It was a lot for him to take. He couldn’t decide if he felt deceived or not, because technically, Cedric didn’t lie to him. Worse, he felt manipulated. He had asked Cedric to promise not to submit his name, and instead of doing so — because really, Cedric had absolutely no need to risk his life for a purposeless tournament —, he had kissed him, knowing and trusting the effect he had on Nicolás.
And Nicolás had fallen for it.
So yes, Nicolás wasn’t feeling very trusting in their intimacy as of late. It felt very intentional. They had always been natural to each other, but ever since Cedric’s selection as Hogwarts’ champion, he had tried to get to Nicolás, something he never did. Being with each other was just second nature, never something planned or intentional.
“Give up what exactly?” asked Nicolás.
“Being mad at me about it!” said Cedric.
“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of the repercussion of deceiving me!” hissed Nicolás, getting ahead of a wide-eyed Cedric to enter the greenhouse for their Herbology class. They were joined by the Gryffindors, Caelum searching for Nicolás.
“Welcome class! Today we will be going over the Venomous Tentacula!” said Professor Sprout clapping her hands, soil falling from her dragonhide gloves. “Who can tell the class a bit about it?” she asked, looking at Nicolás.
As always, Nicolás waited a few seconds for any other student to speak before raising his hand. “Yes, Mr. Cardona?”
“Venomous Tentaculas are known for different things, but the most noticeable comes from its name. Its shoots can fire venom, its spikes are deadly too because of said venom. As everyone can see, it has this sort of mouth, like the muggle Venus Flytrap, only with more teeth covered, again, in deadly venom. And, if you didn’t guess it, its juice can be used as a poison.”
“Excellent, Mr. Cardona! Ten points to Hufflepuff!” said Professor Sprout. “Now, children, be most careful about its tentacles, they function as arms and can grab with a certain strength. Feel free to swear if they grab you and use the Severing Charm to get rid of it!
“For today, well be re-potting it. We’ll also feed it with Chizpurfles, wait for it to spit the carapace, and collect it for Professor Snape! Also, be careful, they tend to fire spiky spore-like balls!”
After class was done, and Nicolás had won Hufflepuff another ten points for saving George Weasley from losing one of his ears to the Venomous Tentacula, they left the greenhouse.
Cedric, unsurprisingly, had turned moody from Nicolás’ constant annoyance. He had even argued with Caelum when the latter had, unsurprisingly, agreed with his cousin, even if he had no context for Nicolás’ reasoning, fundamentally, he knew him to be right. All of it happened in a hushed conversation they had when they thought Nicolás couldn’t hear.
“Why do you even agree with him?” Cedric had said under his breath.
“Because this is Nicolás, Ced,” had retorted Caelum. “You’ve known him since we were all eleven, but he and I grew up together, we were born only days from each other, I know how his brain works. Nicolás is not the type to talk for the sake of talking, nor is he the type to feel a way just for the sake of drama or being intentionally aloof. He’s anxious as fuck, Ced, if he tells you something, you can be damn sure he has already done tons of thinking gymnastics.”
“He — he keeps mentioning how me not losing anyone at the war is what makes us disagree,” Cedric sighed.
“There you have it,” said Caelum. “Cedric, we lost people we loved to the war, our lives were torn apart from the loss, and it was so bad, the only way our family considered it possible to heal was to outright leave this country. Think about it, why do you think Nicolás’ Boggart is his parents’ dead bodies? He’s terrified, to the bone, of the mere concept of loss. You’re his boyfriend, of course he’s gonna be overly worried about you getting hurt.”
“Fine way he has to show his concern,” had scoffed Cedric, placing, or more likely, throwing — given the unnecessary force he used—, the Dragon dung into his Venomous Tentacula’s pot.
“Excuse you?” asked Caelum incredulous.
“If he’s so worried about me, he should be showing his support, he should be helping me, right? He shouldn’t be acting like he’s on moral high ground because you all lost people to the war.”
Caelum snorted loudly. “Well, maybe if you took your head off your fucking ass and started seeing things outside of your privileged glasses, you would understand.”
And with that, Caelum had stomped towards Professor Sprout to ask her some question that he most likely knew the answer to, but that would give him the space to calm down.
Left with a flabbergasted expression, Cedric was probably starting to understand that you can’t joke about loss and death with the Cardona family.
Later at night, Cedric had waited for their dormmates to go down to the common room before he spoke to Nicolás again.
“Nico, are we going to talk about it?” he asked.
Nicolás looked up from his book. “Talk about it? Cedric, is there anything to talk about, at all?”
“Oh, come on,” said Cedric. “Don’t just act like that. Look, I’m sorry I did it, even if you didn’t want me to, but I had my reasons.”
“Reasons?” asked Nicolás, closing his book. “You mean apart from the self-serving ones?”
“Self-serving?”
“Cedric, what could you possibly have to justify submitting your name for something like the Triwizard Tournament? The thousand Galleon prize? Cedric, your dad works at the Ministry and has a pretty good paycheck, you don’t need that money, least of all risk your life for it. You’re only doing this on the promise of glory, there’s nothing else for you to win from it.”
“Just like you work yourself to the bone studying here and also doing your advanced courses from Castelobruxo?” Cedric argued.
“Work to the bone? Cedric, I learned how to study before going to school; the three years I did at Castelobruxo cover almost the seven here at Hogwarts. This summer I’ll make a short stay in Castelobruxo to sit my E.A.M.I exams, which I consider on par with the N.E.W.T.s here but don’t even try to change the subject! Me studying more than everyone else does not put my life on the line!”
“Oh, yeah? And what reason do you have to study so much apart from self-serving reasons, huh? It’s not like you’ll require a job when you graduate, Nicolás. Your family’s rich and you’ll probably get to manage your family’s Magical Reserve, not all of us are so privileged.”
“Okay hold on,” said Nicolás. “So, your counterargument to me saying that you’re privileged and shouldn’t risk your life senselessly, is that I am privileged too and so I shouldn’t study as hard as I do?”
“Yes!” said Cedric. He stopped for a moment, looking at Nicolás. Nicolás looked back at him queryingly. “Okay no, that doesn’t work, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Nicolás.
“This is so fucked up,” Cedric sighed, launching himself on the bed next to Nicolás. “I don’t — why did I even submit my name?”
“I don’t know Cedric, why do you think you submitted your name?”
“I just — I wanted to prove something, I—”
“Prove what?” Nicolás prodded.
“I don’t know! I just — it seemed like a good chance to prove myself, I guess. Prove that I’m not just some good-looking Hufflepuff. Nicolás, our house gets so little recognition, I thought maybe I could change that.”
“I don’t — I don’t even know what to say,” Nicolás sighed.
“Yeah, neither do I,” said Cedric.
“I’ll just — I’ll go to sleep, yes?” said Nicolás.
Cedric nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I’ll — I’ll look for Alec, there’s — there’s something we need to talk about, yeah.”
As Nicolás turned around, Cedric’s steps took him out of the room.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
It had been a hard Potions class — no that they were easier before, given how much Snape wasted class time trying to ridicule Nicolás, always forgetting Nicolás was probably toe-to-toe with him when it came to potion-making; very humbly said, of course —, with Snape trying to get his anger off Nicolás over the Triwizard Tournament, as if it was his fault that Harry's name had been smuggled and selected.
The class was the last before Snape tested their Polyjuice Potion — a potion Nicolás learned in his third year at Castelobruxo —, and of course, as any sensible teacher, he had been outraged when Nicolás' worked perfectly.
Point was, Snape, resentfully, had been forced to grant Nicolás house points for Hufflepuff over his own Slytherins — his vitriolic voice always enlivened Nicolás' days; nothing like knowing the worst person you know is always annoyed by your existence.
With sweat from the boiling cauldrons running down their backs, the sixth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs made their way out of the classroom.
Halfway down the hall, they were stopped by the sixth-year Slytherins, from which six particular ones ganged up in front of Nicolás and Caelum.
Look, Nicolás had never had any kind of trouble with the Slytherins, hell, three of his best friends were Slytherins. He wasn't a Gryffindor, he didn't have any prejudice against them; he preferred to judge people's characters over their actions. Sadly, like all the other houses, Slytherin had rotten apples in them, probably louder ones than those of the other houses.
One of them was William Selwyn. Selwyn was supposed to be ascended as the new Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain, sadly for him, because of the Triwizard Tournament, there would be no Quidditch at Hogwarts this year.
Selwyn was a very pretty guy — if you ignored how utterly insufferable he was. He had white skin, but not pale, and a strong facial structure, especially his cheeks and jaw. His dark blonde hair was cut around his face elegantly, highlighting his bright brown eyes.
Selwyn had tried to pick on Nicolás ever since he arrived from Castelobruxo, but gave up after realizing Nicolás wasn't stepping down to his level, and Nicolás knows Dorian had 'words' with him too, even if his Slytherin friend denies it.
William Selwyn stepped in front of his Slytherin goons, smiling nastily at the Cardona cousins.
"Hey, Cardona! Do you like it?" he said, his lips curling predatorily. He showed them a large badge on his chest that he and the rest of the Slytherins wore.
The badge said, ‘SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY, THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION,’ and after pressing it, the message changed to ‘POTTER AND HIS CARDONAS STINK’.
Oh yeah, that. See, Selwyn had tried to get Cedric to date him the year before, not knowing he and Nicolás were already boyfriends.
“Really, Selwin? You are so pathetic in your seventeens that you’re beefing with a fourteen-year-old?” said Nicolas, seizing the back of Caelum's robes to prevent him from lunging at Selwyn and his friends. "Constantly outdoing yourself, I see."
“Oho! Control your rabid dog, Cardona,” said Selwyn with a twisted smile, “how pathetic to see what the House of Black has come down to —”
"What is the meaning of this?" said Dorian, elbowing his way through his Slytherin classmates.
"— no different than the Lestrange," added Selwyn, looking at Dorian.
"That's ten points off Slytherin," said Dorian in his perfect Prefect voice. All around, the Slytherins made annoyed sounds that Dorian shut with a wave of his hand. "Blame Selwyn and his smart mouth, people," and with that, he walked forward down the hall.
“Let me get that grin off his face,” Caelum growled through clenched teeth, his wand pointing at Selwyn.
“He’s not worth it, Caelum,” said Nicolás loudly. “If you’re going to get detention, at least make it over something worthy.”
“That’s it, run like the little cowards you are,” said Selwyn rejoiced, wand in hand too.
“You, little son of a —” but Caelum’s words were cut off when Selwyn fired the first curse.
Caelum, with his Quidditch reflexes, was quick to create a shield around himself and Nicolás, making the curse rebound into the ceiling. Nicolás wand quickly found its place in his hand; oh well, there went his attempt to de-escalate the situation. Selwyn’s friends also took out their wands as Caelum fired back.
The Slytherins had formed a kind of wall behind Selwyn and his friends, while some Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs stopped behind Caelum and Nicolás. Cedric was nowhere to be seen — actually, it was pretty hard to see anything when you had a magic shield in front of you and curses cast right and left —, but the Weasley twins were not subtle in their support.
By now, students from every house, including lower years, were stopping all around the hall to watch their spectacle take place. Selwyn and his friends kept exchanging curses with a now-angry Caelum, and that was the sign Nicolás needed to know it was crucial to stop this stupidity now, before all of them ended up in the Hospital Wing when Caelum was done with them.
A heavy sigh made its way out of his mouth. The noise of it all was overly annoying and it was only a matter of time before the first teacher's head peeked into the hall, and Nicolás wasn't in the mood to have detention — not when he needed to keep up with his advanced courses from Castelobruxo.
He waited for a couple of seconds before the perfect opening presented itself. He raised his hand and waved his wand, as he cried, "Flipendo!" The effect was immediate. Selwyn and his friends were knocked back, falling on their backs like turned crabs.
Before anyone had time to do anything, Nicolás waved his wand once more and cast, "Evanesco!" and all the large badges in the Slytherins' hands and chest vanished.
Wide-eyed, everyone looked at him gaping.
"Come," said Nicolás, seizing the arm of Caelum's robe so they could leave. "Everyone to class, there’s nothing to see here!" he called out, turning his back to a still-sprawled Selwyn and his equally sprawled friends.
He was able to hear a low growling of "You'll pay dearly for that, Cardona," before a flash of red light approached him.
Caelum, once again flaunting of his Quidditch reflexes, cast a shield in their backs. There was a loud bang as Selwyn's curse landed on the ceiling, and it was followed by another loud bang. Suddenly, a roar echoed through the hall.
“OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!”
They spun around, seeing Moody limping towards them, wand in hand and pointing at the floor where Selwyn had stood, but... Selwyn was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a Nug — a very small Magical Creature that looked a mix of a pig and a hare; very small, with long ears and a prominent snout, hairless, and nearly blind, for they lived underground — which was squealing terrified.
Moody had just… but he couldn’t have…
“Did he get you?” Moody growled.
“No,” said Nicolás, eyes fixed on the terrified Nug. “Caelum made a shield.”
Suddenly, the Nug let out a squeal and tried to run off towards the dungeons.
"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the Nug again, and before Nicolás knew what happened, the poor Nug flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack on the floor, and then bounced upward once more.
"Professor!" Nicolás cried out, sickness creeping up his stomach, but Moody ignored him.
"I don't like people who attack when their opponent’s back's turned," growled Moody, and Nicolás watched horrified how Selwyn — no, the Nug —, was sent once again into the air, crashing on the floor, before falling once more, only to be raised. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do...”
The nug flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly as it squealed in pain. “Never — do — that — again —” said Moody, speaking each word as the Nug hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.
“Professor, stop it!” cried Nicolás. “Don't you see you’re hurting him!?” he moved until Moody's wand was pointing at his chest.
“You defend that scummy coward?” Moody growled. “He was about to —”
“— curse me from the back!” said Nicolás frowning as he looked Moody in the eye. “I know it! And it doesn’t give you the right to abuse of your authority as a professor! Least of all on my name! If Professor —”
“Professor Moody!” said a shocked voice, cutting Nicolás off.
Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.
“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly, looking away from Nicolás' enraged face. If there was one thing Nicolás hated, it was bullies, from Selwyn's pettiness to Snape's hostility, but to see this level of cruelty from a professor? It was hideous, and Dumbledore would be hearing strong words from him.
“What — what are you doing?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes falling where the Nug that now lay on the floor, breathing harshly.
“Teaching,” said Moody.
“Teach — Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
“It’s William Selwyn, Professor!” Nicolás cried, moving towards the hurt Nug, and kneeling at its side.
“No!” cried Professor McGonagall appalled, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, William Selwyn had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor in fetal position, with his sleek brown hair all over his now brilliantly pink and tear-stained face.
Nicolás helped him sit for a moment. Selwyn's breathing was shallow and with each move, he groaned in pain. Nicolás thought for a moment that Selwyn was going to recoil from his touch or that any of his Slytherin friends would tear him away. But neither happened. On the contrary, Selwyn merely reclined his entire body weight on Nicolás as he was helped to his feet, and none of his friends, who looked disconcerted, moved to help him.
“Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said Professor McGonagall furious. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?”
"Mhm, he might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock —"
"Detentions are given for a reason!" Nicolás snapped at him. Selwyn flinched.
Professor McGonagall nodded sharply, "Or we speak with the offender's Head of House!"
"I'll do that then," said Moody, staring at Selwyn — who was still breathing harshly and groaning in pain as he leaned on Nicolás. Moody moved to seize him by the arm, but Nicolás took a step back with Selwyn.
"He will go to Madam Pomfrey, Professor," he said unfaltering. He looked at Professor McGonagall, who nodded back.
"You do that, Mr. Cardona," she said. She then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms, and walked away.
Nicolás stood there for long seconds, looking straight into Moody's angry brown eye. He then spun around and started to march off towards the Hospital Wing with Selwyn limping.
A few times, Selwyn tried to speak but was stopped when a new pained groan made its way out of his mouth. "Don't speak, Selwyn,” Nicolás told him.
A moment later, there was a loud sigh, and the weight of Selwyn was reduced as Caelum grabbed the boy's other arm and threw it over his shoulder. Selwyn opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Caelum stopped him.
"Save it, Selwyn, I only do this for Nico," said Caelum, before muttering under his breath, "Hufflepuff he had to be."
In an absolute silence, broken only by Selwyn's pained hisses and groans that he failed to cover, they reached the Hospital Wing. It is unnecessary to say that Madam Pomfrey was absolutely horrified as Nicolás retold her of what Moody did to Selwyn. After she reassured them that she would take care of Selwyn, the cousins left the Hospital Wing and went back to their common rooms, Hufflepuff for Nicolás, and Gryffindor for Caelum.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
Amused from his chair, Dorian watched as Draco made his best efforts to get rid of Goyle, Grabble, and Zabini in the Slytherin Common Room.
On the other corner of the room, Selwyn, blushing like a maiden, was telling the tale of how Nicolás and Caelum had manipulated Professor Moody into transfiguring him into a Nug. The other Slytherins were fanning over him for either stupidity or mere complicity.
Finally, pushing past his harassers, Draco, hurryingly, made his way towards Dorian.
“Giving you much trouble, aren’t they?” asked Dorian with a lopsided smile. He closed his book and watched as Draco dropped himself on the couch next to him.
“You can’t possibly understand,” Draco groaned. “Those halfwits keep asking me about Father, and about the Death Eaters, but I know nothing of it!”
“I know, Little Dragon,” said Dorian sympathetically. “You need to start letting go of them, you know, they’ll bring nothing good to your life.”
“I’m trying! But they won’t stop following me around like ducklings!” argued Draco.
“I can see that,” Dorian chuckled.
“Is not funny! They keep pestering me all the time! I tell them to stay away from me, but their peanut brains take it as if to walk two more steps behind me!”
"Maybe if you start associating yourself with the right sort of people they'll get the memo?"
"The right sort? Like Potter and his misfits?"
"I don't think Harry and his friends are misfits, you know. But it could be a good starting place, nonetheless. I remember how much you used to idolize him with your —"
"Shut it!" hissed Draco, blushing profusely. "That's embarrassing."
Dorian cackled. "Look, I don't think you'd get along with my friends, but maybe Nicolás knows some other in your year."
"Nicolás? The Hufflepuff?"
Dorian raised a brow. "Yes, that one. I have other Hufflepuff friends, you know."
"Well, yes, but Cardona's like the only relevant one," Draco shrugged. "Doesn't matter, let me know how to get rid of these idiots, thank you."
With that, Draco walked out of the common room towards heaven knows where.
The current ones were hard times for Draco. Times in which the words that built the foundations of his worldview were being challenged.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
The moment he stepped out of the green flame, Pedro was welcomed by the sight of Cedric and two other teenagers — clearly the other two champions —, Ludo Bagman, and the most annoying woman he’s ever had the displeasure to meet, Rita Skeeter.
Ludo Bagman jumped to his feet and approached him with a wide smile, "Pedro, old man, how are you going?" he stretched his hand, and Pedro shook it.
"Good morning for you too, Ludo," said Pedro. "I hope life's treating you well."
"It does, it does," said Ludo. "How's it that you're here?"
"I'm here to represent my daughter who's a bit late, for Harry, you see."
Before Ludo could question him any further, Rita Skeeter strode in front of him, extending her manicured hand for him to take.
"Pedro Cardona!" she said with artificial delight. "We're still waiting for your answer to the owls we sent. We're most excited to schedule an interview, a very short one, yes. It is most unusual for a foreign Minister for Magic to be working with our Ministry."
"Miss Skeeter," Pedro nodded shaking her hand. "Silence is, to the good listener, as good as any word. Please do remember that," he said, walking away from her.
He stopped for a moment to shake the hand of the Daily Prophet's cameraman hidden behind a large camera and walked towards the champions.
He clasped Cedric's shoulder under the others' wide eyes. Cedric bashfully smiled at him.
"Cedric, boy, how has the school year treated you?" he asked.
Cedric scratched the back of his neck and blushed. “Very — uhm — well, Sir, yes.”
Cedric's words carried a hint of repressed tension that wasn't normally there. Cedric always acted a bit self-aware around them — being his boyfriend's family and all —, but today he was tenser. It was clear that Cedric was aware of how — rightfully — unhappy Nicolás was about him being chosen as Hogwarts' champion; Pedro's grandson hadn't been exactly subtle in hiding such a thing.
"Cedric, please," Pedro chuckled, "you're my grandson's boyfriend, there's really no need for such formalities. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
"Mademoiselle Delacour, j'espère que tu passes un bon séjour" he said, shaking Fleur's hand as the blonde's eyes widened. "Gospodin Krum, nadyavam se, che ti haresva prestoyat tuk," he said, shaking Viktor's hand, his eyes equally widened at his Bulgarian pronunciation.
The door opened, and in came Albus Dumbledore and Mr. Garret Ollivander.
"Mr. Ollivander, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Pedro, shaking hands.
"I must impress it is my honor, Mr. Cardona," said Mr. Ollivander. "Not only due to your incredible Ministry career here and in your country, it was long ago that I sold you your daughters their very first wands, I trust they have been useful?"
"Still working to this day," said Pedro.
"Apple for the oldest," said Mr. Ollivander, ("Carolina," said Pedro.) "And Acacia for the youngest," he said, ("María," said Pedro.) "Most curious I must admit, first time, in my long years of selling wand where twins are chosen by twin wand, as they share heartstrings from the very same Dragon; Hungarian Horntail if I'm not mistaken. Your grandson, Mr. Caelum, Hawthorn wood, and Phoenix feather, yes. But your other grandson, I've heard has a most unusual wand."
"My Nicolás, yes, very special boy he is. Willow wood, and a mix of Wampus Cat hair and Thunderbird tail feather for core; both came from creatures Nicolás knew and loved."
"A most loyal wand must that be. I don't work with such cores, of course, they are very unstable and under-studied."
"In European countries, yes. In Colombia our artisans use a most unique type of magics," said Pedro, moving to greet Dumbledore. He thought it better to greet an obtuse old man than delve into an argument over wand crafting he was not interested in in the slightest.
"Albus," he greeted.
"Pedro," said Dumbledore leveled.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Ludo Bagman jumped to his feet and dashed towards the door.
“Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come… nothing to worry about, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment —”
“Wand weighing?” Harry repeated nervously, before his eyes landed on Pedro. He exhaled loudly, “Abu!” he said.
“Harry, ma’ boy!” Pedro greeted him, enveloping Harry in his arms, patting the back and top of his head. “Mr. Ollivander here, who I assume you've met before, is going to check that all your wands are functioning as they should before the tournament tasks start.”
“And then there’s going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” Ludo added, gesturing toward Rita Skeeter. “She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet…”
“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry, and Pedro’s stomach recoiled at the way she looked at his grandson.
“We shall see about that later,” said Pedro, one brow raised at Rita, who wisely kept silent.
“I’m here on my daughter’s behalf,” said Pedro, walking to Dumbledore again. “She’ll arrive in a moment to keep an eye on Harry, but I trust you have no objection to me staying?”
“Of course not,” said Dumbledore restrained.
With a smile, Pedro looked for Harry, only to find the boy was gone. “Ludo, where’s Harry?” he demanded Ludo, who smiled sheepishly.
“She took him to have a ‘small word’ with him,” said Ludo chastenedly.
Pedro seemed to see red for a moment; of course, that vulture of a woman would take the two minutes he spoke to Dumbledore as the perfect chance to smuggle Harry away from him.
As he flattened the front of his robes, ready to go after her, the fireplace erupted in green, and Carolina stepped out of the fire.
"Where's Harry?" she asked, completely ignoring Dumbledore and looking at her father.
Pedro gestured the hall with a hand. "Rita Skeeter thought it wise to have a ' small word' with him. You go, or do I?"
Carolina groaned. "I'll handle her," she hissed, walking forward, before she saw Cedric. She walked to the boy and ruffled his hair. "Cedric, dear, we'll speak later, yes?"
Cedric nodded, blushing from his neck to the top of his ears. Carolina lost her smile as she entered the hall, stomping in the search for Rita Skeeter.
How stupid had to be that woman to think they would let her get her polished claws on their Harry?
With the ears of a woman who raised Nicolás — whose first infant instinct was to play with the Magical Creatures of the Reserve — and she helped with her nephew, Caelum — who was the son of Sirius Black, and that should be explanation enough —, Carolina soon heard from behind the door of a broom cupboard, Harry's stressed voice.
I have NOT got tears in my eyes!" said Harry loudly. "I'm VERY happy with MY family!"
With a wave of her wand, Carolina banged the door open. Rita Skeeter jumped as the light assaulted the cupboard, revealing her, hoovering over Harry.
"Aunt Caro!" Harry exclaimed. He jumped to his feet and ran to crash into her.
"Hey, there, My Darling," said Carolina, ruffling Harry's ever-messy hair.
She looked up to see Rita Skeeter trying to sneak away from her. With another wave of her wand, Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill and the parchment it was writing on, flew to her hand. Rita cried out as Carolina read out loud the atrocities she had written — no doubt the quill had been enchanted to over inflate and dress up her words.
Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations —
An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes —
Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember. Excitement grows on him as he speaks of the Cardonas, the family who, known dor their endless pity and compassion, saved him —
"Tell me, Rita, you burn it or should I do it?" Carolina asked through clenched teeth.
"Carolina, there's no need for —"
But in an instant, the quill and parchment in Carolina's hand erupted in fire, being consumed in it.
"Oops," said Carolina.
“You can’t just destroy my property!” Rita cried out.
“I may be the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but I don’t think anyone from the Department for Magical Law Enforcement is needed to remind you that interviewing AND/OR photographing a child without the explicit consent of his legal guardian is against the law, do I?”
“The boy’s an orphan,” said Rita rudely.
“For all legal effects, magical and muggle, he’s my son, you foul woman, and you’d do well to remember that. As I must remind you how little my family likes you beetle-ing around,” said Carolina, spinning around and taking Harry with her back for the weighing of wands, not before seeing Rita wince in her place.
The weighing started — only after Madam Maxime and Igor Karkaroff were present — and went on with nothing important of notice. Only uninteresting facts about wand crafting from Mr. Ollivander and overly unnecessary critiques of the other wand makers.
“Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end —”
The man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.
“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” cried Bagman excitedly. “All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?”
“Er — yes, let’s do those first,” said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. “And then perhaps some individual shots.”
"You'll stick to the group photos, Rita, and perhaps for those champions who so wish, an individual one, not for Harry, thank you," said Carolina.
"You can't just deny the Daily Prophet with photos from an event of this magnitude!" said Rita Skeeter.
"I very much can, Rita, I work for the Ministry, I know what I'm talking about, don't I?"
"Be done with the group photos before Harry has to go down for his dinner," Pedro pressed in a tight voice.
Harry looked at the two of them thankfully and nodded. And finally, when they were done, Harry ran to hug them.
"Thank you for coming," he said into Carolina's robes.
"Oh, Darling, count on us to be here any time," she said, kissing the top of his head.
"If that woman gives you any trouble, just let me know, okay?" said Pedro.
"I will," Harry promised, and with a last hug, he ran towards the Great Hall to have dinner.
"Cedric, Dear," Carolina greeted Cedric before the boy could sneak out.
"Hi," said Cedric, scratching the back of his neck.
"Just because my son is angry at you, it doesn't mean we are, you know."
"Angry is like an understatement," said Cedric with a sigh. "He's absolutely pissed at me, as of now."
"He has his reasons to be angry, you know, that's his first instinct to show his fear," said Carolina, squeezing Cedric's shoulder. "We lost people at the war, Cedric, Nicolás lost people since he was a baby who couldn't understand what loss was. The thought of the people he cares about being hurt pains him deeply, and you're his boyfriend for crying out loud. Just give him time and he'll come around, yes?"
With a small smile, Cedric nodded. Carolina gave him a hug and walked away. Pedro squeezed his shoulder and followed his daughter. They threw Floo Powder into the fire, which erupted in green, and stepped into the fireplace.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
The country house was silent. It was the morning, and for a change, there was practically no movement at all. Carolina, María, and Pedro were at the Ministry working, Sirius was sleeping, Remus was in the backyard, probably meditating or speaking with the nature spirits — or whatever hippie shit he’s up to these days —, and the five house elves were fast asleep.
Regulus, clad in a thick cloak Mrs. Cardona had knitted for him, was sitting in the library with a large book in his hands.
Time Scholarship: a Deep Dive into the Functioning of Time by Saguanmachica, a Muisca scholar.
It was a tome Regulus had found in Mr. Cardona's extensive collection of academic books. It had endless annotation and references to other works Regulus was working on collecting from the extensive library the Cardona family had.
Something drew him to that book, something for which his very cells sang, something he couldn't quite understand yet.
Regulus jumped slightly on his seat when a soft hand landed on his shoulder, followed by a soft voice, "You okay there, Reggie?" Mrs. Cardona asked.
He looked up to her with a small smile. "I am."
"I was thinking of making some tea, do you want some?"
"Of course, I can ask Kreacher to help you if you—"
"Let the little guy sleep. Why don't you ask Remus if he wants some?"
"Has Remus ever not wanted tea since he was born?" asked Regulus, shaking his head. Nevertheless, he stood up and walked towards the backyard to find Remus.
As she watched Regulus walk out, Angela took the book he previously held and opened its first chapter, titled 'Introduction.'
Time-related magic, though deeply embedded within the magical community, remains one of the most volatile and poorly understood branches of the arcane arts. From a scientific standpoint, the instability of temporal manipulation arises from the delicate nature of spacetime fabric, which magic attempts (not always successfully) to bend. Temporal anomalies, ripples in time, and potential paradoxes are all byproducts of a wizard’s attempt to alter the flow of time.
Drawn from the knowledge passed down to me by none other than Zipa Tisquesusa, we need to understand that time is not a linear progression but a multidimensional plane wherein events are connected by complex causal relationships. This presents a fundamental problem for any attempt to manipulate time, as tampering with any one of these causal links could lead to catastrophic divergence from the intended timeline.
To understand the risks involved, one must consider the inherent paradoxes that arise from time travel. One of the more chilling possibilities is the accidental eradication of one’s past or future self. A wizard may unwittingly alter their own existence, creating a temporal loop or paradox so severe that they cease to exist — a phenomenon referred to as an un-birth. The consequences of such paradoxes are not limited to the individual, as they may spread outward, disrupting the lives and actions of others in unforeseen ways, potentially unravelling entire lifetimes and histories.
From a more mechanically scientific approach from European magical theorists comes the term chronodisplacement, the effect of a wizard’s actions in one point of time manifesting in unexpected points throughout the time continuum. Even small temporal shifts—such as revisiting the same hour with a Time-Turner—can have profound, far-reaching effects.
It has come to my attention how the Butterfly Effect, a term I’ll allow myself to borrow from Muggle chaos theory, applies equally well to magical time theory: a minor alteration, like changing the location of an object, could cascade into world-altering consequences. For instance, the displacement of a single object could prevent key events from happening, leaving ripples that could destabilize entire timelines.
The British Ministry of Magic, with its limited knowledge of it, has long understood the volatility of time-related magic, and as such, Time-Turner possession is heavily regulated, surrounded by hundreds of laws to ensure that even the smallest temporal transgressions are controlled. Time-Turners are imbued with magical locks to ensure they can only move back by fixed increments (typically of up to five hours), preventing unauthorized large-scale temporal shifts. Furthermore, those granted access to these devices must operate with extreme discretion, often under invisibility or other forms of concealment, to avoid encountering their past selves.
Despite the strict control, it is ironic that Time-Turners were most often used for what the magical community might consider trivial purposes. For research purposes, I was allowed to speak with some Unspeakables, who revealed that the majority of authorized uses of Time-Turners were for relatively benign tasks, such as time management. A student needing to attend multiple classes or a Ministry official requiring more hours in the day for paperwork may have found themselves as one of the few permitted users.
The Ministry’s reluctance to use Time-Turners for more significant purposes stems from its fear of unintended consequences. Time, unlike other magical elements, resists being bent to the wizard’s will; it fights back.
As a Colombian wizard, it’s impossible not to notice the narrow scope with which British magical authorities, particularly the Ministry of Magic, approach time-related magic. Their handling of Time-Turners is steeped in caution, their policies driven by fear rather than a desire for understanding. While it's undeniable that time magic poses significant risks, the British approach, hedged by hundreds of laws and restrictions, reflects a lack of broader cultural and historical engagement with temporal manipulation. This insular perspective not only limits their application of time-related magic but also overlooks the ancient wisdom found in other parts of the world, particularly in Latin America, where time has been approached with a more holistic and adaptable understanding for centuries.
In Colombia, we have access to a rich legacy of magical traditions that predate even the most ancient of British records. Our continent is home to deep-rooted mystical practices that are intertwined with nature, the cosmos, and the passage of time. Many of these traditions have been overshadowed by European magical theory, but those of us who have studied them know that they offer far more sophisticated means of time manipulation than the British are willing to entertain.
As cited earlier, Zipa Tisquesusa, the current Zipa of the Llanthu tribe (the last surviving from the Eight Original Colombian magical tribes, and of which I’m honored to be a part of), teaches how, for our ancestors, time was never considered as a linear, fragile thread, but as a cyclical and expansive force, interconnected with the natural world. Time is seen as part of a greater web, where every action resonates with the cosmos itself.
In contrast, the British obsession with small, controlled time loops—typically limited to mere hours—comes across as unnecessarily limited and overly cautious. This is understandable given their cultural history. British magical society has long been preoccupied with control, regulation, and structure, a mindset reflected in their restrictive magical laws. They see time as something to be feared, as a force that resists manipulation unless bound by hundreds of bureaucratic precautions. But this perspective is symptomatic of a society that seeks to impose order on magic, rather than understanding its natural flow. While their caution has prevented many disasters, it has also blinded them to the possibilities that larger, more holistic understandings of time could offer.
Moreover, the British handling of time-related magic also reflects their broader colonial mindset. They’ve monopolized and restricted the use of magic through their Ministry of Magic, exporting their ideas of what is “safe” or “possible” without acknowledging the vast, untapped magical resources that exist in the wider world. Latin American magical traditions, for example, are often dismissed as primitive or obscure, despite the fact that our cultures have been understanding complex time-related magic for millennia.
Now, before any self-proclaimed defender of order, any self-righteous politician, or any conniving opportunist comes after me based on the claims made in this book, I must emphasize one special detail entrusted to me by Zipa Tisquesusa to share: neither the Colombian Ministry of Magic, nor anyone from its Magical Communities will ever, under any circumstance or context, propose or encourage the use of magical time-altering items.
Despite Colombia’s deep historical ties to time-related magic, the practical use of such magic has largely faded in the modern era. While British wizards continue to grapple with time through highly regulated instruments like Time-Turners, Colombian wizards no longer actively practice these ancient forms of temporal manipulation. This might seem paradoxical at first—how can a country so rich in temporal knowledge largely abandon its use? The answer lies in the reverence and understanding passed down through generations: time-related magic, for all its complexity and potential, has been studied, recorded, and archived to such an extent that there is no longer any need to engage with it directly.
The history of time magic in Colombia is one of profound understanding, one where the Eight Original Magical Tribes—the Zipa, the Intiwayra, the Nanashq, the Tshe'x, the Fiba, the Llanthu, and the Hampiq—approached time not as something to be bent and broken but as a sacred element, to be navigated with great care and respect. This foundational respect for the natural flow of time led to the creation of extensive knowledge repositories. Over centuries, Colombian magical scholars meticulously documented every aspect of temporal manipulation, from small shifts to the grander movements across centuries.
Unlike their British counterparts, who actively study and experiment with time under the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Mysteries, Colombian wizards approach time-related magic as an ancient discipline—one that has already been mastered. There is no active department or ministry dedicated to the research or regulation of time-related magic in Colombia because the study of time has reached its natural conclusion. The knowledge has been passed down so thoroughly and preserved so carefully that there is little need for further experimentation. What has been discovered is enough, and our ancestors’ wisdom cautions us against pushing beyond the boundaries they so clearly established.
Colombian wizards—under the guidance of figures like Zipa Tisquesusa—are strongly cautioned against the use of time-related magic.
This cautious approach is rooted in a long-standing cultural value: the idea that one must live within the natural cycles of the universe rather than trying to subvert them. Time-related magic, though incredibly powerful, has always been treated with great suspicion by the general wizarding populace in Colombia.
In many ways, this approach contrasts sharply with the British attitude, where Time-Turners are still used (albeit in limited capacity) for even relatively mundane purposes, such as time management. In Colombia, the very idea of using time-related magic for something so trivial would be unthinkable.
One might argue that Colombian magical society has reached a higher understanding of time, one that transcends the need for its active manipulation. Our ancestors traversed the vast currents of time so that we would not have to. They uncovered the secrets, mapped the dangers, and ultimately left us with the knowledge that time, once fully understood, is best left to flow unimpeded.
That is, in my opinion, enough of an opening for this book. In the pages to come, you will find the wide, albeit restricted, knowledge I was allowed—and considered wise—to share. Let me unravel for you, my dear fellow passionate academic, the workings of time itself.
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Author's note
Sooo, here it is. Well, you can see how, in fact, things are not getting much better, are they?
There's tension building all around the place, but be prepared, it's all going to explode at different moments, and there's going to be lots of drama and teenage angst in future chapters
Can we talk for a moment about how iconic the Cardona family is? anyway, they're >>>
Small translation of Pedro's words to Fleur (in French) and Viktor (in Bulgarian) (again, I don't speak either language, so I used a translator):
Mademoiselle Delacour, j'espère que tu passes un bon séjour: Miss Delacour, I hope you are having a nice stay
Gospodin Krum, nadyavam se, che ti haresva prestoyat tuk: Mr. Krum, I hope you enjoy your stay here.
Anyway, if you want a small spoiler: the next chapter highlights (to me) are the first task and Nicolás' birthday! I'm working really hard so I can post it next Sunday because it's my and Nicolás' birthday!! Pray I can finish it on time!!
love you guys, thank you for your support!!
- 𝐣. 𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼💜