Constellations of Change

Hogwarts, Dungeons, October 7th, After Lights Out

Severus Snape shut the door to his quarters and flicked his wand to secure the multiple locks he had on the door. His paranoia in this regard actually had less to do with the ex-Death Eater fearing a deadly attack in the heart of Hogwarts, and more to do with his strong suspicion that four years ago the Weasley twins had managed to get inside and fill his slippers with roast pumpkin and gravy. 

He strode swiftly and purposefully down the hallway, passing the corridor that led towards his secret back entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, to instead head for his classroom, intent on using the connected personal Potions laboratory for some personal work. Further perfecting his craft was one of the few small pleasures left to him, and he hoped his new variant of Memory Potion would be successful. If it was, it should specifically allow for vivid recollection of distant memories at will while under its effects.

Almost out of habit he sneered down his nose as he passed two patrolling Hufflepuff prefects, but he paid them no mind. Tonight, would be one of blessed solitude. At least that was what he expected before he opened the heavy oaken door to the Potions classroom to discover an unwelcome visitor waiting for him.

“Hello, Severus,” Remus Lupin said simply. The werewolf was leaning slightly against a large cauldron, seemingly waiting for him.

“Why have you trespassed in my domain, wolf?” Snape practically growled. He might be under strict orders from Dumbledore not to reveal Lupin’s dangerous bloodthirsty nature publicly, but he would never forget what the man in front of him was and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise in private. Though they were in the dungeon, they both could just make out the distant rumbling of thunder.

Lupin raised an eyebrow, “as a fellow professor, I’d hardly call this trespassing.” When Snape didn’t react, or even move, Remus let out a sigh. “I came by hoping the two of us could bury the hatchet.”

“Then you hoped in vain,” Severus scoffed, sweeping past Remus to walk towards the back of the room where his desk lay.

“School was a long time ago, Severus.”

“Not long enough to forget an attempted murder,” Snape shot back. The memory of the snarling beast at the end of the tunnel, getting pulled back just in time by that bastard Potter. He wasn’t sure what was worse, that he’d been tricked by Black, or that he owed his life to his most hated enemy, James Potter, who’d stolen everything from him. 

Lupin stared up at the dungeon ceiling, “what Sirius did crossed the line.” Sirius was his dearest friend and he was glad to have him back, but the fifth-year version of him had once upon a time majorly breached Lupin’s trust with his dangerous prank on Severus. Sirius had long since apologized, not just to Lupin but to Severus as well back in the day, but it was still an unpleasant memory. Remus looked back at Snape, “but you know I had no control of myself when I transformed, and no part in you being in the hidden tunnel to the shack that night.”

“Please,” Snape sneered, “you may not have been as obvious as Black and Potter,” he practically spat the last name, “but you happily sat by and let them get away with it.”

Lupin rubbed his temples. On the one hand, Severus was right that Sirius tricking him into finding a transformed Remus had been unambiguously wrong, but the Potions Professor had a very slanted memory of history. That night had just been the high-water mark of an escalating war of harassment that went both ways between the Marauders and Snape and his gang of Slytherins, who, almost to a man, joined the Death Eaters after graduation. 

In addition to harassing Remus and probing into his sensitive medical condition month after month, the week before the incident under the Willow, Snape and Barty Crouch Junior had snuck an exploding potion into James’s bag, that doused their whole dormitory in liquid so noxious they had to sleep in the common room for weeks, nearly killing James’s pet cat when Lionheart licked some of it up, making Sirius see red. 

“I did what I could to discourage all three of you,” Remus argued, “from letting your juvenile rivalry go too far, but it wasn’t exactly easy.” He was trying exceedingly hard to be fair to Snape, not referencing the semi-stalking behavior towards Lily that had been a major contributor to his and James’s friction during their latter student days. 

“You should never have been made a prefect, just as you should never have been made a professor, wolf,” Snape retorted. Sharing a dining table with Lupin the past two months had motivated him to have the House-Elves serve him in his quarters even more than usual. 

He had assumed when Albus had decided to hire the beast, that Snape would be stuck preparing the Wolfsbane potion that kept him barely under control all year long, but that hadn’t come to pass. Instead, Andromeda Tonks had been making monthly sojourns to Hogsmeade to deliver the expensive brew, which meant Snape’s valuable time wasn’t taken up and hitherto now, he had been able to minimize interactions with the wolf in human skin. 

Even his great patience starting to get exhausted, Remus said, “That's your real problem, isn’t it? It's not that I’m mates with Sirius, it's my condition.” Sure, his association with James was the start of Severus’s obvious dislike of him, but he’d have to be deaf to miss all the werewolf insults Snape peppered his speech with when they were in private. 

“It's what you are,” Severus said simply. “The Dark Lord was forced to employ Greyback and his pack to accomplish his goals during the war, and I saw firsthand your kind’s barbarism.”

“ FORCED TO EMPLOY HIM!?” Lupin finally snapped in anger at being equated to the very man who attacked and infected him as a child. “I am a werewolf because it was forced upon me. Your master chose willingly to ally with that monster, just like you willingly chose to tattoo that mark on your arm.”

“Get out,” Snape commanded coldly.

“Gladly,” Lupin shot back, “this was a mistake anyway.” 

He slammed the door behind him, leaving Severus once again in the dark, cold dungeon. Alone. 

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Halloween Afternoon, Disused Enchanting Classroom

“Oh, babe, you have a crumb stuck to the corner of your lips,” Nymphadora Tonks said.

Sitting next to her on the floor, both leaning against the wall under the window, Katie Bell replied, “oh, where?” She felt mildly embarrassed that presumably a bit of the roast boar sandwich she’d eaten had been on her face since lunch.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you,” Tonks quipped before rolling over partially to kiss her girlfriend, getting rid of the crumb in the process. The athletic Irish witch’s big brown eyes widened in surprise for an instant before melting as she returned the kiss happily.

“If you two keep making out, I’m going to leave,” Penny informed them from where she sat just a few feet away, surrounded by various texts and her enchanted abacus. Penelope Clearwater was happy her friends were happy, but she was beginning to feel like a third or fifth wheel some of the time. 

“Sorry,” both of her friends replied in unison as they parted, Katie straightening her gold and red tie, while Tonks just used her powers to style her hair back into a short black bob, rather than the long slightly messy blonde it had been. 

The three friends had arrived at their usual hangout spot after class finished for the day and were each trying to get some work done before the Halloween Feast. The opening match of the Quidditch season began next weekend with Gryffindor playing Hufflepuff, so Katie in particular would pretty much have no weekend with all the practice Wood was putting them through to try and finally pull out a win for his House during his seventh year. Katie had a DADA essay and Tonks was supposed to be cramming for Monday's Human Transfiguration quiz, but they kept distracting one another.

Turning to the scroll of notes she’d been reading, Nym looked at it for a moment before tossing it aside in annoyance. “I don’t see why we’re spending so much time on Human Transfiguration anyway. It’s a nearly useless subject.”

Penny gave her best friend a deadpan look, “Tonks, most people can’t naturally change their shape however they want.”

Katie gently elbowed her girlfriend in the side, “also, babe, I’m pretty sure that Auror’s need to be trained to spot signs of transfigured appearances to find fugitives, aye?”

Tonks grumbled but knew the pair were right. It was just an exceedingly boring stretch of class for her, and according to Professor McGonagall, one that would last till just before Yule. 

There was an unexpected rapping on the door frame, and the three witches looked up to see a somewhat unexpected pair standing in the open doorway. Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang, both looking slightly uncertain, stepped into the room. “Hope there’s still room for us to join you?” Cedric asked.

“Always, Cedric,” Penelope, ever the diplomatic one, replied happily. “You’re an important part of our little ‘club’, and Cho, I'm happy you came along as well.” Penny and Cho were still awkward but steadily mending fences as they had to work together now that Cho had also been named a Ravenclaw Prefect. 

“Are Iris and company joining us, today?” Cedric asked with affected casualness. Cho at his side was less subtle about her hope Tonks’ little sister wouldn’t be walking through the door, a mildly pained expression flashing across her face.

Nymphadora thought the other Ravenclaw should get over her friend getting in trouble last year, and honestly be better about choosing her friends in the first place but she held her tongue. Cho actually accompanying Cedric today was a step in the right direction and given how little of Cedric she’d seen outside of the Badgers’ den since term began, she was all for anything that got his girlfriend more comfortable being around her, Katie and Pen.

So, she replied, equally breezily, “no, they’re all with Lavender down by the Lake. She’s got some news from her folks that her pet rabbit was killed by a fox, so she’s a bit shaken up.” Tonks felt bad for Lavender, losing a pet was always hard, but at least her friends were helping her through it. ‘ Plus, comforting someone else seems to be Iris’s main method of not dwelling on her least favorite holiday. Thankfully it's a less dramatic situation than the last two Halloweens.’

“Oh, that’s horrible,” Cho replied, “I hope she’s okay.”

Cedric had a quizzical expression as he grabbed a chair opposite the window, “why was her familiar not here with her? I know they have that baffling rule restricting firsties to a cat, toad or owl, but she’s a Third Year.”

“Binky wasn’t her familiar,” Penny explained, looking up momentarily from the thick Herbology encyclopedia she’d been focused on all afternoon. “I think her familiar is a black hare called Mirky or something like that. Apparently, she had bunnies in June and Binky was one of those.”

“It’s still sad,” Cho firmly told Cedric. She turned to Penny, clearly still feeling ginger around her fellow Ravenclaw prefect after Penelope dropped the hammer on Marietta, and asked, “uh, what are you studying Penelope?”

“I’m trying to figure out why my Venomous Tentacula cutting isn’t growing,” Penny grumbled. She’d watched with mounting frustration as the pots of her fellow smaller class of sixth year Herbology student grew bigger and bigger plants, while hers stubbornly stayed nearly the same size as when she’d planted it. Typically, Herbology was one of her best subjects, so her lack of success was really sticking in her craw.

Penny’s stress over her studies was something she shared with Tonks, and something Katie, Cedric and Cho wouldn’t fully understand yet. This was their first year of NEWT work, and while the exams wouldn’t be till the end of their seventh year, the more rigorous curriculum made cramming for their O.W.Ls feel like a pleasant memory.

Penny had done well enough on her OWLS to continue in pretty much any subject she’d like, and naturally as a hopeful future Healer, she was taking Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, and Charms since those were all required NEWTS for incoming trainees at St. Mungos. She was also keeping up with her chosen electives but had decided ultimately to drop History of Magic and Astronomy so she had more time to focus on the subjects she needed to pass. She’d also seriously considered dropping DADA, given how useless the class could be some years, but Tonks had convinced her that Lupin would be an actual good professor, so she’d stuck it out.

Tonks meanwhile was taking the Auror required Potions, DADA, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms and Transfiguration. She’d kept up Herbology mostly because it was taught by her own Head of House and she didn’t want Professor Sprout to be disappointed in her. She’d gratefully dropped Divination, the only course she’d gotten below an E on her OWLS, and History of Magic, but kept up Astronomy out of personal interest. 

After the initial awkwardness, things surprisingly seemed to fall back into place, like Cedric had never been absent. Nym was even surprised to find she didn’t mind Cho joining them, in part because now that it would be hypocritical of her, she no longer became annoyed when the other couple had moments of gushiness. ‘ Honestly, she’s not that bad, if a tad overly sentimental. I’m sort of surprised she’s even friends with a bully like Edgecomb in the first place.’

Having another fifth year with them was actually very helpful for Katie, who had been able to quiz the older two witches on this or that, but now had a compatriot in the thick of their OWL year there with her. Cho, a fourth year, did some studying as well, but mostly remained passive in the conversation, observing the more tight knit friends, at least until Quidditch somehow came up.

“Wood can run a hundred drills,” Cedric boasted, “and he still won’t beat us Puffs. We’re going to make this the first three-year Cup streak in fifty years.” Hufflepuff had already won the cup the previous two seasons, much to the ire of Wood, Flint and Davies.

“You’re an alright seeker, Diggory,” Katie shot back defiantly, her normally subtle Irish brogue becoming stronger, “but after Torrance graduated, you haven’t got a single chaser on the squad good enough to get past Wood. You can take ya 150 points for the snitch, and we’ll still smoke you off the pitch. Right, babe?” She looked expectantly over at Nymphadora. 

Tonks, a proud Hufflepuff herself, looked back and forth between the two, “I’m feeling very conflicted about this.”

“It hardly matters who wins your match next week anyway,” Cho chimed in. The Ravenclaw Seeker puffed out her chest and proudly proclaimed, “neither Hufflepuff, nor Gryffindor will be taking the Cup. It’s going to be sitting on Professor Flitwick’s desk before the year is done!”

The friendly argument just continued to go from there, and eventually Penny quietly transfigured some extra quills into four cotton balls, passed two to Nym and put the others in her ears. 

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Hogwarts, Charms Classroom, Early November, Third Year Lesson

The sound of quills scratching filled the spacious Charms classroom at mid-morning, as the lesson for the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw third years was well underway. At the moment they were all, or at least mostly all, trying to copy down the diagram Flitwick’s floating piece of chalk was sketching on the board, before the diminutive professor flipped the chalkboard around and moved on. 

“You will seldom find a spell as useful as the General Counter Charm,” Flitwick informed the class as the chalk drawing started to move. There were two human stick figures and one shot a curse at the other, making his spherical head grow three times its size, until the giant headed figure performed the charm in question and shrunk it back down to what it was originally.

Flitwick paced a little on his raise platform, his movements always reminding the muggleborn Hermione of the mincing steps of Hercule Poirot. “While inferior to a specific countercharm or counter-curse, Finite Incantantem has the benefit of wide applicability. Used individually, a clever witch or wizard can use it to unmake most minor curses and lift simple charms, and, as we’ll work on later in the year, wizards working in concert can use this spell to lift more serious enchantments. Now,” Flitwick paused for a moment at the sound of murmuring from the back of the class, “was there something you wanted to ask, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron blanched in a moment of sheepishness at having been caught chatting with Seamus during the listen and cleared his throat before saying, “er, yes professor, I was wondering if you could explain exactly why it’s called a Cheering Charm?”

Fillius tutted, “We were working on Cheering Charms last lesson, Mr. Weasley, and I would think the reason for the name of that particular spell was quite self-evident,” there was a low chuckle from the rest of the class, “but if you’re still having trouble with it, please feel free to come consult me during office hours. In the meantime, five points from Gryffindor.”

The chuckle turned to grumbling in the Gryffindor side of the room as Flitwick continued the lesson. Hermione, sharing a desk with Lavender a few seats over, grimaced in annoyance. In her estimation, Ron wasn’t an idiot or totally untalented, but he slacked off in pretty much every class, and then would go around the common room in the evening begging for notes, or, worse, trying to convince others to write his essays for him. 

Needless to say, she never shared her own notes with him, despite being perfectly willing to do so with someone like Neville Longbottom, currently sitting with Dean in between her desk and Ron’s, who often struggled in class but put in enough hard work you’d think he belonged in Hufflepuff. 

“Now watch closely, and I’ll demonstrate the necessary wand movement,” the professor informed them before slowly moving through the motion again and again, steadily increasing in speed. “Now, as those of you who have read up on symbolic magic in Arithmancy might have already realized, you are essentially unweaving another spell with this motion. It helps to picture yourself picking apart a knot with the tip of your wand, and to hook your magic so to speak, turning the wand into a pseudo seam ripper.”

When it came to instantaneous magic, particularly charms, there were two main internal components each paired with an external action. The first was the shaping of your magic, which often took a good deal of practice to get right for a particular spell without a lot of focus. You had to apportion an appropriate amount of magic and then apply it in the correct manner to achieve the desired effect; underpowering a spell would make it fizzle, but overloading a simple charm with too much magic often ended explosively, as Seamus still had a bad habit of doing. 

Shaping magic on your own was very difficult, and ancient mages would often only master a handful of primitive spells in a lifetime, relying more on potions and other ritual magic for that reason. That was why magical implements for guiding your magic were so important; historically they had been quite varied, from the staves of the druids to the crystal orbs of southern soothsayers, but the wand had been a monumental leap forward and led to the modern era of spell work. The movement of one’s wand that went with a spell was essentially designed to help guide your magic into its particular shape.

The other half of a charm was intent. You had to have a clear idea of what you wanted the spell to do, and a firm will to impose your magic upon the world. This was why a distracted witch was more likely to have a spell go awry, than one who could keep her cool. Certain charms and curses even basically required specific strong emotional states to work and were often among the most difficult spells to master for that reason. 

The intent of a spell was crystalized by its incantation. The spellcaster linked the associated effect of the magic to the chant, typically rendered in one of the three foundational languages of magic, and used it to solidify the spell into being. Diction was essential, and many spells often worked better if one got a hang of the specific cadence that matched up with the wandwork.

Of course, eventually, as one became more powerful, skilled, and familiar with a particular spell, a wizard could both minimize the necessary wand movement and learn to cast a spell while saying the incantation in their own heads, but that was still a bit beyond these third years. Flitwick waved his wand to create a dozen or so little cold fire bluebell flames that floated out to his class to sit just above each desk. “Alright, now, for the rest of the lesson I’d like you to take turns with your partners trying to dispel these flames. This is a relatively simple and harmless spell, so I expect some of you may succeed in your first use of Finite Incantantem before the bell chimes for lunch!”

=

By the end of class, about half the students had managed to extinguish their flames. Iris had succeeded first, earning five points for Ravenclaw, with Hermione succeeding soon after. There had been a time coming second to her friend would have bothered the Gryffindor, but after over two years of friendship with Iris and Daphne, she’d learned to view her studies as less competitive and more collaborative. 

For her part, Iris was just happy this spell practice didn’t end with her surrounded by angry centaurs. Her encounter in the Forest a few weeks ago still had her a bit shaken, and she hadn’t returned to it by night, even under the safety of her cloak. Sure, Bane had only said she shouldn’t come back summoning thunderclouds, but she decided to give the forest a bit of a wider berth until the irate horseman had a chance to calm down.

‘ It’s not like they own the whole forest anyway,’ she griped inwardly. In her own mind she’d been being perfectly careful, but she had at least enough good sense to know arguing that point with an angry centaur would be a bad idea. ‘ Perhaps I’ll explore further east next time and see if I have better luck finding Fluffy.’ Even two years later, she was still longing for the chance to examine the Cerberus up close without interruption from inconvenient Dark Lords. ‘ Maybe if my animal form ends up being a dog like Sirius’s, I’ll even be able to communicate with her!’ She was still waiting for lightning to strike the potion she’d finished brewing at the end of summer and assiduously doing her ritual incantations every day. 

“Remember to practice your wand movements over the weekend,” Fillius called out to his class as they packed to go, “and I’ll be expecting five inches on the principles of Counter-Charms when I see you next week!” There was general grumbling from some of the students at the homework, but it could have been worse. McGonagall had assigned a whole twelve inches on animate to inanimate transformations that week. 

Iris, Hermione, Lavender and the Patil twins clumped together as they exited the Charms classroom. The quintet was heading in the general direction of the Great Hall, and Neville Longbottom trailed after them for a moment before slowing his gait and shuffling to a stop. The rotund heir to House Longbottom let out a deep sigh and hung his head. 

After another class spent fruitlessly trying to recreate what Professor Flitwick was demonstrating, he had hoped to reach out to Hermione, or even Iris for some help, but he lost his nerve. It was just too intimidating to approach the girls when they were all clumped together like that. It was almost like his body knew to get preemptively embarrassed, his face flushing red before he even opened his mouth. ‘ Especially when Parvati’s with them….’

“Oi, Nev!” Dean Thomas called out to him, making Neville turn around to see his three roommates coming towards him. Neville got along well enough with Ron, Seamus and Dean, but a lot of the time he felt like the random fourth guy in a dorm full of friends. So he was mildly surprised for his housemates to be pulling him into his conversation.

“You going to the match tomorrow?” Seamus asked. The opening match of the Hogwarts season was happening the next day, between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Hufflepuff was the favorite, but it wasn’t expected to be a blowout, with the common scuttlebutt around the armchair Keepers of Hogwarts was that it would all come down to how quickly Diggory caught the snitch.

“Uh, hopefully!” Neville replied, falling into step with the other boys. Despite being utterly incapable atop a broom himself, Nev was as much a Quidditch fan as an average young wizard his age, which was to say a pretty big one if not an Oliver Wood like maniac. In the British leagues he supported the Appleby Arrows and was secretly hoping his gran would get tickets to the World Cup final that summer for his birthday. “I mean, we have a blooming lot of homework this weekend.”

Unfortunately, their professors hadn’t spared them in anticipation for the game. McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape had all assigned essays, Lupin had announced a quiz for next lesson, Trelawney had them writing up their dream interpretations, and Professor Sinistra was expecting finished star charts of the constellation Aquilla on her desk Tuesday evening. He was going to have to try and get at least some of his writing and revising done tonight if he wanted to attend the game without the specter of his disappointed Gran hanging over his head. 

“Yeah,” Ron agreed with a grimace, “I can’t believe McGonagall piled so much on! I mean, she bloody well knows how important this weekend is.” Oliver Wood’s almost manic desire to finally return the Quidditch Cup to the Lions after a long drought was echoed by much of the rest of their House, and Ron obviously saw their Head of House not giving them the weekend off as some sort of betrayal.

Neville scratched the back of his head as they rounded the staircase, realizing they were heading up towards the Owlery. “Yeah, but with how complicated the Tortoise to Teapot spell is, I guess we need the extra study.” Neville had certainly failed to do more than annoy the lettuce munching tortoise he’d struggled in vain to turn into a kettle on Wednesday. “I mean, even Hermione and Daphne haven’t gotten it yet.” They’d had more success than anyone else, Hermione making the shell grow a handle, and Daphne turning the head into a spout, but neither had completed the transfiguration, to their own obvious frustration. 

Neville understood the theory well enough, or at least he thought he did, ‘ but I’m probably wrong.’ It was a big transfiguration for their current skill level and magical development, but there were supposedly a lot of factors that were supposed to make it easier than, say, turning a meercat into a saucepan. ‘ Similar size, similar shape, something about the symbolism of the T’s…’ 

Ron rolled his eyes, “like I’m ever going to need to know how to do that. Anyway, that’s what we wanted to ask you about. Reckon you could be a mate and get us a copy of Granger’s notes for Transfiguration, and Charms?”

‘ Well, that makes a bit more sense,’ Neville lamented, realizing the other boys were just after Hermione’s help by proxy. The brainy bushy haired girl wouldn’t help them if they were obviously just trying to take advantage of her so they could goof off. Ron especially would be out of luck, since he and Hermione did nothing but argue when they talked. Neville knew Hermione wouldn’t be happy with him passing her notes along, but he was rather more susceptible to peer pressure, and if this was what it took to be included…

“Uh, yeah, probably!” Neville chirped, “maybe we can meet up to watch the game, and I’ll share them afterwards?”

Ron and Seamus clapped him on the back while Dean smiled broadly. “New you’d be a good bloke, Nev!”

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Ministry of Magic, DMLE, Late November, Afternoon

Amelia Bones adjusted her magical monocle, which, among other enchantments, could automatically decode the confidential memo that had just flown itself onto her desk. Some Undersecretaries were rubbish at remembering to use them, but technically it was still on the books that any high-level communication between Department Heads was supposed to be magically scrambled before being sent. It was a hold-over from the days when everyone knew Voldemort had at least one agent in the Ministry, but, as the chief law enforcement official in their society, Amelia tried to avoid breaking the law herself if she could.

This one in particular was from the bombastic Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the man in charge of next year’s Quidditch World Cup final. Their offices usually didn’t overlap at Amelia’s level, but with the expected influx of foreign magicals and the needed secrecy around the event itself, she had to be kept in the loop so security could be properly sorted. 

‘ Yeah, sorry Ludo, but I’m going to have to veto the ‘Giant of Quidditch’ Amelia thought as she scanned the note. Apparently, the former Beater had a hairbrained scheme to ship in a Giant from one of the reserves and dress it up as some sort of mascot for the game; her denial probably wouldn’t even have time to fly back to Ludo before Magdalene from the Giant Office tore his head off.

“Working hard, boss?” 

Amelia looked up to her open door and shared a tired smile with her secretary, Wendy Pan, a woman of Vietnamese origin who had emigrated to the UK a few years back. It meant she was the rare Ministry employee who wasn’t a Hogwarts graduate, instead matriculating from Phao Daian, and while she wasn’t in a very senior position, Amy valued having the outside perspective.

The red head turned her head from side to side, trying to work out the small pain that had built up in her deck from a day of leaning over her desk. “Always, Wendy,” Amelia replied, “I swear, the World Cup is almost a year away and it’s already taking up too much of my days.”

Wendy, a shorter woman with bobbed black hair wearing cerulean robes, walked over to Amelia, a sheaf of papers in her hand. “Well, I have good news. You only have two more appointments for the day and then you can go home and do whatever new wild thing Skeeter has you and Lord Black up to this week.”

Amelia groaned; Rita Skeeter, apparently frustrated that Sirius hadn’t agreed to one of her infamous interviews, where the majority of what was printed had never come out of the subject’s mouth, had decided she’d turned Bones Manor into some kind of depraved sex den when she let Sirius move in. Eventually, after resisting due to not wanting to abuse her position, she’d written an owl to old Barnabus Cuffe letting him know the legal consequences of letting the libel continue, both from her department and from the houses of Bones and Black civilly. The gossipmonger had swiftly switched to a new target and a retraction and apology had been printed, but Wendy still enjoyed teasing her about it. 

Not that she and Sirius weren’t getting up to quite a lot of fun in their bedroom, but that was no affair of Rita Skeeter’s. After so long apart, the pair were going at it like newlyweds sometimes, especially after Susan left for school. Amy shook her head and pushed thoughts of her boyfriend to the back of her mind for when she returned home that evening. Leveling Wendy with her ‘boss’ stare, she said “Lord Black and I are having dinner with friends, and then spending the evening looking through the Quality Quidditch catalogue to choose a Yule gift for my niece, hardly the salacious stuff scandals are sourced from.”

Wendy blew a raspberry, “you’re no fun. Anyway, I’ve got Shacklebolt and Weasley both waiting to see you, which one do you want first?”

Amy considered for a moment before deciding, “send in Kingsley.” Not to be rude to Arthur, but anything emerging from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was likely to be lower priority than a report from one of her top aurors. After Wendy stepped out to fetch them, Kingsley Shacklebolt strode in, wearing muggle-passing clothes from the department’s stock, slacks, a tee-shirt for some band called Blondie, and a puffy orange jacket. 

“Afternoon, Madame Bones,” Kingsley greeted her in his distinctive bass, taking a seat opposite her desk. “There’s been a few developments with the Fudge case, and I would have just sent a memo but…”

“But you didn’t want to leave a paper trail for Umbridge or Cornelius to find and get their knickers in a twist over,” Amelia finished for him. “Catch me up, where are with that.”

“Well,” Kingsley began, “as you know Rufus Fudge was implicated in a scheme to magically counterfeit muggle paper money and exchange it for precious metals and other objects of actual value. He and his co-conspirators were discovered and caught before too many of the bills entered circulation, and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes were able to clean up the mess, but there was a question of how to handle them.”

Amelia scoffed, “not a real question, they broke the law. We’d charge them like any other criminal if Fudge hadn’t stepped in to sweep it under the rug.” She’d gotten a directive from the Minister in plain terms that his nephew shouldn’t go before the courts for this. She could push it through anyway, but Cornelius would just elevate the trial to the Wizengamot and see him acquitted anyway, earning her the ire of the mercurial minister for no reason. It would be a minor scandal, and there would be some grumbling about nepotism, but since the only victims of the scheme had been muggles, it wouldn’t do much to shake Fudge’s position. It wasn’t a battle worth fighting.

“Right, we were going to release them with a stern warning and a fine,” Kingsley continued, “but as I say, there’s been a development.” He took a moment to check his notes, “one of Rufus’s collaborators, a Mr. Gregor Twinning, offered up evidence of another crime in a bid for leniency before it became apparent Fudge was going to quash the case anyway.”

Amelia raised a skeptical eyebrow; low-level criminals often offered tips to try and get out of trouble, and they were often as dubious as their source. “What did he say?”

“Twinning largely makes his living on Knockturn Alley, trading hot goods and information,” Kingsley explained. “He claims that a few months ago he encountered a wizard he wasn’t familiar with, just described him as young, brown haired, and handsome, who was asking a lot of questions about the Petrification situation at Hogwarts last year.”

“Well, that’s hardly remarkable,” Amelia opined, “everybody was glued to the Prophet for news about that. Asking an underworld information dealer is a bit strange, but it could have just been a concerned relative worried about a student.”

“I’d agree,” Kingsley replied, “except he claims he saw a skull with a snake in its mouth on the man’s arm when they shook hands.”

Amelia sighed deeply. ‘ A Dark Mark’, that was something they would have to look into. It was probably nothing, there were so many supposed spottings of marked Death Eaters in the years since the war that if they were all true, Voldemort would have had an army so large he never could have lost. “Have him sit down with a sketch-wizard and assign a hit wizard to ask around about it but keep it quiet. No need to cause a panic if it’s nothing.”

Shacklebolt nodded in assent, before ambling out of the office, letting Arthur Weasley poke his head through the swinging door. Amelia offered what she hoped was an inviting smile to the nervous looking man and said, “Arthur, please come in.”

Mr. Weasley bowed his head a little and took the chair Kinsley had just vacated, “Good afternoon, Madame Bones. Thank you so much for taking the time to see me.”

“I always try to make time for my subordinates,” Amy replied before asking, “how have you been Arthur? I don’t think we’ve had the chance to chat since you returned from your vacation.” The slightly balding redhaired man had won the Daily Prophet raffle over the summer and used the money to take his family on a tour of Egypt. Personally, she thought some of that money might have been better spent paying down the former noble family’s debt, which was something of an open secret, but she also understood wanting to treat your children to something nice. ‘ Especially after what his youngest went through last year.’

“I’m doing just dandy, Madame Bones,” Arthur replied, still using her official title, “and Egypt was just smashing. I think it did Ginny a world of good to get away from it all, and my eldest Bill proved to be quite the tour guide. All the sun didn’t exactly agree with my wife, and my hope to travel there on a muggle aeroplane was vetoed, but overall, it was a really excellent trip.”

“I’m glad,” Amelia cut in mirthfully, glad Arthur was relaxing a bit but wanting to wrap up her last meeting for the day as swiftly as possible. “You had something that needed my attention? I remember Perkins saying something about a lawnmower?” 

“Er, no, actually, that is to say we’ve got that pretty well covered, nothing to worry about,” Arthur quickly replied. (After all, he’d promised Ludo to keep Otto’s little experiment with a self-running lawn mower quiet. Nobody got hurt, and there was pretty much no other way he’d be able to afford tickets for the whole family to go to the World Cup next year.) He took a breath before asking “I was wondering what the status of the Malfoy case was?”

Amelia frowned; she probably should have expected that was what Arthur wanted, but she didn’t think he’d like the answer. The crackdown on certain dark objects that led up to the raid on Malfoy Manor the previous year had originated from Arthur’s office, but as the case developed and it became clear very few muggle items were involved, it had been moved to the Auror office. With what happened to Ginny, and Lucius the main suspected source of that diary, Arthur would naturally be concerned with how it was going.

“We’re still monitoring him,” Amelia explained, “but for the moment we don’t have enough evidence to approve another raid or make any charges against Lord Malfoy.” The words were bitter in her mouth, but her hands were very much tied. A lack of concrete proof of wrongdoing meant there was little they could do, especially given how well connected the head of House Malfoy was. 

“Merlin’s old boot!” Arthur cursed, crumpling his already wrinkled hat in his hand. He was clearly upset, but after a moment he took a breath to steady himself. Then, realizing he was still in his boss’s office, his expression turned sheepish. “Uh, sorry, Lady Bones. I’d just hoped for better news to take home to Molly.” The man’s expression told the story of how his notoriously high-strung wife was going to badger him about Malfoy when he finished work.

Amelia offered a sympathetic look, since she could offer little else. Whatever other dark horrors were no doubt lurking in Lucius’s basement had to unfortunately be placed on the back burner. Between upcoming international events, the fallout from last year’s surprises, and half a dozen pending cases, including a suspected Dragon poaching ring, there was enough going on to keep their department more than busy enough for the foreseeable future. 

As Arthur made his goodbyes and scurried out of her office, Amy hung her head, and for just a moment let the exhaustion she felt show. It wasn’t nearly as frenzied as it had been during Voldemort’s terror, or even as hectic as it had been the previous year when the petrifications at Hogwarts had everyone on edge, but her job was still a very busy one. Between supervising hundreds of subordinates, navigating pressure from Fudge and the Wizengamot, and trying to find time to pursue her own initiatives, it wasn’t uncommon to find her working well into the evening, especially when Susan was at school. 

She glanced to the moving photograph of her niece she kept on her desk and gave the waving six-year-old version of Sue a tired smile. That picture had sat on the corner of her workspace for years, but the one next to it was quite new. Susan was in it as well, but at her current age, dressed in Tornadoes supporter gear, and behind her was a smiling Sirius Black, dressed the same. It had been taken when he’d taken her niece to a game back in August, and it still made her heart warm when she saw it.

Gathering her things, she started heading for the Floo, eager to get home at a reasonable time for once. She might still have a lot of work on her plate, but with her long-lost love waiting at home, it was certainly easier to get through. ‘ Who knows, we might even try one of Skeeter’s suggestions tonight…’

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Hogwarts, Dungeon Corridor, Early December, Afternoon

“That was utterly unwarranted,” Daphne Greengrass whispered furiously as she stalked down the dungeon hallway at a rapid pace, her long blonde hair and cloak both billowing out behind her. 

Tracey, who was hustling slightly to keep pace kept her own voice low as she said, “I agree with you Daph, but what can you do? She’s Head Girl.”

Daphne scoffed, “a title she wouldn’t have received if our Headmaster wasn’t a doddering old fool.” Daphne was feeling snappish and also had generally lowered her opinion of Dumbledore after learning of his massive cockup concerning one of her best friend’s early childhoods. 

The reason for her frustration was an unpleasant encounter with the current Hogwarts Headgirl, a Hufflepuff seventh year student named Dorothy ‘Dottie’ Osbourne. Tracey and Daphne had been excused early from Care of Magical Creatures after the former accidentally singed the palm of her hand while handling a feisty Salamander. Daphne had escorted her to the Hospital Wing where Madame Pomfrey had almost instantaneously been able to tend to the minor injury. Then, since by the time they made it back to the outdoor classroom it would be time to return to the castle anyway, they made their way towards the Slytherin Dorms.

That was when they had crossed paths with Dorothy, presumably on one of the free periods NEWT level students tended to have. The Hufflepuff was a tall girl with rather short curly blond hair and wide pale brown eyes that gave her something of a permanently startled expression. The muggleborn witch from America was considered a bit high-strung for a Hufflepuff and a stickler for the rules, but it made her a perfect match for her counterpart, Head Boy Percy Weasley. 

It was safe to say that Dottie wasn’t popular among the snakes as the heavy expectation had been the Head Girl position would go to a young woman from their own house, Fiona Rosier. There was no specific criteria for picking Head Boy or Girl, but it was generally understood that the honor should go to someone with widespread popularity across houses, a strong academic record and strong leadership skills, all qualities Fiona arguably met better than Dottie.

Of course some of that grumbling from the Snakes was entirely due to Dorothy being muggleborn, but for Daphne at least, her frustration over the appointment came from both being part of Fiona’s faction in Slytherin, and a feeling Dumbledore had a bias against their House.

In any event the older girl had stopped them, stubbornly refused to believe they had been properly excused from class, since of course Hagrid had neglected to write them a note, and docked Slytherin twenty points. Daphne was fuming and it would take a combination of her own tight emotional control and Tracey working to calm her down for her to compose herself by the time they reached the common room. In her preoccupied state, she didn’t pay any mind to the small redhead she passed in the hall, and who had tried to kill her the previous year while possessed.

Ginny’s feet felt like lumps of iron as she trudged away from a rough double Potions lesson. Snape had been in fine form that afternoon, finding reasons to take point after point from the second year Gryffindors, much to the delight of the Slytherin contingent who shared the period with them. To top it all off, she was pretty sure the Fire Protection Potion she and her cauldron mate Sheila Dunbar corked for submission wasn’t supposed to have lumps in it.

Her first term had been spent stubbornly trying to make up for her foggy first year, with some tutoring help from Percy, Luna, and Professor McGonagall, but, while she was getting back on level with most of her other subjects, Potions was still a struggle. Luna had suggested she go to one of the Tonks sisters for advice, but Ginny still felt too awkward around Iris Potter after everything that had occurred the previous year, to approach the older girl or her sister. 

“Well, what have we here, Fred?” Fred Weasley asked as he appeared suddenly at her left side, falling into step. 

“Why I do believe it’s a grumpy little sister, George” George replied to his twin from her other flank. Ginny was among the few who always knew which one was which, but it didn’t stop them from playing their name swapping game around her.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “what do you want? If you’re here to try and ‘keep an eye on me’, you can ask Ron how well that went for him.” She didn’t even know where she’d learned the hex she hit her overprotective idiot brother with back in October, but he’d been puking slugs for an hour.

George tutted, “now, Ginerva, dear,” Ginny grit her teeth at her hated full name, “when have we ever been the tattle tales Percy and Ron are?”

Fred pointed his own thumb between the two twins, “we’re the cool brothers, remember?”

“Charlie and Bill are the cool brothers,” Ginny snarked back.

Fred clutched his chest in mock horror, “you wound us sister! And here we were, about to give you an early Yuletime gift.”

“The very secret to our success,” George lamented, wiping an invisible tear away from his eye, “but if you’re not interested…”

“No, no!” Ginny protested, “I’m interested. Sorry, I’m just testy after two hours spent with Snape.” Fred and George had genuinely been the best of her family at not treating her like she was some kind of easily shattered porcelain doll since she’d recovered from her possession.  The pair were always good for a laugh, and she could certainly use one.

She realized they’d led her away from her intended path back to the common room, and instead found an unoccupied alcove by the distinctive one-eyed witch statue. Fred and George pulled to a stop, holding their looks of mock offense for just a moment before breaking into mirrored grins. “Now, Ginny, as you know, you are the heir to a great legacy,” Fred explained

Ginny snorted, “great granddad managed to trade away our seat on the Wizengamot in the worst deal I’ve ever heard of, and all my robes are second-hand. I love our family, but the Weasley name isn’t exactly a storied legacy.” She could admit she had a bit of a chip on her shoulder about her family’s humble status, even if she’d hex a rich prat like Zabini if he mocked her for it. Considering how driven her three eldest siblings were towards their respective career paths, she suspected she wasn’t the only one. 

George tutted, “We’re not talking about the most noble, and splendiferously stupendous house of Weasley. We’re talking about a much more important inheritance.”

“Being our little sister,” both twins said in unison.

“After all,” Fred continued, “when the two most incredible pranksters to haunt these halls since Peeves leave for sunnier shores,”

“Someone will need to keep up our magnificent mischief,” George explained, “and it’s not like we can trust Ron to do it.”

“Not a chance,” Fred agreed, “the spirit might be there, but the talent is lacking. No little sister,” they fixed Ginny with a pair of giddy looks that felt infectious, “we’re making you our apprentice in mischief, and this right here, is how you’re going to manage it.”

The once possessed girl was handed a seemingly blank folded piece of parchment, unaware that this magical document would eventually change her life far more than Tom’s diary ever could.

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Yuletime, Northern France, Chateau Delacour

(All Dialogue in French unless otherwise stated)

It was halfway through her fifth year and Fleur Delacour’s patience for Fauntleroy Brown and his cronies had worn away to nothing. Actually, she was pretty sure she had negative patience by this point, if that was even possible. After a previous year of relative peace, it seemed the prat had made it his mission to constantly antagonize her and those she associated with.

She wasn’t sure what the trigger had been, as Brown had attended Beauxbatons with her for years. He’s always been among the Veelaphobic set, but it was like he’d stepped forward to lead that crowd all of a sudden and renew the harassment that had died down after she got a handle on her allure and retreated from personal connections from other students save Sonia. 

‘ Perhaps it was the manure incident, or perhaps he decided I would make for an easy punching bag, and he could use me to raise his own status,’ Fleur thought, her eyes flashing with anger, ‘ if that is true, he will soon discover his catastrophic error in judgment.’ Fleur Delacour was nobody’s training dummy, and her self-imposed isolation didn’t mean she’d ignore an insult to her or her heritage. 

“Fleur, stop glowering into your coffee, and come help me with this,” her mother called over to her. The silky blonde-haired girl shook away thoughts of school and rose to help her mother levitate the tinsel and cold flame candles onto the great Yuletree in their sitting room. All of Chateau Delacour was decked out for the season, from nevermelt snow on the eaves, to topiary carved into festive shapes, to the fireplace charmed to smell of gingerbread. Fleur herself had even contributed with a magically sculpted ice sculpture of her own design in the foyer, a winged Valkyrie clad in garlands and holly.

She’d only arrived home for Yule three days ago, and already she felt herself relaxing immensely. Fleur had been like a coiled spring all term and relished the chance to let her guard down amongst her family. Her father Rene should be returning from his latest diplomatic trip, this time to Copenhagen, the next day and her mother and sister were already eagerly bustling about, preparing for the holiday.

As Apolline twirled her wand to spiral a chain of silver around the top of the tree, she queried her daughter, “so, blossom, you haven’t said much about how your term has been. Gabrielle thinks you have a secret girlfriend you’re hiding from us.”

“I wish,” Fleur replied wistfully, “I’m afraid it is an irksome boy, not a lovely girl that preoccupies my mind. I continue to excel in my courses and Sonia is well. There is not much else to tell.” Arabella had crossed her mind more than she’d like, but despite her admitted physical attraction to Fauntleroy’s clingy girlfriend, the other witch’s utterly rotten personality spoiled any potential crush. 

Apolline gave her daughter a supremely skeptical look, “and just who is this irksome boy, then?”

Fleur finished laying a strand of gold among the boughs of the still living Yuletree, with a flourish, before she turned to her mother. “He’s nothing you need concern yourself with, mama, just a small minded bigot who seems to take my success as a personal insult. It is nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

Apolline felt a flare of heated anger at the implication of her daughter’s words, but she repressed the emotion as it wasn’t useful in the moment. Instead, she simply pulled Fleur into a hug and quietly said, “I am so sorry, petal. Would you like me to say something to Maxine?” They weren’t best friends or anything, but she was amicable with the Beauxbatons headmistress, having overlapped slightly at Beauxbatons. 

The proud younger woman shook her head, “It is nothing I am incapable of handling myself. Besides, getting others involved will just confirm his accusation that I have manipulated my way to the top of the class.” Even if she had wanted to use her allure to bamboozle her professors into giving her high marks, there was less than a ghost of a chance of that actually working, and that was before you factored in the fact roughly half the teachers and the headmistress were women.

The Delacour matriarch nodded sadly, upset that she was unable to make the problem go away, but understanding where her daughter was coming from. Apolline was half-veela herself and faced her own trials with prejudice both in wizard and veela society. If anything, it was worse when she had been Fleur’s age, but she dearly wished they could get to a day where discrimination against half breeds didn’t exist at all. 

She knew Fleur mostly saw the wizarding side of it, from blood purist adjacent fools who rejected that which they did not understand, but it was unfortunately true that full blooded veela could be just as unpleasant towards those with partial wizarding blood. Apolline’s early childhood had been spent mostly living with her mother in their veela village in Bordeaux, and she’d gotten her fair share of schoolyard taunts about her wizard father and inability to fully transform.

Her mother still lived in that village and rarely left it, despite their invitations. She absolutely doted on her granddaughters when she saw them, but after Apolline’s father had passed, her mother had become extremely retiring. 

“Let us talk of something more joyful,” Fleur said firmly, “how are you feeling about your upcoming match with the American?”

Apolline chuckled as she followed her daughter back to the couch and sat beside her. “Hieronymus Finn is a skilled young man, but I am not especially nervous about crossing wands with him.”

Fleur raised an eyebrow and teased, “are you sure, mama? You have been away from the dueling field for some time, perhaps you have grown rusty.”

The older witch twirled her wand in cartwheels over her fingers in a casual display of dexterity. “I never strayed very far, Fleur, and frankly I’ve forgotten more about dueling than my first opponent this season has had time to learn.”

Apolline was a professional duelist and a former world champion of the circuit but had taken a step back when she and Rene decided to have children. She still dueled the occasional exhibition match and kept her skills sharp, but she hadn’t competed in the regular circuit ever since she became pregnant with Fleur. Since professional dueling on her level involved a lot of international travel, and Rene’s role as a diplomat had him on long treks away from home as well, they decided at least one of them should take a step back while their children were young. They didn’t want their daughters to be raised by nannies. Rene had countless times offered to be the one to do it, but Apolline had pointed out at the time that her career was the one that would be easier to pick up where she left off, rather than his governmental role.

Now that Gabrielle was getting older, and nearing the age to attend Beauxbatons, she had decided to compete once more. Gabi still had a half year to go before she would join Fleur at school, but Rene and Apolline thought they should be able to juggle their schedules for that period effectively. ‘ After all, Rene’s work for the near future will keep him mostly nearby, either at home or in London, so we should be able to manage.’

“Well, Gabi and I are most excited to see you hex him off his feet,” Fleur said proudly. “It will make an excellent Yule treat to see the return of the Fighting Phoenix” 

Apolline just laughed at the frankly silly moniker the press had given her. She used a wide variety of spells as a duelist, but her personal specialties were incantations utilizing fire and wind, and thus a nickname had been born.

“Fleur, Fleur!” Gabrielle Delacour excitedly called as she rushed into the room, her arms overflowing with peppermint sweets. “Look at all the lollies I found!” It was an old Delacour family tradition to hide magical Ice-Mints around the estate for the younger members of the family to ferret out during the Yule season. Rene had hidden away dozens of the candies before he left for Denmark, and promised Gabrielle a special surprise if she could find them all before, he returned.

Fleur smiled at her excitable little sister, “how many is that now?”

“Thirty-seven!” Gabrielle proudly declared, before dropping the majority of the candies in a bowl on the coffee table and plopping one in her mouth. “That’s more than half of them!” She gave her sister a side eye, “I’d have even more if someone let me use their wand.”

“Six months still to go, little sister,” Fleur teased her. “Besides, even if I let you use my wand, you’d need to learn the Summoning Charm first.”

Gabrielle pouted and mumbled, “I could totally figure it out,” before she dashed back into the house to look for more candies the old-fashioned way. 

“Don’t tell her,” Apolline said quietly, “but her surprise is a trip to visit your grandmama and get a hair for her wand core.” Cosme Acjor, the premier wand maker of France, did have wands you could purchase off the rack, but also prided himself on crafting bespoke wands for a hefty commission. 

Fleur grinned and twirled her own Veela-hair core wand in a slower imitation of her mother’s finesse. It would be nice to see her grandmother, even if it was disappointing she wouldn’t be joining them at Chateau Delacour for Yule. She felt herself relaxing and resolved to push all thoughts of idiot sixth-years and their distractingly attractive girlfriends from her mind. She was home, with her family, and she should just relax and enjoy Yule.

‘ Perhaps I’ll take my broom and fly down to visit Eloise tomorrow,’ Fleur mused, thinking of one of her maternal cousins. ‘ I think she said Anastasiya was going to be staying with her for the holidays, so perhaps the three of us can do something fun? Maybe even try those muggle moving pictures Gabi likes so much? I think I saw an advertisement for something called Wayne’s World the Second…’

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Yule Holiday, Tonks Property, Isolated Meadow, Early that Evening

The first term of Iris Potter’s third year had passed without any whiff of the crises that had plagued the first two, much to the relief of her parents. She had returned home with her sisters a few days ago for the holidays, buzzing with excitement over her new classes and full of stories from the past few months.

She and Nymphadora had returned to Megaron Hall and settled in for a happy Yuletide, spending time with the family punctuated by plans with their various friends. Luna was with them again; her father having left the country entirely for an expedition to find the elusive Umgubular Slashkilter in South Africa, but none of the Tonks family were complaining. The little blonde had her own stocking on the mantle and her share of presents under the tree, and even though the guest room had been prepared for her, basically alternated spending her nights in either Iris or Nymphadora’s beds. 

Tonight though, Ted had taken Luna along with Nymphadora to a match between The Harpies and Puddlemere United that was being played at the Pud’s home pitch over in the west country. It was a bit of a journey by broom, so the trio had set out in the early afternoon, Luna tucked under Ted’s arms ahead of him on his trusty Clean Sweep, and Nymphadora eagerly leading the way on her Comet.

The trip was both just a fun activity for the father to take some of his kids on, and a convenient way to get them away from the house while that evening’s other activity of note was taking place. While the quaffle was being launched into the air for the waiting chasers, Iris, Sirius and Andromeda had made their way to a secluded meadow on the property to complete a ritual over a season in the making.

Iris was giddy with anticipation. After months of delay, it was finally time. Lightning had struck her phial, and the previously irregular murky mixture had turned to a smooth consistency of blood red, just like the book said it ought to. She could literally feel the magical potential in the little container, warm in the tight grip of her hand. 

In addition to learning how to conjure inclement weather and dispel it, Iris’s study of atmospheric magic had led her to learning how to predict storms with some degree of accuracy. If she really wanted to get good at it, she should have picked Divination for an elective, but she was able to very roughly predict a storm of the appropriate strength would be coming through their region of Wales in October and placed the vial on top of a copper rod her mum conjured and affixed to a pole. 

She’d actually identified an earlier storm in August that would have served the purpose, but her mother rumbling her initial clandestine plans had set her back a month on starting the month-long mandrake leaf part of the ritual and meant the winter break would be her first chance to finish the ritual.

‘ Which is why I’ve been having to chant Amato Animo Animato Animagus every sunrise and sunset for FOREVER,” Iris groaned internally. It was a small price to pay for what she was about to get out of it but spending the whole first turn having to pretend she needed to pee every time the sunset and, more annoyingly, waking up sufficiently early even on weekends was something she would be happy to never have to do again.

She clutched the little phial close to her heart as they walked down, extremely paranoid about accidentally dropping the precious potion. Eventually they reached the pre-arranged spot and she looked over to her mom, asking “can I drink it now, please?”

Andromeda took a deep breath. Every single description of the ritual she’d been able to lay her hands on over the last several months, agreed the potion looked as it ought. She’d done everything she possibly could to make this ritual safe, sourcing premium ingredients, and supervising every step of the brewing. Now she had to make the leap of faith. She gave a nod.

Sirius clapped his cousin on the back, “Don’t look so glum, Andi! Little Pronglet’s about to change into her animal form for the first time. Get excited!”

Andi gave her dear cousin the side eye, “I’ll be excited when we know for sure nothing went wrong.” She turned back to watch as Iris let the red liquid trickle into her mouth, feeling every beat of her heart like a gong. 

As she anxiously watched her daughter’s forms twist and shift, on some level Andromeda expected to see her grow like James into a stag. You couldn’t pick your Animagus form, but something like a tiger or a bear would give Iris that permanent back up self-defense option she’d agreed to this ritual in the hopes of obtaining for her daughter.

So, she was mildly surprised, even though she really shouldn’t be, when Iris instead began to shrink. ‘ The traitor’s rat was tiny, and Minerva’s tabby is quite a bit smaller than her after all’ . Before her eyes, her adoptive daughter grew tinier and tinier, smaller than Sirius’s dog, smaller even than McGonagall’s tabby cat. She worried for just a moment about the potential emotional trauma if Iris’s Animagus form turned out to be a rat just like Peter’s, but then it finally came to a stop, and it definitely wasn’t a rat sitting on the grass in front of her.

From Iris’s perspective, she’d felt a rush of a hundred sensations she didn’t even have a name for as the cool liquid somehow burned its way down her throat and into her belly. The sensation spread throughout her body and the distant chirps of crickets and groaning of the trees in the breeze suddenly sounded as loud as a full orchestra, bombastically filling the previously quiet grassy patch. 

Then she was changing and it was both disturbing and fascinating. Her torso compacted and compacted, twisting away to an impossibly small package as her bones shunted and shrunk again and again to fit. At the same time her legs shriveled away to nothing, barely more than feet and her hair spread from her head to cover her whole body. 

While most of her was shrinking, two parts felt like they were growing. Her ears climbed up her head and enlarged, while her fingers started spreading further and further apart, stretching her hands like parchment over a drying skein. Her wand and even her clothes seemed to be absorbed into her body, still there metaphysically, but no longer present on the material plane.

Then, all at once it was over, the fiery sensation subsided to leave only the strange sensory input from her new body. It didn’t feel unnatural per se, but it was entirely novel. A high-pitched screech echoed through clearing, announcing Iris Potter’s transformation into a miniscule whiskered bat.

Sirius couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing even while his cousin scowled at him. “She’s so tiny!”

As Iris experimentally flapped her wings on the ground, Andromeda reasoned, “well, maybe she’s just a baby bat.”

Sirius wiped away a tear, “No chance, Andi. I know kids will always be their mother’s babies, but Iris is a young woman. Besides, I was never a puppy and James was never a fawn.”

The bat Iris had become fluttered up in the air and Andromeda instinctively cupped and extended her hands to let the new Animagus land there. The little bat could fit in the palm of her hand, with delicate little wings and a very compact body. She had mostly grey black fur with a small dark red tuft the shade of Iris’s human hair on her chest, and slightly oversized ears that twitched about.

“Okay,” Andromeda said, trying to steel herself as she prepared for the worst and said “now, Iris, I want you to change back.”

The little bat bobbed its teensy head in agreement and hopped off her mother’s hand to flutter to the ground, beginning to grow and warp as she touched the grass. In the span of a few seconds, the form of Iris Potter was standing in the clearing again, patting her own body in amazement. Andromeda Black finally let out the breath she felt like she’d been holding for half a year, relieved that her daughter had come out of the ritual whole and with her mind intact.

“THAT WAS BLOODY BRILLIANT!” Iris exclaimed, literally leaping into the air in excitement. “Didja see mum, didja see? I’m an ANIMAGUS!” She rushed over to Sirius and grabbed his hands in hers jumping up and down, “I’m an Animagus, like you! And my first DAD and OH OH! I can totally hang out safely with Uncle Remus when he’s wolfy now just like you used to!”

She dashed back to her mum before Sirius could mention that with Wolfsbane it was a bit of a moot point. “And I could fly! I don’t just mean I had wings; I somehow knew how to fly. It was so much better than a broom!”

Iris was clearly over the moon, and her joy was infectious enough that Andromeda smiled too, and Sirius was still cycling between laughing and shaking his head. The former prisoner of Azkaban said “yeah, your human mind’s in charge, but you get the instincts of your animal form, for better and worse.” His personal trouble with his doglike traits bleeding over into his human life had more to do with how long he’d spent staying as a dog than getting inherently overwhelmed by the transformation, but most Animagi ended up with a little overlap between animal and human.

“Morganna, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” Iris muttered quickly, “I was so worried about getting the ritual right, I didn’t think about the details of what came later. Does this mean I’m going to want to eat bugs now?”

Sirius belly laughed again and Andromeda swatted him lightly on the arm. “No,” he gasped out after a moment, “no more than you normally do. Your human form’s your main one and you need enough food to run it; I doubt the handful of beetles and flies you could catch would fill you up very much.”

“Okay,” Andromeda said, clapping her hands together to get the attention of her cousin and daughter. She gave Iris a stern look, “I know it’s exciting, but please remember this is for self-defense. That means no popping into animal form to sneak off down to Hogsmeade, or ANY kind of pranks, okay?” The last comment was directed at Sirius as much as Iris, who loved to recount how the Marauders had used their secret Animagus abilities for all sorts of mischief. 

“I know, I know,” Iris agreed, clearly still buzzing with excitement. “I promise I’ll be careful.” She wasn’t the prankster her godfather or birth father were but even if she was, she’d probably use her cloak for that kind of thing anyway. She might be considering using her new capabilities to aid her exploration of the Forbidden Forest, but her mother hadn’t explicitly mentioned that as one of the forbidden activities. 

Andromeda didn’t entirely believe her, but sighed and dropped the stern expression, reasoning that Iris would at least be reasonably careful. She grinned ruefully, tension leeching from her body now that Iris had come through the ritual uninjured, “well, congratulations on probably being one of the youngest Animagi to ever exist. I know a bat isn’t the fiercest of creatures, but that’s still an accomplishment to be proud of, darling.” If you set aside the dark circumstances that let her allow Iris to attempt the ritual, and the danger involved, she was proud of her daughter for successfully pulling it off, even if it wasn’t quite as hard as the American method. 

“Pshaw,” Iris waved her off, even while she obviously swelled with pride. Then a thought flitted through her mind that put a momentary damper on her excitement, turning her beaming grin into a tight vicious smile. “Honestly, I’m glad I’m not something big or flashy like an elephant or a lion. I’m not looking to fight You Know Who or his skull-faced stooges; I just want to survive them.” The small nimble form of a whiskered bat was almost ideal for running or hiding. It wouldn’t help if she was with someone she needed to protect, but if she was alone, Iris had every intention of proving discretion the better part of valor the next time Voldemort came for her. 

Sensing the dour turn of the mood, Sirius pulled his wand and went through a few incantations. Wooden rings of various sizes sprung into existence before floating to hang at various points in the air, forming an impromptu aerial course. “Well, Fangs,” Sirius said cheerfully, “since you keep turning down my offer of broom tips, let's see how you do with your own wings!”

Iris didn’t need to be told twice, leaping into the air as she transformed into a bat for the second time. She briefly dropped down from the air as she got the hang of using her wings but was soon fluttering into the sky towards the conjured course.

“Fangs?” Andromeda asked dryly as her batified daughter swooped through the first hoop.

Sirius shrugged and said wryly, “well, I figured it fit a bit more than Pronglet, considering. She’s basically a legacy Marauder, well, her and Sue. It only makes sense she gets a nickname. I’d give her the map too, if I knew what happened to the blasted thing after…” He didn’t finish the sentence, not wanting to talk about Peter, who had lost their finest creation during their last year at Hogwarts. Considering they had been graduating soon, the other three hadn’t bothered to go through the arduous process of crafting a replacement.

The next few hours of the evening were spent with Iris fluttering and swooping about the area, getting a feel for her bat form. She could fly quite rapidly for short bursts, but tired out if she overdid it. Her hearing was exceptional, and she could pick up her mum and godfather’s conversation from way up. After a few experimental clicks, she figured out how to echolocate, and having what was almost a new sense was amazing. Eventually though, they needed to get back to the house before the others returned. So, she swooped back down to her family and resumed her human shape.

However, as she ambled back up to the house with her mother and godfather, she could feel a tiny quiet little bat heartbeat keeping rhythm with her own, and it would remain there for the rest of her life. 

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British Ministry of Magic, January

Rene Delacour, Deputy Minister for International Relations of the French Ministry of Magic, picked a piece of errant lint from his mahogany-colored robes, and idly noted the enchanted hourglass sitting on the secretary’s desk had just flipped over for the third time since he arrived. If the woman he was meeting with intended to try his patience, Rene showed no sign of distress, keeping his practiced diplomat’s smile on his face; the same could not be said for the witch sitting across from him on an identical plush green sofa to the one Rene was waiting on.

“<If these English fools intend to keep us waiting all day, perhaps there will be no agreement>” Svetlana Borsdottir growled in Danish. Her French counterpart, who was conversant in the language, just shrugged his shoulders slightly. He knew his old colleague and occasional adversary was just blowing off steam; the agreement they were here to ink the final parchment on had a lot of momentum and was pretty much a done deal. Their job today was to finalize the agreed upon language and begin preparations for the multinational event happening next year.

“Relax, Svetlana,” Rene chided, “she hasn’t had long to get up to speed with everything, and I’m sure the World Cup is also taking up much of the department’s time.” The Delacour patriarch didn’t have the highest opinion of the new interim head of Britain’s Department of International Cooperation, but he was willing to show her some grace considering the tumultuous recent fall of her predecessor. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Bertha Jorkins, acting head of the Department of International Cooperation, cheerily announced as she came rushing into the waiting area. She wore a large, pointed hat, bright burgundy robes, a long dark skirt and a red cardigan, and seemed to the Europeans almost the quintessential jolly English witch. “I completely forgot we had this little meeting today and got caught up down at the Cauldron. You know how it is.”

Typically, Rene would assume an action like that, leaving two high ranking dignitaries waiting for over an hour, would be a calculated diplomatic slight, but with Bertha he honestly believed she’d simply forgotten. In the handful of months since she’d taken over the British foreign service, she’d shown herself to be a bit scatterbrained, and just generally not the serious sort of person this work typically attracts.

As Bertha waved him and a fuming Svetlana into her new office, that had until recently belonged to Barty Crouch, Rene reflected that nobody in the British Ministry had likely expected Bertha to rise to such an important position either. The Pettigrew-Black affair had been a fiasco that all but demanded a scapegoat, and with Bagnold enjoying retirement on the Isle of White, Crouch was the obvious target for the public’s ire. 

Which led to the British Ministry losing their chief diplomat with no prepared successor while they were in the middle of preparing to plan and host two massive international events. As far as Rene knew, Cornelius may well have literally picked Bertha’s name out of a hat of members of the department. ‘ I will be shocked if she becomes the permanent head,’ Rene mused. He’d noticed the current British Minister for Magic had a strong dislike of appointing department heads who were dynamic enough to potentially eventually challenge him, but the Wizengamot would doubtless soon pressure him to appoint someone at least somewhat competent. 

“So, this is about the school thingy, right?” Bertha asked as she shuffled through the absolute mess of parchment on her desk, “Tri-wizard, wotsit?”

“Yes,” Svetlana said flatly, pulling a sheaf of parchment from her diplomatic attaché case, “I am here to present the letters of agreement from the Magisk Rad, the illustrious headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute, and the final notes from our Chief of Sport and Entertainment, regarding the updated rules.”

Rene produced a similar set of documents, “I too am pleased to present letters of agreement from Madame la Presidente, our Minister for Sport, our National Education Council, and Headmistress Maxine, along with a few final adjustments to the language of our agreement and so on.”

He stayed smiling genially while Bertha looked through the pages, letting his mind wander for just a moment. His work often had him on the road, but he was looking forward to a nice span back at the family Chateau after he concluded his business here in London. It wouldn’t be perfect, with both his daughters away at Beauxbatons for the spring term, but a month spent by the seaside with Apolline would be close to it. 

Still, he needed to get this agreement across the finish line first. Restarting the Triwizard Tournament had been a pet project of his boss, President Leclerc, for years and they finally had all the major parties, the schools, the governments and community partners, onboard. Fudge was after some good press, which was the same reason he’d pushed to have his island nation host the World Cup, and the Norse had a chip on their shoulder over the international perception that Durmstrang was a rung below Beauxbatons and Hogwarts in prestige, making them eager for the opportunity to show their superiority on the world stage. Everything had lined up for the long dormant tournament to make its triumphant return.

They’d had to make a few concessions and adjustments of course. Dumbledore had wanted to restrict participation to those witches and wizards past the British age of majority, while Karkaroff wanted his entire school to be eligible to compete. They’d compromised on 16 for the age limit and set a reasonable number of students for the visiting schools to bring as potential champions.

The fact that Hogwarts was going to host was a slight sore spot for the other two schools, but they had grudgingly agreed to pick up the rotation of schools where it had left off centuries ago. Besides, Hogwarts had the largest grounds and greatest capacity of all three schools for setting up events, making it the ideal launching pad for the return of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. 

Eventually, after talking Bertha through it, they finally managed to get to the point of the meeting and sign the necessary parchments. There were still specific questions regarding the exact rules of each task, and how much foreign press would be allowed on Hogwarts grounds, but the fact the tournament was happening was now set in stone. The public announcement, with the three heads of state and the headmasters in attendance would have to wait until next year, but for Rene at least, the lion’s share of the work was finally done. 

‘ Now all I have to worry about is how upset Fleur will be when she finds out I didn’t let her know this was happening early.’

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First Hogsmeade Trip of the Term, January, Hogsmeade Village

The spring term had begun, but winter’s chill still gripped the region and the ground was blanketed with snow as the older students of Hogwarts trooped down to the village of Hogsmeade that Saturday. The still flurrying drifts threatened to cover the track they were trudging, but even in such weather, so many students were making the journey that their path was obviously drawn across the white winter landscape. 

Sixth Year Nymphadora Tonks, bundled up in a heavy dark red coat pulled tight against her, defiantly refused to put her right mittened hand in her pocket, instead using it to hold her girlfriend’s similarly swaddled digits as they braved the cold. Scarves and two sets of long brunette hair whipped in the wind until they finally reached their destination, Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Room, the most popular date spot for Hogwarts students for decades and decades. 

The pair of them shook the snow off themselves, while the titular Madame attended to them, drying and warming them with a wave of her wand, and taking their coats, scarves, mittens and hats before leading them to a table. It might be a bit of a cliche place for a date, but Nym wanted to treat her girlfriend to something nice and there weren’t that many other options in the village. 

More than half a year into dating Katie Bell, and it still felt like a dream to Tonks. Some things she’d gotten used to; the pair of them no longer turned into flustered messes holding hands or kissing in front of their friends, for instance, but it still seemed like they were experiencing a first as a couple every day.

‘ Like coming to Puddifoot’s for a romantic meal,’ Nymphadora observed as she realized nearly every other student in the place seemed to be there as a couple, which she supposed made sense given the place’s marketing. It wasn’t as insanely over-packed as it would be next month when Valentines rolled around, but Madame Puddifoot still had plenty of clientele.

There were already half a dozen couples sitting around them when they arrived, on dates of various quality. To their left it looked like Ravenclaw Beatrice Lovelace was bored out of her skull by the Hufflepuff Keeper Herbert Fleet’s enthusiastic recounting of his last game, and Tonks wondered how the pair ended up on a date in the first place. Further back in the shop Cedric and Cho were canoodling, pausing only to give a brief wave to Katie and Tonks when they arrived. Marcus Flint had been there with his current girlfriend, Clarice Selwyn, when they walked in the door, but he’d already gotten slapped and left alone to brood by the time they sat down. Apparently she’d found out about his two timing. 

“Since you’re insisting on treating me, does that mean I can order everything off the menu?” Katie quipped from over her menu, grinning mischievously. 

Tonks snorted in laughter, “if you do, you’ll just get a stomachache from all the sugar. That said, I’d love to see you try and shovel all those scones and tarts down in one go.”

Katie rolled her eyes fondly, “you say the most romantic things, babe.”

Soon Madame Puddifoot bustled by to take their orders, ginger honey tea and a blackcurrant scone for Tonks and an Italian-style coffee and a slice of chocolate cake for Katie. Conversation flowed easily between the two, and Tonks found she genuinely enjoyed the food even if the décor wasn’t her absolute favorite. 

“So, you know how I’m the best girlfriend ever?” Katie asked after taking a sip of her coffee.

Nym raised a thin arched eyebrow, “and humble, too.” She didn’t necessarily disagree, even though she didn’t have a long history to compare against. 

“ Well , as the best girlfriend ever,” Katie plowed on, “guess what I got you for your birthday.”

“Well, considering my birthday is in August,” Tonks teased back, “I think I might get you a calendar and a Rememberall for yours.” Katie’s birthday was indeed coming up first in April and Tonks fully intended to get her something nicer than the horde of snakes Iris had offered Katie the previous year. Her little sisters’ shovel talk had been related to her by Luna a few weeks after it happened, and, while she appreciated the protective instinct, she’d had to scold Iris for potentially scaring off her first real girlfriend. 

Katie put the last bite of cake in her mouth and savored the taste before explaining, “well, you’ll be using this gift in August. You know how my aunt was dating that witch she refused to give any details about?”

“Ms. Terious, of course,” Nym recalled, using the little place holder name the Bell family had come up with for Katie’s aunt’s mysterious paramour. “What’s she got to do with my incredible birthday gift? Cause, I’m as curious about who she is as the next witch, but finding out her identity falls pretty far short of best girlfriend ever level gift territory.” It was too sappy to ever admit aloud, but Tonks honestly found Katie’s utter confidence they’d still be together eight months later a gift in of itself.

“Well, it turns out my aunt miiiiight be dating CiCi Moran,” Katie finally explained with a grin, “and she miiiiiiight have hooked me up with two VIP tickets to this year’s World Cup, and a chance to meet the Irish team.”

Madame Puddifoots, in the decades upon decades it had stood, had borne witness to all the ups and downs of school days romance. It had seen wonderful dates and terrible break-ups, reunions and final partings. The ill-advised fling between a student Poppy Pomfrey and the then handsome Mundungus Fletcher began within its walls, and Augusta Longbottom was still boycotting the place after getting dumped there nearly 130 years ago. In 1895 a younger Minerva McGonagall had even been proposed to a few tables over. Still, when Nymphadora Tonks leapt over the table, knocking their dishware to the floor, to pull Katie Bell into a searing kiss, it would go down as one of the more memorable events to ever happen in the establishment.  

=

Elsewhere in the village, other Hogwarts students were enjoying their excursion out of the castle, albeit in a less romantic way than the couples in Madame Puddifoots. After being dared by Seamus and Ron, Dean Thomas was trying to brave the Shrieking Shack, but even by the end of the day, he’d made it no further than just inside the haunted house’s front door.

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were in Honeydukes, taking full advantage of the generous allowance Malfoy regularly received by owl to stock up on sweets of every kind. Oliver Wood had dragged Cormac McLaggen to Spintwitches Sporting to look for a new broom maintenance kit, hoping a perfectly calibrated broom stick could make the difference for his lackluster seeker. Daphne Greengrass and Susan Bones were at Gladrags, each purchasing a new cloak after they’d gotten theirs stained with Flobberworm mucus during a Care of Magical Creatures lesson.

Lavender Brown and a begrudging Hermione were at Tomes and Scrolls to try and find the divination book the former wanted. The younger Carrow twins, Flora and Hestia Carrow were fawning over the new line of Wonder Witch cosmetics in the big display window at Pimpernelle’s, along with a flock of other young witches and the odd wizard. Marcus Belby, Fred Weasley, Patricia Stimpson and Cassius Warrington were in the Three Broomsticks, competing in an impromptu four-way inter-house challenge to see who could finish eating Madame Rosmerta's famous Explodingly Spicy Rib Roast the fastest without throwing up or belching flames, and scores of their peers were cheering them on.

Penelope Clearwater was just enjoying that the neurotic Head Girl and irritatingly amorous Head Boy had decided to stay at the castle and “patrol the castle for misbehaving first-years”, and since her three closest friends were all on dates, she’d elected to join the younger Tonks sister instead. She and Iris were joined by Tracey Davis, and the trio had just shut the door to the Wizard Wireless Central house firmly behind them to shut out the winter chill.

Standing in the little mudroom of the only magical British broadcast station, Tracey shook the snow vigorously out of her hair while Iris doffed her knit cap and Penny dispelled her Impervious charm. “At least it’s warmer in here,” the Slytherin muttered. “ Why are we here again and not enjoying the new keg of butter beer Madame Rosmerta is no doubt tapping?”

“Because my dad finally got a wireless for Yule,” Iris explained, “and he refuses to let me take it apart to figure out how it works. So, I decided to get the explanation from the hippogriff’s beak.” It was the main reason she’d bothered braving the cold to come down to the village today; ‘ Well that and placing my order at Tiryn’s’ . She planned to make her stop at the village’s butcher after they finished up here, and use the gold she’d retrieved from her vault over the holidays to set up the recurring order of beef ribs she’d need for one of her projects. 

“It is a curious little object, isn’t it?” Penny agreed. She’d known the reason for their destination ahead of time, while Tracey had more or less just tagged along after deciding she didn’t want to go wait around for Daphne and Susan at Gladrags. “Mum wants to get one, but Mom is convinced it will somehow infect her garden with muggle electickity.”

“That’s actually a common misconception,” a slightly bohemian looking man with long bright green hair and mutton chops informed them in a thick Scottish accent as he walked up to greet the visitors. He wore fairly muggle clothes for a wizard, a Stones tee shirt and a pair of jeans, but he did supplement it with a pointed hat embossed with stars and comets. “The Wizard Wireless is a completely safe device running on good old-fashioned magic, no muggle funny business to it.” 

He extended a hand out to Penny, “I’m Angus MacLeod, inventor of the Angus Macleod Scottish Original Wireless and chief enchanter for British Wizarding Wireless, a pleasure to meet some curious wee witches.” He shook each of their hands in turn, quite excited to have people interested in his creation.

Iris cocked her head curiously, “I thought the Wizard Wireless was invented by a witch in America?” Since it was relatively new, there weren’t that many books on the Wireless, at least not that Iris had been able to get her hands on. Still, she was pretty sure the invention came from across the pond.

“Ach, twas a Canadian witch actually,” Angus explained as he led them into the frankly quite messy main office. Wireless boxes in various states of construction and disassembly lay all over the place, with half eaten meals, stacks of parchment, and all sorts of odds and ends. If Iris’s mum saw such an unorderly workspace she’d have a fit. “Mary Pegahmagabow, lovely old lady. She put the first working wireless together back in 41’. A remarkable little box that could reproduce whatever sound yeh make in the studio even hundreds an’ hundreds o’ miles away.”

“But how does it work?” Iris pressed, her eyes shining with excitement. Penny also listened with interest while Tracey, who was considerably less invested, started to wander and poke around the office. “I know it can’t just be an improved version of the Far Speaking Charm; you’d need to cast it for every Wireless receiver and it would take way too much magic over that distance anyway. I had a theory that you could use Jobberknoll beaks to make a kind of automatic reciting voice, but that wouldn’t conduct live input, only repeating sound recorded into the wireless when it was being constructed.” Iris spoke quickly, her own theorizing about how the Wireless might work spilling off her tongue in a rush.

Angus chuckled, “Those are some interesting ideas wee missy, but yer not quite on the mark yet.” He then proceeded to give a rough overview of how the Wizard Wireless worked to Iris and Penelope. The short answer was that it was complicated. The slightly longer answer was that the studio room had a very complex runic array placed at the center of an arithmantically prescribed circle, all etched in special ink created with a complex potioneering recipe. Each of the receiver boxes then had a mirrored runic array inside to create a sympathetic reflection with the audio in the studio, that transmitted to a series of potion-treated Kneazle whiskers pulled taught like piano wire that then vibrated to recreate the received sound.

“And that’s what we do here in good old Hogsmeade,” the enthusiastic enchanter finished explaining. “Back in the house we have three studios where all day we transmit programming for the British Wizard Wireless, Channels 1, 2 and 3. Tha’s where most of the staff is right now, keeping that golden sound coming all day long.”

Iris, who’d pulled out a scrap of parchment from her pocket and snatched up a discarded quill from one of the buried desks to take notes, looked up in confusion. “Wait, if I understood the sympathetic connection between the central studio and the receiving devices correctly, that shouldn’t work. How do you have three different channels of programming playing simultaneously?”

“Ach, what makes mae device so devilishly clever,” Angus proudly boasted, “it can play three entirely different channels with just a twist o’ the knobs. The Americans cannae do that, neither can the bloody Italians with their so-called superior sound quality. The Angus MacLeod Scottish Original Wireless brings the list’ner variety and excitement like no other product on thae market!”

It was true that in other magical countries, there was typically only one magical wireless channel and each device could only play that. Even in places like Canada, where competing channels had been launched, each station sold their own wireless sets that only corresponded to their own programming. Angus’s innovation was one that let the newer British wireless’s flip between three different programming streams, each produced in different rooms of the ramshackle Hogsmeade house they’d converted into their headquarters.

As much as Iris wheedled him, he refused to reveal the trade secret that allowed for this remarkable new capability and it would be some time before she figured it out for herself. Based on how he’d explained the sympathetic magic that allowed the words spoken in their studio to reverberate across truly vast distances, it didn’t make any sense that you could unpair the receiver from the transmitter. (The solution Angus had stumbled upon in a sleep deprived haze five years ago, was deceptively simple. He didn’t use magic at all, instead using a carefully crafted series of mechanical gears connected to the knob that allowed the runic array to be swapped into three different configurations corresponding to the larger runic arrays transmitting the different channels. He was working on trying to add more, but to do so would require more physical space, making the devices larger and heavier than he wanted.)

Eventually, after they’d been talking with the friendly Scot for a bit over an hour, Penelope put a hand on Iris’s shoulder and gently pulled the girl back. When Iris started digging into a mystery, she could be a tad obsessive in pursuing it, especially if it involved unique or complex bits of magic. The taller brunette gave Angus a smile, “thank you for taking the time to talk to us, Mr. MacLeod. It was quite informative and I’ll be sure to tell my mom we’d have nothing to worry about having a wireless in our home. We’ve taken up a lot of your time and I’m sure you have work you need to get to.”

Angus rubbed the back of his head and adjusted his glasses, “Ach, yer right. Sorry, I can go on like a jibbering pixie when I get talkin bout my Wireless. I need to go trade off running the music show from Damian so he can get some lunch.” 

Iris pouted at having to stop such an interesting conversation, and then after a beat the pout turned to a confused frown. “Where did Tracey go?”

Penelope, Iris and Angus all looked around the haphazard office, but the Slytherin witch was nowhere to be found. However, the door leading back towards the studios was conspicuously open when it hadn’t been before. Stepping towards it, Iris heard her friend talking to someone and followed the sound of her voice, Penelope and Angus following closely after.

“-and another thing,” Tracey said confidently, “the Russian National team has no cohesion. Sure, Sarkov and Melinsky are both super star beaters, but they have completely different styles.”

“If they’re as weak as you say,” a shaggy blonde haired English wizard with a pencil mustache replied, “why are they in the running for the World Final?”

The pair were in Studio 3, sitting at an old round wooden table at the center of the runic array with a recording crystal in the center. There was another wizard in the room with them, a dark haired gentleman of such short stature he could be Professor Flitwick’s nephew.

Tracey crossed her arms, “because they’ve had an unreasonably lucky bracket in their division so far, and Roskoli is a good enough seeker to end their matches before their piss-poor defense can lose it for them. Once she goes up against Krum though, it’s all over. Bulgaria’s going to the Final, I’d stake my galleons on it.”

The short wizard cleared his throat, “yes, well, the Bulgarians still have to have a good showing against the fine team from New Zealand before then.” He spoke with a distinctive Aussie twain and his features indicated he had Aboriginal ancestry. “That match will be broadcast courtesy of our Spanish partners just two days after the game, so remember to tune in! Wizard Wireless, it’s almost as good as being there.”

The blonde leaned into the crystal and used his wand to levitate a little magical phonograph over to sit on the table. “We’re going to take a break for some messages from our sponsors, and thanks again to Miss Tracey, who stopped by to give us her thoughts on the World Cup.” He tapped the phonograph to begin playing a prerecorded advertisement and then quietly ushered Tracy out of the room.

“Tracy, what were you doing in there!?” Penny asked.

Tracey smiled and shrugged, “what? I don’t really care how these gizmos work, and I heard these guys,” she gestured to the two wizards who had exited the room with her and were now talking to Angus a few feet away in hushed tones, “talking Quidditch. When Mr. Tallyrand started arguing Russia was going to be across from Ireland in the Final, I had to set him straight.”

“Him and a thousand other witches and wizards across the country,” Iris observed.

The Davis girl gave her a confused look, “what do you mean?”

Penelope sighed and put a hand to her head, “Tracey, you were going out live over the wireless.”

Tracey blanched, “what, no, they were just rehearsing right? I mean, I know they mentioned sponsors and stuff, but neither of them even waved their wands till the end! When did they cast the broadcasting spell?”

Iris smirked triumphantly and folded her arms under her chest, “if you’d stayed and listened you’d know there’s no wand-magic to it. They do the whole thing with that runic array you stepped over when you went in the room.”

“Oh,” Tracey replied, a little embarrassed. She wasn’t a shy person and perfectly happy to share her opinions, but she did feel a little bad about barging in if the Wireless wizards were in the middle of an actual show. She turned to go and apologize to them, when she found the three men walking towards her, all smiles. 

“Well, aren’t you a wee firecracker of a witch?” Angus chuckled, “Gary and Callagun here tell me you really livened up Quaffle Talk today. What’s your name, lass?”

“Uh, Tracey Davis, sir,” she replied. 

“Any relation to the Tornadoes Beater?” The two foot tall Callagun asked.

Tracey perked up with pride, “she’s my mum. And the best beater alive.”

Gary Tallyrand smiled, “well, we enjoyed having you on the show today Trace. And actually we'd like to make you an offer. How would you like to be the British Wizard Wireless official Hogwarts Quidditch Correspondent?”

Tracey was dumbstruck and Penelope was a bit protective, making sure the older wizards weren’t trying to take advantage of the younger witch. Angus and his colleagues explained their situation. Sports were obviously popular and a key part of their programming, dominating the third channel, but, due to the way the Wireless Studio worked, they couldn’t broadcast games live. Instead they had to record the play-by-play commentary on wax cylinders and fly it back to Hogsmeade for broadcast a few days after the fact, usually after the Prophet had printed the scores.

However, the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch was close enough they could theoretically broadcast the games pretty close to live. It wasn’t as popular as the World Cup or even the regular league, but given Hogwarts was the alma mater of 9 out of 10 magicals in Britain, many older witches and wizards followed the seasons of their old Houses. They’d approached the Deputy Headmistress about setting up a broadcast of the official commentary, currently done by Lee Jordan, but Minerva had shut them down, being a bit of a traditionalist and somewhat skeptical of the whole Wireless fad.

They weren’t to be allowed on the grounds during the games, but McGonagall hadn’t said anything about giving the necessary equipment to a student to do the job. Basically their offer was to employ Tracey as an play-by-play announcer of their own, recording the game and then running the wax cylinder down to Hogsmeade Station to hand off for broadcast. For Tracey, who’d been stymied in joining her own House’s team, and wouldn’t have a chance to try out to replace Jordan as the official announcer for another few years, there was only one answer.

“I’ll do it!”

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Aomori, Japan, Early February

Like the rumbling of a roost of dragons, the dull roar of the crowd was still audible in the locker room, merely slightly deadened by the cherrywood door that swung close behind Viktor. His scarlet quidditch kit was crusted with snow from the harsh weather they’d just played in, and he brushed it off his shoulders with one hand, the other still clutching tight to the Golden Snitch. 

“<The Japanese will want their ball back eventually, Krum,>” his teammate, chaser Vasily Dmitriev, joshed. The Bulgarian national team were all in various stages of undress, changing from their team robes into something more casual for the after-match celebrations. With their victory over New Zealand that day, they were only one more win away from the Finals.

Ireland was so far ahead in the tables that they had pretty much sewed up one of the spots in the Final, even if they lost their one remaining match to Peru. Bulgaria meanwhile was dueling in their division with Russia for that honor and needed to beat the Ruskies by at least thirty points to make the World Cup final. 

“<They will have to learn to live with disappointment,>” the young seeker replied, “<I’m keeping it>.” It had been a particularly worthy catch in his eyes, catching a glint of gold in a flurry of snow and barely edging out the kiwi also rushing for it. 

The hulking figure of their senior beater, Pyotr, walked over and clapped a hand on both Vasily and Viktor’s shoulders. “<Come, friends! Tonight, we shall put the Japanese hospitality to the test! I have discovered something called Moonbeam Sake, and I intend to drain a keg of it!>”

“<Vik-Vik won’t be joining us, Pyotr,>” Lev Zograf, their keeper, snarked. “He has to get back to the school yard.” Lev, the oldest member of the team, a lanky blond man with a premature stripe of white caused by an unfortunate encounter with a hag when he was a child, didn’t exactly like Viktor and he didn’t hide that fact. Maybe it was because Viktor was the rising star, and Lev’s keeping was considered the weakest link of their national team’s game, or maybe it was just resentment for Viktor getting a spot on the team without playing in the Bulgarian league. Either way, Viktor didn’t really care.

“<It is true,>” he agreed, “<I must leave shortly. I will see you for this weekend’s practice>” Viktor was still in his second to last year at the Durmstrang Institute and had needed special dispensation not only from the league, but from his school to play for the Bulgarian national team. He was only given a brief window of excused time from classes for each match in the World Cup, and he suspected some of his disciplinarian professors didn’t love letting him go at all. However, luckily the one professor he had in his corner was Headmaster Karkaroff, so Viktor had been allowed to play.

Viktor grimaced, something that was a bit hard to notice given scowling was his default expression. ‘ Headmaster Karkaroff actually isn’t the only professor enthusiastic about my Quidditch Career.’ The insufferable Englishman who’d taken a post teaching Charms at Durmstrang that year kept trying to tie himself to Viktor publicly. If he kept it up, Krum might have to demonstrate to the fop what happened to fools who disrespected a proud Bulgarian wizard. 

Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart had quickly become infamous for his inability around the Institute, and lowered Krum’s opinion of British wizards as a whole. He suspected the only reason the pompous idiot hadn’t been sacked was because the headmaster was trying to save face over his decision to hire the former Hogwarts teacher. Viktor respected Karkaroff, but he had observed the older wizard could be a bit overworked about comparisons between Durmstrang and the other two great European schools. He suspected the idea that he was stealing Lockhart away from Hogwarts was the main factor in hiring the grinning fool, but it had ended up stealing their rubbish rather than treasure.

Luckily for his Headmaster, he’d soon have his chance to prove the superiority of their school to the soft students of Hogwarts. Krum had been among a handful of proven elite students, (or in other words, favorites of Igor’s) who had been told of the return of the Triwizard Tournament the next year, far before the general public would know. Viktor saw becoming the Durmstrang Champion and winning the tournament as the next peak to summit after he finished conquering Quidditch. He was nothing if not driven, and after he was done winning glory for his country, he would win it for his school.

He strode confidently out of the locker room, deciding not to bother changing and still holding the snitch in his fist. Over his shoulder he called, “<Don’t worry, Zograf. When we face the Russians, I will catch the snitch before you can lose us the game. Enjoy your little party; I’ll be returning to my training.>”

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Hogwarts, Great Hall, Mid-February, Breakfast

The Great Hall was its usual flurry of activity as the student body enjoyed a well prepared breakfast, courtesy of the Hogwarts House Elves. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore was relating an anecdote about how he first discovered the wonders of Muggle candy to a slightly bored looking Professor Vector, while Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had a good natured argument over which of their houses was going to win their upcoming Quidditch match. 

Out among the students, a hundred different conversations were happening, giving the dining space its usual dull cacophony. The owls had arrived with the morning mail a few minutes ago so some lucky ones were reading letters from home or opening freshly delivered packages. At the Slytherin table in particular there was interest around Draco Malfoy, who had received a fine wolf skin cloak he proudly showed off.

Students weren’t required to sit with their House outside of formal feasts, but most did anyway out of habit and the tendency for social circles to form within the confines of the dorms and common rooms. Still, there were always a handful of students who jumped tables at any given meal to converse with friends in other houses, and that breakfast was no exception.

Iris found herself chewing on a kipper and sipping a strong cup of English tea at the Gryffindor table that particular morning, sitting between Hermione and Padma and across from Lavender and Parvati. The Patil twins were always good company, and she was probably closest to Padma of all the other Ravenclaws in her own year, and over the course of the school year, she’d come to really rather like Lavender as well. ‘ Although probably not as much as Hermione does,’ she thought with a smirk, thinking about a conversation with Daphne where they agreed their muggleborn friend’s affection for Lavender was the only thing holding her back from going on a truly furious rant about Divination.

It was an open secret in their little group that Hermione’s frustration with that particular elective, and Professor Trelawney herself, had only grown since the start of the term. The bushy haired girl bottled it up when Lavender, who absolutely adored the subject, was around, but let loose with the venting when alone with the other witches. The other members of their little friend group who were studying that peculiar branch of magic didn’t have great things to say about their professor either, but something about Sybil Trelawney really got under young Miss Granger’s skin.

Parvati looked up from her freshly delivered copy of Teen Witch Weekly, “Ugh, why does Wonder Witch always do their big Diagon Alley sales during the school year?” There was an advertisement announcing a flash sale of beauty products that week that the Patil girl gazed at morosely.

“Why don’t you just write one of your dads to pick up an order for you?” Lavender asked. She herself had gone off Wonder Witch products a bit, but she understood her friend’s sorrow over missing out on a sale. Lavender had finished eating and was reviewing a set of Charms notes Hermione had leant her ahead of their quiz later that day.

Padma was the one who answered, “because they’re clueless when it comes to this stuff and would absolutely bring home like Wrinkle-B-Gone when we ask for Flawless Foundation Powder.”

Iris swallowed her fish before saying, “yeah, you don’t want to be using Wrinkle-B-Gone if you don’t have to; it's got doxy dung in it and that stuff smells if you expose it to sunlight.”

Hermione, who didn’t really wear makeup, magical or muggle, and felt a little shut out by the conversation said, “I’m surprised you know so much about beauty potions, Iris.” Her tone wasn’t out and out rude, but was maybe a little subtly judgemental. Her growing closeness with Lavender was steadily breaking down her bias, but Hermione still on some level associated certain traditionally ‘girly’ things with the mean girls who had isolated her back when she attended muggle school. 

The redhead shrugged, “I wouldn’t say I know a lot, Lav’s definitely the expert at the table.” Iris had been delving a bit more into that arena, typically wearing a basic blush most days along with the customary dollop of Sleekeazy’s. She’d gone to her mum for some advice on the subject over the hols, since her sister was totally clueless in that arena, relying on her natural abilities to gain the same effect. “But the potioneering behind some products is interesting.” She raised an eyebrow at Hermione, “besides, you do know a significant chunk of my family fortune comes from cosmetics, right?”

Lavender looked up from the notes and smiled fondly, “you can’t blame Mione’ for not being interested in make-up, Iris. She’s already so pretty, she hardly needs it.”

The comment had Hermione incredibly flustered while Iris and the Patil twins all just shared a humorous glance. Iris opened her mouth to change the subject and ask Padma if she had time that afternoon to work on their Herbology project when there was a commotion that grabbed everyone’s attention.

Lavender Brown suddenly spasmed, her hands grabbing tightly to the edge of the table, knocking over her cup of pumpkin juice in the process, while her eyes rolled white. Hermione instantly went from embarrassed to incredibly concerned and looked like she was about to leap over the table to try and help her friend when Lavender opened her mouth and said in a booming voice not quite like her own,

“There is a fine school in Scotland,

And her better is known by no man,

But as the next moon dies,

Cakes, Gravy and Pies,

Will fly through the sky like Miss Moran”

Then, as quickly as the fit had come over her it seemed to end and Lavender let go of the table and blinked her eyes back to their normal hazel, while all around her whispered conversations erupted and Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey both swept down from the High Table towards her.

Meanwhile, deep in the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries, silvery mists condensed into a small glass orb and an enchanted quill scribbled the note:

L.S.B to H.J.G.

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Small Village in Albanian Hinterlands, Early March

Barty Crouch Junior barked a laugh as he flipped through the Prophet, finding twisted amusement in the latest gaffe by his father’s replacement at the Ministry. There was a sweet delight to seeing Barty Senior’s legacy at the Ministry, the only thing Junior thought he’d ever cared about, continue to fall into ruins. 

He wondered when someone would eventually bother to check on the old coot and discover what Barty had done to him. It wasn’t like the man had any friends, just colleagues, and with his career destroyed, none of them were likely to come over for a visit. With Junior becoming Winky’s master and giving the elf strict instructions to alert nobody to Senior’s condition while keeping up appearances, it might be a year before he saw his handiwork in the Prophet.

It was a bit of a hassle getting the British newspaper out here in the remotest mountain country of the Balkans, especially since he didn’t want to have a record of a subscription with a Prophet owl, but he managed. If you were resourceful and you had the galleons, he found you could find whatever you were looking for.

‘ By the Mark, let’s hope that’s true tonight,’ Barty prayed. If the latest underworld information broker’s source was correct, he would finally be reunited with his beloved master, shortly. If it proved to be untrue, well, the man would discover what happened to the last rumormonger who tried to pull a fast one on him. 

He was sitting by the fire in his little makeshift camp, a magical tent plundered from his father’s house before he left, giving him some comfort on his journey.  He had pitched up on a relatively small ledge of a mountain that looked out on the area below. There was a relatively small, forested plateau nestled amongst the peaks, made Unplottable so it could serve as a Unicorn reserve, and if the information of the poachers who frequented this area proved true, his lord and master hid within those woods. 

He'd arrived mid-morning and settled in to wait till night truly fell, when it would be easier for his ghostly mentor to be active. Barty thought of himself as Voldemort’s truest disciple, his student, his son and heir in all but name. Bellatrix was a toy, Lucius a bank vault, and Severus a useful tool, but he was something more . His master may not have had a chance to reveal all the secrets of his immortality before the mudblood Potter bitch and her blood traitor husband somehow shattered his body, but he knew enough.

The Dark Lord had told him the signs to watch for, and the first steps that would need to be completed to ensure his return. In wraith form Voldemort would have to share the shape of others, animals for the most part, and retreat to the dark places of the Earth. He would need help to return to his towering power, and Barty would be the one to do it.

“I’m coming, my Lord,” Barty muttered into the wind, “and we will reduce those who defied you into ash.”

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Hogwarts, Secret Passage, Mid-March

“Are you entirely sure we’re going the right way?” Luna’s voice drifted up the tight tunnel.

Ginny, who couldn’t quite turn around in their current cramped confines, just called back, “I think so, we should be coming to the end after the next corner.” She kept her eyes on the map she held in her left hand, holding her lit wand tip over it for light as she shuffled forward. 

The pair had entered the hidden tunnel via an entrance in the Tapestry Corridor. By pulling on an apparent loose thread on a tapestry showing the legendary Irish half-giant potioneer Dyrnwch and his famous cauldron, the tapestry temporarily unwound to reveal the secret passage before sewing itself up behind them. The tunnel was so small, even the two relatively slight young girls had to crouch and crawl to navigate it, slowly winding their way along it single file. 

Using a secret passage wasn’t truly that remarkable for a pair of Hogwarts students in of itself. The castle was lousy with them and several of the more popular ones were almost common knowledge. It was generally expected that as you advanced through the years you would learn more of them, to the point that most 7th years used at least one hidden passage as a shortcut daily.

Of course some of Hogwarts secrets were much guarded much more carefully by those in the know, and each House kept a few for their own members. For instance, nearly every Hufflepuff past their third year in the castle knew how to access the kitchens but only a handful of non-badgers did. Similarly, Slytherins were made aware of the secret route from the Ghostly Ballroom in the dungeons out to an ancient ash tree on the edge of the forbidden forest when they reached their fifth year. 

That knowledge was what led Luna to suspect whomever the original makers of her friend’s fascinating new map were, they were likely Gryffindors. Ginny had mentioned at least two of the hidden passages on it were well known among the Lions, like the shortcut that skipped three floors down Gryffindor tower, which were shown on the map. However, the secret slide hidden in the globe in the Map room that led to the library, which incoming Ravenclaws were challenged with solving a riddle to learn how to use, was nowhere to be seen. ‘ Of course, the fact Padfoot is Mr. Black and Moony is Professor Lupin more or less confirms that hypothesis.’ Luna spent a lot of time at Megaron Hall over the holidays and it was hard to miss Iris’s godfather’s favorite nicknames; that said, when Ginny had eventually remembered to tell her the names of the map creators, Luna kept that little secret to herself. 

Hogwarts Castle was perhaps the single most magical place in Britain, and its architecture was both dizzyingly complex and subject to change. It was probable that no individual, even the headmaster, truly knew all its secrets, but the Marauders certainly seemed to know many of them. In the months since they’d returned from term, the pair had made it a bit of a project to explore the secret passages they hadn’t known before. Ginny liked the adventure of it and Luna enjoyed both solving little mysteries and seeing her friend happy again.

Eventually the two girls arrived at a sliding trap door above them at the end of the tunnel, that opened up to be a hole hidden below a, thankfully for the moment unlit, cauldron brasier. The small portal would be obscured by the cauldron most of the time and they both got covered in soot wiggling out of it.

Ginny coughed and tried in vain to brush the ash from her robes, fretting over the probable stains. “Okay, definitely not the most comfortable of passages.” She held up her wand and looked around, “where did we end up?”

Luna glanced about, taking in her surroundings, unworried by her soot smeared face and dirty hair. She hummed in thought. “Well, the map indicated this should take us to the potions storeroom, but this doesn’t quite look like it. I don’t recall Professor Snape having Bicorn Horns available.” She lit her own wand with a quiet “ Lumos” to add to Ginny’s and examined her surroundings more closely.

The youngest Weasely couldn’t help grinning, even if she knew her mum would send a howler if she knew Ginny was staining her already second-hand school robes. Fred and George had basically given her the best Yule gift EVER, and exploring all the mysteries of the castle that the Marauder’s Map opened up had basically become her new passion.

She was starting to feel a lot more like herself, not the hollowed out husk Tom had been turning her into. She’d repaired her friendship with Luna, started bonding with some of the Lions she roomed with like Sheila Dunbar and Cordie Shunpike, and she finally felt like she was understanding at least most of her classes. Glancing to her left she noticed a vial she instantly clocked as a bottle solution of False Felix Felicisis, otherwise known as Misfortune Mixture; it looked very similar to Liquid Luck, but was a few shades darker and produced the exact opposite effects when drunk. Ginny blinked in surprise, ‘ when did I learn that?’ She shook it off, reasoning she must have read about it in her constant Potions studying to try and catch up the curriculum, and went back to inspecting the chamber they’d found themselves in.

They were certainly in a potions storeroom, just not the one students often ducked into to retrieve necessary ingredients for the potions they brewed in class. For one, the dark stone chamber was a bit smaller, but more notably, the ingredients around them were much rarer and more expensive. The only exit besides the hidden one they’d just come up from was a ladder leading up to a larger wooden trapdoor on the ceiling.

Ginny looked at the map intently and walked around the room to use the movement of her own dot on the map to orient herself. “I think,” she pointed to the ladder, “that leads up into the normal storeroom, and this must be like the potions equivalent of the Restricted section.”

Luna nodded, agreeing preliminarily with the deduction. “Which would mean we’re below the Potions classroom in the dungeons. Curious, considering we started on the 2nd floor.” It was hardly the only bit of Hogwarts architecture that defied conventional space time, but the fact the little hidden passage involved dimensional warping magic made Luna quite intrigued. 

“Yeah I wond-” Ginny began before the sound of a heavy lock on the trap door above them being manipulated echoed down to them and she was suddenly very aware that they probably weren’t supposed to be in there, and that it was almost certainly Snape about to descend the ladder. She grabbed Luna’s wrist and basically dove back into the hidden passage below the cauldron, dragging her behind her.

They managed to get into the secret tunnel just in time to avoid being caught and likely receiving detentions until the end of term. It would have been a close call they could later laugh about if not for the fact that Ginny jumped so quickly into the hole that she didn’t so much climb back down, as fall, with Luna crashing down on top of her, and both girl’s weights landing right on top of Ginny’s wand.

SNAP!

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Disused Enchanting Classroom, Late March, Late Afternoon

The golden light of the sun streaming through the windows was swiftly dimming as Iris Potter and Susan Bones sat huddled over a cauldron and brazier in the center of the room. It wasn’t a full-size pewter affair, but rather a smaller collapsible cauldron designed for brewing on the go, with a handful of fire containment enchantments on the built-in heater. In the pot a bubbling ochre brew swirled about as Susan furiously stirred.

“Remember to stir quickly and smoothly or the Billywig Stings won’t incorporate properly,” Iris instructed. They were practicing making the Wideye Potion, a stimulant often used to counteract sleep inducing magic as well as a stronger alternative to caffeine, and as had become her custom over the last several years, Iris was basically acting as a potions tutor for her friend. Andromeda had become all too well aware of Snape’s failings as a teacher ever since Nymphadora’s first year and took it upon herself to supplement her daughters’ education in her personal subject both before Hogwarts and during the holidays. It wasn’t quite possible to cram a year’s worth of potions lessons into a summer, but both Tonks girls typically arrived at school well ahead of the curriculum and able to help their friends along.

Susan grimaced and bit out, “I know” in a low growl. She was stirring as quickly as she could and the potion refused to change from the ruddy ochre color it was to the blue-green sheen it was supposed to have. Their other friends had already gone down to the great hall for dinner, but she was determined to perfect this potion before she left the classroom.

Iris glanced at her notes, “it could be the stings weren’t completely dried properly. Why don’t we head down for dinner and give the moisture some time to cook off.”

Susan didn’t look up, “you go, I’m going to wait.”

The other redhead hopped to her feet and gave her best friend a side eye, “c’mon, Sue, a watched cauldron doesn’t boil and all that. You need to get some food before they clean up dinner.” Iris’s own stomach was rumbling with hunger at this point, and this potion wasn’t the volatile sort that needed constant supervision.

“I said I’m fine,” Susan snapped, “Snape’s testing us on this Friday and I want to know it backwards and forwards before I cork by submission.”

Iris put a hand on her hip, “puh-leese, you’re going to be fine. This is an easy brew; you don’t need to worry so much about it.” Susan could be stubborn as hell when she latched onto something, but Iris was usually good at persuading her.

“You might not need to worry, but not all of us are geniuses who never have to worry about their marks!” Susan exclaimed, before instantly regretting it. Iris looked taken aback by the outburst, and Susan sighed and put a hand to her temple, “I’m sorry, Irey, that’s unfair; I’m just frustrated….” She gave Iris a weak smile, “I really appreciate you helping me with this.”

The Potter girl leaned back down and put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, “hey, it’s okay, I’m happy to help, always.” Aside from her sister, Susan was her oldest friend and Iris was fairly sure she’d both kill and die for the Bones heiress, sacrificing her time to tutor her in potions was a small ask. “But why are you getting so hung up on this potion?”

“It’s not this potion, it’s Potions,” Susan admitted with a deep sigh, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. “Auntie Andromeda made sure I was ahead first year, but I’ve just been coasting and relying on you or Daph, or Hermione.” Iris was about to protest that while Susan might not be some prodigy at Potions, she earned consistently solid marks on her own efforts, but the Hufflepuff was plowing forward. “Snape might not teach but he does grade, and I can’t let my potions mark slip. I need to know this stuff.”

Iris cocked her head inquisitively, “is this about the Auror requirements?” While Hit-wizards and other members of the DMLE could later be promoted into it, a good NEWT result in Potions, along with several other subjects, was required to enter into the Auror program straight out of Hogwarts. Given Snape required an O on your OWLS before you could even study at the NEWT level, it was a high bar to clear, and why her sister had nearly killed herself studying ahead of exams the previous year; however, given OWLS were over two years away for them, Iris felt Susan was putting the cart before the hippogriff. 

Susan curled into herself a bit before saying in a small voice, “I don’t want to be an Auror,” shocking Iris. As long as she could remember, Susan had always talked about following in her Auntie’s footsteps at the DMLE and Iris assumed that would take her through the Auror office. 

“What, really?” Iris asked, a bit shaken to see her normally incredibly self-assured friend be so vulnerable, “like not right after school or not…”

“Not ever,” Susan confirmed, “I don’t, I don’t think I want to work for the DMLE.” It was like a confession and once she started, the feelings the Bones girl had been bottling up came flowing out all at once. 

“After Sirius came back,” she explained, “after I saw what Azkaban did to him… Did you know he still wakes up screaming sometimes? It’s faint, but the sound carries through the pipes. He can be so happy, he and Auntie are doing so well, but the scars just don’t go away.” Susan paused as she let Iris, who had her own odd but growing close relationship with Sirius, take it in. “I know not every criminal goes there, but so many do. And I know the DMLE and Auntie do good, important work, but I just, I just don’t want my job to be sending people to a place that does that to people.”

“I mean, some people there deserve it,” Iris offered weakly. She had her own hang ups over the injustice done to Sirius, but she also understood that you needed a place like Azkaban to deal with actual Death Eaters and those like them. “And things are a lot better with the reforms Aunt Amelia’s been doing…”

Susan shook her head ruefully, “That’s all true, and I’m not saying we should abolish Azkaban. I think we should reexamine how we use the Dementors, but I understand having a prison is necessary. I’m still really proud of Auntie, and I’ll be proud of Tonks, I just don’t think it’s what I want to do with my life.” She took a deep breath, “I think I want to be a healer, maybe a mind healer. I want to help people,” her vision settled back on the bubbling cauldron, “and that’s why I need to get better with Potions.

“Hey,” Iris said, “c’mere.” She pulled Susan towards her into a hug. “I think that’s wonderful and, I know you’re probably all in your head about it, but your aunt will think it’s wonderful too. You’ll make a great healer.”

“Y’think?” Susan asked, fighting back sniffles. 

Iris pulled back from the hug to look her in the eyes, “absolutely. But the first thing any healer will tell you is how important nutrition and rest is for your health. And if you really think this is what you might want to do, you should talk to my mum, not me. You know she’d be happy to tutor you, and she’s the real expert. So, let’s go get some food, and you can write her a letter for Hedwig to take in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Susan said with a wry smile, wiping her eyes. She felt a lot lighter now that she’d put words to the conflict she’d been feeling and let it out. The two friends got to their feet and with a wave of her wand, Susan reduced the flame in the brazier, before they set off down to the Great Hall. 

“I’m a bit jealous, you know,” Iris said after a bit as the pair wound their way through the halls. 

“Of?” Susan asked

Iris shrugged awkwardly, “You have such a clear idea of what you want to do when we grow up, a dream to pursue. Nimue’s Ears, you, Daph, Tracey, Nym, Penny, even Luna know what careers you’re aiming for. I wish I had that.”

Susan cocked an eyebrow as they waited for a magical staircase to rotate towards them, “really, you don’t have any idea what you’d like to do?”

Now it was Iris’s turn to sigh, as she stretched her arms behind her back, “more like I have too many.” The trouble was Iris was interested in everything flitting from subject to subject as her curiosity took her. Magizoology was perhaps her earliest passion, but it wasn’t a singular one for her like it was for Luna. She’d thought about being a Dragon Handler, or a Beast Tracker, sure, but she’d also thought about being half a dozen other things from a Potioneer, to an Enchanter.

She bristled at the thought of being contained to one discipline, desiring to follow her curiosity wherever it led in the moment. Her idealized daydreams of the future had her discovering a new kind of manticore one month, and developing a new atmospheric charm the next, then brewing up an improved version of Wolfsbane the one after that. Unfortunately for her, the most obvious example of someone with a similar career path was someone she had a fair few reservations about emulating, Albus Dumbledore. 

When it came to doing groundbreaking work across multiple magical subjects, there was no better living witch or wizard than Dumbledore. He’d slowed down his scholarly work over the last two decades, but his impact on Potioneering, Transfiguration, and protection charms was profound. It was proof that such an eclectic career was possible, but Iris wouldn’t be rushing to sit down and ask him to mentor her any time soon.

The pair stepped off the grand staircase onto the main floor. “I still think you should be an Unspeakable,” Susan opined, “all they do is study the finer points of magic and you’re nuts for that stuff.”

Iris scoffed, “and I’ll say again, what’s the point of discovering something if you can never tell anyone about it.” She’d wanted to be an Unspeakable for about two weeks after she first learned about them, before coming to the realization that actual published research hardly ever came out of the mysterious Ministry department. As far as she was concerned, knowledge wanted to be free, and she fully intended to publish papers or even books based on her future work. Academia was meant to be collaborative, after all. She chuckled, “I guess at least I have a firm idea of some things I don’t want to do.”

There were a couple of popular or obvious career paths Iris already knew she had no interest in. For instance, she didn’t want to work for the DMLE either; she’d fight to defend herself and those she loved against dark forces, but she considered that an annoyance not a calling. Really, working for the Ministry directly at all didn’t hold much appeal.

She also knew she didn’t want to go into politics; she’d go utterly batty with all the petty power plays she knew that took, ‘ and I’m batlike enough as it is’ . She’d take her seat on the Wizengamot and vote when she needed to out of a sense of civil obligation, but by and large she would be quite content to let Daphne and maybe Hermione handle all of that, so she could ensconce herself in her books and experiments. 

A professorship at Hogwarts might be the most obvious path for her, but it too wasn’t one she was going to charge straight towards. First of all, there was a bit of a cultural stigma about taking up teaching right away after finishing your Mastery. In Wizarding society there was an expectation that you go out in the world for a time and put some accomplishments to your name before you set about teaching others. Add to that she didn’t really want to even think about teaching at Hogwarts while Dumbledore was still headmaster, and that was a distant career goal at best.

They finally reached the Great Hall, only to discover it looking like an absolute disaster zone. Moving suits of armor were trying to wipe pastry from their visors, gravy smeared the starry sky of the enchanted ceiling, and treacle tart stuck to the stone floor. 

Unknown to them, a food fight had broken out between Gryffindor and Slytherin an hour ago. An unluckily timed combination of Theodore Nott getting a Howler for being seen in Hogsmeade with an insufficiently pure blood girl, The Weasley twins pranking Marcus Flint with a curse that made everything taste of liver, Pansy Parkinson purposefully knocking over Fay Dunbar and Christoph Auguste’s game of gobstones just to be mean, and Draco and Ron getting into a shouting match over some petty thing, had quickly degenerated into all out food-based warfare. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff’s tables hadn’t come out unscathed, and when the two latecomers arrived in the Hall, the dozen or so students identified as instigators were being made to clean the mess without magic as punishment.

Iris shared a look with Susan, “So, I guess Lavender is definitely a seer, then.”

“Looks like it,” Susan replied slowly, and the two red haired girls slowly backed out of the room, planning to head for the kitchens.

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Beauxbatons Academy, Western Gazebo, Late March, Just Before Midnight 

(All dialogue in French unless otherwise stated)

“Do you think she’ll show,” Pierre St. Cloud asked quietly, as the short sandy haired boy glanced about nervously.

“She’ll come,” Fauntleroy Brown replied, swapping his oak wand from hand to hand. “These sirens don’t let go of their thralls easily.” He smirked, “Unfortunately she’s about to discover she’s sorely overmatched against a will that can resist her, such as mine.” 

The pair of Beauxbatons students were out after curfew, standing in the middle of the large ornate western gazebo, lit only by the moonlight. The white marble structure had a platform about 10 yards in diameter, and sat along the path leading to the Montagne Brumeuse, a reserve for magical flora and fauna in the Alps that connected to the Academy’s grounds. A small artificial moat just a few feet deep, filled with tadpoles this time of year, stretched from the school facing entrance, around to the mountain facing one in a semicircle in either direction. They were far enough away for some privacy, but the palace of Beauxbatons still loomed above them.

The most intriguing feature of the structure was probably the dedication plaque, which had had its inscription blasted off by a previous Headmaster, Sophia Cavelier. Word around the palace was that it had originally been built with funds donated by the Rosier family, and, after Vinda Rosier became Grindelwald’s chief lieutenant and thus Beauxbatons most infamous graduate, her old teacher had furiously scorched her name from the plaque.  Not that that little historical tidbit had much bearing on why Fauntleroy had chosen the spot. He just needed a suitably picturesque backdrop against which to vanquish the half-breed. 

Soon enough the witch, or rather witches, they were waiting for could be seen coming down from the school proper. The Veela temptress was strutting as boldly as you please, her unnatural silvery hair glinting in the moonbeams, and she was followed by her dark-haired Spanish stooge. 

This battle was a long time coming, in Fauntleroy’s estimation. He’d always distrusted the half-breed woman, but after reading Seduction of the Innocent, How to Protect your Family from the Veela Menace over the summer, he’d realized the true danger she represented. His maternal uncle, a veteran Beast tamer, had leant it to him and it revealed he had always been right when he suspected Delacour must be cheating to be the top of every class. 

“There’s still time to turn around if you want to,” Sonya muttered as she followed the figure of Fleur towards the pre-arranged battleground. The quarter-Veela witch didn’t even turn around; Fleur would not be backing down from this fight. Sonya wasn’t so much worried Fleur couldn’t defeat the opponent they were walking towards, but rather that they’d all get in trouble for being out after curfew and the definitely against the rules activity they were about to do.

After long months of simmering conflict between the two of them, Fauntleroy had cornered Fleur two days ago and made a formal challenge, an honor duel. It wouldn’t be an official match, something they could have arranged with Professor Eglebert, but rather an off the books affair without all those ‘pesky rules’ as Fauntleroy called them, of modern civilized dueling.

Despite Sonia warning her it was a bad idea, Fleur had accepted. The Western Gazebo was set as the battleground, and Friday at midnight was the chosen hour. The terms were simple. If Fauntleroy won, Fleur would publicly apologize for her ‘insidious Veela seduction’ of the staff and members of the student body and cease associating with Jean-Luc, Marcelline, and even Sonya; if Fleur proved victorious, Fauntleroy would stop harassing Jean-Luc and refrain from intentionally interacting with Fleur until they left Beauxbatons. 

“Surprised you came, veela” Pierre taunted from over Fauntleroy’s shoulder. His tone made it clear he meant it as an insult but Fleur took nothing but pride in her mixed heritage. The shorter boy was there to serve as Fauntleroy’s second for the duel, just as Sonya was serving as Fleur’s.

The witch paid him no mind, ignoring him entirely and just locking eyes with Fauntleroy. “I did not come to trade insults with your stooge. Are you ready to begin, Brown?”

Fauntleroy cast off his coat to stand in his fine white silk undershirt, flourished his wand and hopped from foot to foot. Fleur just appeared to roll her eyes and draw her wand, keeping her hat and jacket on. She knew some duelists liked to get their blood moving before a fight, but she found Fauntleroy’s actions both performative and inelegant. Eventually he settled down and held his wand to his face, while her own veela-hair core wand rose in a mirrored gesture.

Sonya and Pierre used their wands to draw a glowing orange line on the edges of the gazebo and across the two entrances, marking the border of the makeshift dueling arena. The line wouldn’t do anything harmful if one crossed it, but it would signify if either combatant had been ringed out. 

Normally this was when the officiant would countdown the start of the duel, but Fauntleroy hadn’t arranged for one. The agreed upon stakes weren’t something the Beauxbatons dueling instructor would ever condone on a duel, and Fleur suspected he also planned to use some tactics that would be disallowed in a regulated setting. ‘ It is no matter, I will meet him in kind.’

The fight simply started the moment Sonya and Pierre exited the gazebo through the opposite entrances. Fauntleroy pulled his wand back while wiggling the tip in a tight spiral pointed at Fleur, before lashing it forward and crying “ Cereus Carceris!” A massive glob of hot unfurling wax burst into existence and hurtled towards the other side of the gazebo. The Wax Trap Hex was an old favorite of the Brown family, passed down from parent to child. It ensnared and then imprisoned the target in supernaturally strong wax that quickly hardened around their body.

At least, that’s what it was supposed to do. When the conjured candlestuff reached Fleur, it simply passed straight through her like she was a ghost, only to fly out of the gazebo, caking some of the lawn in wax. Fleur appeared to then dissipate into grey-blue mist, before suddenly reappearing to Fauntleroy’s left, crying “ Aqua Eructo!”

Fauntleroy could dress it up however he liked, but this was not a formal duel, this was a street brawl. There was no referee, no sanctioned arena, and Fleur was going to treat this like the back alley fight it actually was. That was why she’d approached the gazebo under a Disillusionment charm, controlling a carefully crafted Mirror Illusion of herself that Fauntleroy had just wasted his first hex on. Illusions were among her personal specialties, and while it had taken an extreme amount of focus to keep her mist-formed copy acting lifelike and responsive all the way from the palace to the battleground, it had been worth it for the surprise she’d gained. 

A powerful jet of water shot from the tip of her rosewood wand, slamming into the unprepared Fauntleroy. THUD! He slid back against one of the gazebo’s support pillars and was soaked to the bone. As the stream died down, he started to regain his bearings, but Fleur didn’t intend to give him any time to recover. She flicked her wand in a rapid up and down zig-zag before sweeping it sideways back towards her stunned opponent. 

“ Glacius!” The boy’s water logged robes instantly froze solid, and his feet became stuck to the floor with ice, but Fleur was not done. Spinning around as she did so, she waved her wand in a large arc around herself while chanting “ Polypusamet.” Eight strands of water from the surrounding moat rose to follow her will and quickly wrapped themselves around the stunned and struggling Fauntleroy; then she finished things with one final charm, “ Gelu Scalpono.”

The amorphous water restraining Brown turned to solid ice and sculpted itself according to Fleur’s will into three clearly Veela women springing from the larger block of ice around Fauntleroy’s legs, one restraining each hand and the last with her hands around his throat. By this point he was shivering intensely from the cold and his wand fell from his trembling finger tips. The fight had taken less than two minutes, and Fauntleroy had been completely defeated.

She sheathed her wand and coldly said, “I believe that is my victory, no?”

Fauntleroy’s teeth just chattered but Pierre rushed back into the gazebo, trying to avoid slipping on the now wet and icy floor. “You cheated! It wasn’t really-”

Fleur silenced him with a look as cold as her spellwork. “If you have a problem with how I conducted this duel, I suggest you appeal to the officiant.” Her meaning was clear; if Brown wanted to duel outside the parameters of the modern rules, he also abandoned the protection of those rules. She turned back to the restrained Fauntleroy, “do you concede the match, Brown?”

Fauntleroy grimaced but eventually gave a terse jerky nod. Fleur gave a slightly sarcastic curtsey, before stepping over to her combination sculpture/prison and tapping it with her wand with a quick chant of “ Conflandum Nunc,” melting it back into water and leaving a still cold but now unrestrained Fauntleroy to slosh through the water and retrieve his wand. 

“That was exquisite Fleur!” Sonia congratulated her. The Spanish witch stepped over to her friend and, ignoring Fleur’s overgrown sense of decorum, swept her into a quick hug before releasing her. 

Fleur straightened her slightly rumpled jacket and smoothed her skirt before smiling somewhat triumphantly, “I suppose it was a decent little bit of wandwork.”

“Yes, your spell craft was quite impressive,” A third, deeper but still feminine voice came in from behind. The four students all turned slowly, dread pooling in their stomachs to find the towering form of their Headmistress observing them from just outside the gazebo.

Madame Maxine’s eyes bored into them as she added, “however, it appears your judgment could use some work, no?”

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Excerpts from An American’s Guide to the Madmen of Europe, By Marian Sawyer:

…While they are often mentioned in the same breath, particularly in Europe, it is worth remembering the differences between the dark wizards Grindelwald and Voldemort. These two surely shared many qualities and the infamous criminals had an overlapping ideology, but they were hardly twins.

Let us start, as all good scholars ought, chronologically and consider Gellert Grindelwald. You may have already noted a difference between him and his successor to the title of the ICW’s most wanted, we know his real name. That belies the first major distinction, Grindelwald consistently tried, and occasionally succeeded, usurping conventional power structures; Voldemort, as far as we know, did not, instead operating from the shadows.

In his time, Grindelwald would illegally usurp the governments of Saxony, Bavaria, Prussia, Poland, Lithuania, Westphalia, Bulgaria, Austria, Croatia, Venice, Bosnia, and Albania, through various means. He would also seize effective control of significant territory belonging to many other nations, including France, The Nordic Union, The Ottoman Empire, Egypt, The Netherlands, and Romania. This was done increasingly openly as time wore on, and it was clear from the beginning that Gellert wished to amass enough power that he could dictate policy to the ICW and its member powers.

Voldemort, conversely, focused almost entirely on the British Isles, and kept his terrorist actions more covert. He was growing increasingly bold before his defeat, and may have sought to seize political power eventually, but it was not his primary path. There were advantages to this approach, as it allowed him to avoid an international response like Grindelwald faced, but it also meant he had fewer chances to recruit and build his power amongst the wider community. 

This is not to diminish the struggle our British brethren faced during Voldemort’s terror, just to acknowledge that it was concentrated. The Isles are historically very populous in terms of witches and wizards, but it was still a much smaller geographical footprint than Grindelwald left. 

Comparing their strategies can be readily done, but comparing their ideologies is a much thornier proposition. Grindelwald shifted his rhetoric over time to serve his purpose, as all fascists are prone to do, and Voldemort’s status as a fugitive for most of his life means he has no speeches publicly recorded of us to compare against. However, we can make a few educated guesses based on what we do know and draw a few tantalizing conclusions.

Grindelwald’s stated eventual goal was to unite the wizarding world before abolishing the statute of secrecy and establishing a global magocracy over the muggles. The specifics of how this proposition would come to pass were never clear, but the notion was one of the core pieces of rhetoric for him and his acolytes. 

The English Dark Lord also had a famed hatred for non-magicals, but he never put forth a concrete proposal for what changes he wanted to see in society in relation to them. Indeed, the Death Eaters who were captured and interrogated showed more hatred of first generation witches and wizards, otherwise known as muggleborns, than they did actual muggles, who were largely disregarded. Some scholars have even argued that Voldemort’s extremist movement was harnessing the same societal anxiety that led to the squib riots, and the age old superstition that muggleborns somehow take magic from squibs. 

For all his evil, the master of Nurenburg Castle never showed any disdain or distinction for muggleborns. To him, a wizard was a wizard and a muggle was a muggle, and it was along those lines he formed his vision for the world. He was also arguably more egalitarian towards other magical beings, making failed overtures to veela colonies and the Goblin Confederacy, and successful ones to certain centaur herds and the renegade mer-prince. Voldemort was rumored to have a tense alliance with a werewolf pack and the giants, but otherwise ran a purely human operation…..

….As important as it is to compare their stated ideologies, we can also learn from looking at how the two disparate dark wizards organized their movements. It is difficult to analyze the structure of Voldemort’s organization, given the secretive nature of the terrorist group, but that very anonymity was telling. Very few Death Eaters were known publicly before capture, and all of them appeared to be equally subordinate to the singular master, Voldemort. 

The benefit of this structure was a consolidation of power and a prevention of coups by ambitious underlings, but it also was arguably why the Death Eater movement, that had seemed so unstoppable for over a decade, seemingly collapsed almost overnight once the head was removed. We all owe a debt of gratitude to the Potters and the Girl-Who-Lived, but I do not think I am alone in thinking that if a similar miraculous event happened to Grindelwald, events would have played out differently.

Grindelwald, while still a totalitarian figure, was, perhaps out of pragmatism, willing to share power with significant allies and lieutenants. We know the names of important leaders of the Eldritch Alliance movement, while it is much harder to identify corresponding individuals amongst the Death Eaters. Vinda Rosier, Louis Abernathy, Helmut von Strohm, Queenie Goldstein, Henrietta Fisher, David Krall, the list goes on and on. Surely, none of them were the equal of Gellert, but they were all publicly known actors and leaders in their heinous movement, while every Deatheater clung to their anonymity till the British aurors caught them. 

The tempting conclusion I draw from this difference is that Voldemort sought total power and chose his ideals to further that path, while Grindelwald sought his twisted ideals and sought total power to see them made reality. Of course, that is just one distant outside observer’s supposition based on incomplete information. There is simply so much we do not know about these dark wizards, and we likely never will. Voldemort is no more and Grindelwald’s imprisonment bars him from ever speaking to the outside world again. However if we…