Strange Potter

McGonagall sat at the staff table, watching over the Great Hall as the last remnants of dinner were cleared away. Her gaze drifted toward the Gryffindor table, where Harry Potter and Regulus Black sat side by side, whispering about something undoubtedly mischievous.

James Potter’s son and Sirius Black’s son. In the same house. Together.

She reached for her goblet of pumpkin juice, wishing it were something stronger.

Her eyes flickered to the Hufflepuff table, where Lyall Lupin sat with a plate stacked high with steak. His golden eyes gleamed with excitement as he talked with Susan Bones, who seemed utterly unbothered by his unnatural appetite.

Then, to the Ravenclaw table, where Pietro Lupin sat next to Luna Lovegood, his mouth moving a mile a minute. His dorm mates looked either highly amused or slightly exhausted already.

Twin sons of Remus Lupin. One among the ever-reliable Hufflepuffs, the other in the house of wit and intellect—next to Luna, no less.

And back at Gryffindor, Fred and George Weasley were already eyeing Regulus like a new recruit, whispering excitedly. McGonagall saw the gleam in Regulus’ eye and knew he was ready to live up to the Marauder legacy.

James and Sirius' sons in Gryffindor. Remus' twins scattered through the castle, one already showing Marauder potential. She massaged her temples.

She would need more alcohol. A lot more.

 The atmosphere in the chamber was tense. The Goblet of Fire stood at the center of the room, its blue flames flickering ominously as the Triwizard Tournament organizers, Dumbledore, and key security personnel gathered to discuss the necessary precautions.

Strange stood with his arms crossed, his Cloak of Levitation subtly shifting around him. Wanda was by his side, her expression unreadable, while Remus, standing with his hands in his pockets, looked every bit the cautious professor and father.

Dumbledore, ever the composed leader, folded his hands together. “I assure you, the Goblet has long been safeguarded by ancient enchantments. Its selection is absolute—only those who enter willingly and meet the age requirement may be chosen.”

Strange scoffed. “That would be comforting if we weren’t dealing with people who have a history of bending and breaking magical rules.” His piercing gaze swept across the organizers. “You expect me to believe that no one could tamper with this thing? Because I’m not in the habit of believing in absolutes.”

Ludo Bagman, who had been fidgeting with his robe, quickly interjected, “Oh, come now, my dear fellow! Tampering with the Goblet would require magic far beyond—”

“Far beyond what?” Strange interrupted sharply. “Beyond what’s possible? People once thought time travel and multiversal travel were impossible, too.” His eyes glowed faintly as he took a step closer to the Goblet. “What safeguards do you have against magic outside of what you understand?”

Crouch, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. “The Goblet’s protections are not to be taken lightly. However, if it eases your paranoia, we could arrange for a rotation of officials to watch over it until the selection is complete.”

Strange narrowed his eyes at Crouch. “That’s not enough. You don’t even know what you should be guarding against.” He turned his head to Dumbledore. “You let one dark force slip past your defenses before, and now Peter Pettigrew is out there.”

Dumbledore’s face remained neutral, but there was a glint of something in his eyes. “I am not opposed to additional security measures.”

Wanda finally spoke, her voice soft but carrying weight. “You need to be careful with what you dismiss. There are forces that don’t follow your rules. The moment you underestimate them, you lose.”

Crouch let out a breath and nodded. “Then it’s settled. We’ll assign rotations to guard the Goblet at all hours. If anyone attempts to interfere, we’ll know.”

Strange didn’t look convinced but stepped back. “Fine. But I’ll be keeping an eye on it myself.”

With that, the meeting concluded, but an uneasy tension remained in the air. Strange, Wanda, and Remus exchanged glances as they left, each of them feeling that no matter what precautions were taken, trouble was already brewing.

In the Gryffindor common room, a few first-years gathered around Regulus, their eyes locked on the tiny sugar glider perched on his shoulder. Motto’s large, intelligent eyes gleamed as he deftly unfastened the button on Regulus’ robe before leaping onto the table, snatching up a fallen quill, and tucking it neatly into Regulus’ open bag.

“That’s… not normal,” one of the students muttered, watching in fascination.

“Sugar gliders aren’t that smart,” another whispered.

Regulus just grinned, scratching Motto behind the ears as the little creature let out a chittering noise that sounded almost like laughter. “Oh, Motto’s just a very special sugar glider.”

Across the room, Harry smirked at Regulus’ antics, arms crossed as he leaned against the arm of a chair. He wasn’t about to say anything, but the amusement in his eyes was clear.

Hermione, sitting beside him, caught the look and rolled her eyes. “Honestly,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Harry to hear. She knew exactly what Motto really was—a demiguise. And from the way Regulus was playing it up, he was enjoying keeping the secret.

Harry chuckled but said nothing, watching as the first-years continued to eye Motto with curiosity and suspicion. Regulus just grinned wider, letting them wonder.

Lyall sat cross-legged on the floor of the cozy Hufflepuff common room, happily chewing on a piece of rare steak he’d managed to get from the kitchens. Across from him, Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillan watched with a mix of curiosity and mild disgust.

“You do know they can actually cook the meat, right?” Ernie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lyall shrugged. “Tastes better this way.”

Susan wrinkled her nose. “That’s practically still mooing.”

Lyall grinned. “That’s the best part.”

Ernie sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least you’re settling in. Weird food aside.”

Lyall took another bite, unconcerned. The Hufflepuff common room was warm, welcoming, and filled with friendly faces. If all he had to do to fit in was put up with some weird looks, he could live with that.

Over in Ravenclaw Tower, Pietro stood in front of the common room entrance with a group of first years, waiting for the enchanted door knocker to give them a riddle.

"I have cities but no houses, mountains but no trees, and water but no fish. What am I?"

Pietro didn’t even hesitate. “A map!”

The door swung open, and the other first years blinked at him in surprise.

Michael Corner raised an eyebrow. “That was fast.”

“I like riddles,” Pietro said brightly as he came in with the others. “Well, actually, I like talking, but riddles are just thinking really fast, and I do that all the time, so it’s kinda the same thing!”

Luna smiled hearing him. “I think that’s a good thing. It means your thoughts never get lonely.”

Pietro beamed. “See? She gets it!”

Michael shook his head in amusement as they stepped inside. “You’re never gonna stop talking, are you?”

“Nope!” Pietro grinned. “I have so many things to say, and there’s a whole castle full of people to say them to!”

The older students exchanged glances, some amused, some exasperated. It was clear that Pietro Lupin had definitely arrived in Ravenclaw.

 Professor Pomona Sprout sat behind her desk in her cozy, plant-filled office, the scent of fresh soil and herbs filling the air. Across from her sat Professor Filius Flitwick, perched on a chair, his expression thoughtful as he sipped a cup of tea.

“Well, Filius,” Sprout began, leaning back with a satisfied sigh, “it seems we both have the pleasure of guiding two rather extraordinary young boys this year.”

Flitwick chuckled, setting his teacup down. “Indeed! Pietro is quite the curious mind. Sharp as a tack, asks a million questions, and—Merlin help me—he’s a talker. I don’t think the Ravenclaw common room has had such energy in years.”

Sprout grinned. “Lyall is… a bit different. He’s got his father’s kindness, but there’s something more primal to him. He has instincts sharper than any student I’ve ever met. I caught him sniffing the air, and I swear he could tell what potions I’d been brewing just from the scent alone.”

Flitwick nodded knowingly. “Considering their parentage, I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising. But we must be mindful, Pomona. Their abilities, however fascinating, could make them stand out in ways they may not be prepared for.”

Sprout’s smile faded slightly as she folded her hands. “I agree. And with Peter Pettigrew on the loose and the World Cup attack still fresh in our minds, I worry for them. And for Harry, too. Those boys are walking targets.”

Flitwick sighed. “Yes. And while Dumbledore may be hesitant, I, for one, am relieved to have Wanda here. I doubt there’s anyone in the world more equipped to protect them.”

Sprout gave a firm nod. “We’ll keep an eye on them, Filius. They may be extraordinary, but they’re still children. And they deserve to grow up as safe as we can make them.”

A comfortable silence settled between them before Flitwick smiled. “Well then, here’s to a year unlike any other.”

Sprout chuckled, raising her teacup. “As if we’ve ever had a normal one.”

Lyall sat on his bed in the Hufflepuff first-year dormitory, absently running a finger over the wooden frame. His sharp senses took in everything—the scent of fresh parchment, the faint trace of old stone, and the lingering aromas from dinner. But the most prominent thing in the room was the excited chatter of his dormmates.

"So, you're the professor's kid, huh?" asked a boy with sandy hair, peering at him curiously. "Your dad's our Defense professor, right?"

Lyall grinned. "Yeah, and my mum's head of security."

That got a few impressed looks. "So, does that mean you're really good at Defense?" another boy asked, shifting closer.

Lyall chuckled. "I'm alright. But I like dueling. And, uh, I guess I'm good at tracking things." He sniffed the air, then smirked. "Like, I can tell someone snuck a chocolate frog into the room."

A guilty-looking boy in the corner nearly choked. "How did you—?"

The others laughed, and soon the conversation turned into a game of ‘What can Lyall smell?’ It wasn't long before Lyall felt at ease, surrounded by laughter and new friends.

Meanwhile, in Ravenclaw Tower, Peitro was talking a mile a minute, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke to his new dormmates.

“…And that’s why I think the spell was fundamentally flawed! If you alter the trajectory mid-cast, you end up destabilizing the entire structure of—oh, wait, I didn’t introduce myself properly, did I? Peitro Lupin. My mum’s Wanda Lupin, my dad’s Professor Lupin, my twin brother’s down in Hufflepuff, and I can’t wait to see what kind of books are in the restricted section. Do you think Flitwick would let us in early if we asked nicely?"

His dormmates stared at him, eyes wide, struggling to keep up with his rapid-fire words.

One of them, a quiet boy with thick glasses, finally managed to interject, "Er… do you ever stop to breathe?"

Peitro blinked, then grinned. "Haven't had to yet!"

The room erupted into laughter, and just like that, Peitro knew he'd fit in just fine.

At Potter Manor, the evening was quiet, the air thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow on the room, but neither Sirius nor Natasha could shake the tension that had settled in the space between them.

Sirius paced back and forth, his brow furrowed as he looked out of the window toward the horizon. It had been a whirlwind of emotions—Harry and Regulus now both at Hogwarts, their boys in the same school as so many dangerous forces. It was too much for him to take in all at once.

“How are we supposed to act?” Sirius muttered under his breath, his voice low but laced with frustration. He stopped pacing, turning to look at Natasha. “Our boys are there. At Hogwarts, surrounded by all that danger. How are we supposed to sit back and trust that they’ll be alright?”

Natasha leaned against the fireplace, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze unwavering. Her calm exterior, though composed, betrayed the deep concern she felt. “They’re not helpless, Sirius. They’ve got Remus and Wanda at the school, and they’re not alone. We’ve prepared them for this.”

“I don’t care about that,” Sirius snapped, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve been preparing them, but it’s not enough. Peter is still out there—still still. And now—” He paused, clenching his fists. “I want to go after him. I want to find him. Put an end to this. Now.”

Natasha’s gaze softened, and she stepped forward, placing a hand gently on his arm. “We can’t rush into things like this. You know that.”

“I know,” Sirius muttered, his tone turning more resigned. “But every second they’re at that school, I’m worried. What if Peter gets to them? What if something happens? We can’t just wait around for him to make a move.”

“You’re not thinking straight,” Natasha said, her voice firm but caring. “Peter isn’t our only problem. And the best thing we can do right now is trust Strange. He’s got a plan. I trust him. We trust him.”

Sirius glanced at her, his mind racing. Strange had been a constant presence in their lives since Harry had been young, guiding him, protecting him. And though his methods were sometimes unorthodox, Sirius had learned to trust the man’s judgment.

“You’re right,” Sirius admitted, rubbing his eyes. “It’s just... hard to trust that our boys are ready. I know we’ve taught them, but…”

Natasha smiled softly. “They’re stronger than you think. And we’ve all got eyes on them. We’re not alone in this.”

Sirius sighed deeply, the tension slowly easing from his shoulders. “I just want to keep them safe, Nat. That’s all.”

“I know, Sirius. We all do.” She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But rushing into things will only make it worse. Trust that they’ll be alright, and trust Strange to keep them safe.”

Sirius paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I do trust him. You’re right. I just… I just don’t know how to let go.”

“We don’t have to let go completely,” Natasha said, her tone a bit lighter. “We’ll always be there for them. In spirit, in support. And when the time comes, we’ll act together.”

Sirius gave a small nod, the weight of the situation settling into a manageable burden. He was still worried, still anxious, but with Natasha at his side, and their friends—Strange, Remus, and Wanda—watching over their boys, there was a sense of reassurance. They couldn’t protect them every second, but they had built a support system.

“I don’t like that they’re so far from us,” Sirius muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’ll have to live with it, won’t I?”

“You will,” Natasha said with a gentle smile. “We both will.”

Sirius stood there for a long moment, contemplating the long road ahead. Harry and Regulus were not children anymore; they were part of a larger world, and though it terrified him, he knew they had a role to play. And as much as he wanted to keep them wrapped in bubble wrap, he also knew that they were more than capable of handling whatever came their way.

Sirius finally relaxed, exhaling slowly. “Alright, I’ll trust Strange. I’ll trust them. But if anything happens to Harry…”

“I know,” Natasha said, her voice a quiet promise. “We’ll be ready.”

And for the first time in a long while, Sirius believed it.

“Welcome back students. Today, we’ll be learning the Silencing Charm!” Professor Flitwick announced cheerfully, standing atop his usual stack of books to see over the class.

Hermione sat up straighter, eager as ever, while Susan and Neville looked intrigued. Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly interested, and Harry just hoped he wouldn’t be the first victim.

“The incantation is Silencio!” Flitwick demonstrated with a flick of his wand, and immediately, the entire classroom went silent.

Blaise mouthed something, and Harry, unable to hear him, just shrugged.

With another wave, Flitwick restored sound. “Now, pair up and practice!”

Harry partnered with Neville, who nervously raised his wand. “Alright, here goes—Silencio!”

Nothing happened.

Neville frowned, trying again. This time, Harry suddenly found himself unable to speak. He waved his hands dramatically, and Neville grinned in triumph.

Nearby, Hermione had already silenced Susan and was instructing her on how to break it. Blaise and another Slytherin dueled it out, Blaise managing to silence his opponent before he could even cast.

A few minutes later, Harry managed to break Neville’s spell and retaliated with his own, successfully silencing Neville for a moment.

Flitwick clapped his hands. “Excellent work, Mr. Potter! And great effort, Mr. Longbottom—your improvement is clear!”

Neville grinned, while Harry chuckled.

Meanwhile, Susan, now able to talk again, muttered, “This spell will be useful.”

“Agreed,” Blaise said with a smirk. “Imagine all the people we could shut up.”

Harry didn’t say it, but he was already thinking of a few. "Oh. I'm going straight for Peitro!"

"Harry." Hermione rolled her eyes.

The Gryffindor common room was alive with chatter, the Triwizard Tournament dominating every conversation. Near the fire, Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Regulus sat with the Weasley twins, while Lyall and Pietro listened in with curiosity. Pietro, as usual, was talking a mile a minute, barely pausing for breath.

"I mean, think about it, if there's an age line, that means there's a loophole, right? Because every rule has a loophole, otherwise it wouldn't be magic, it would just be rules, and rules are boring, but magic makes things interesting, so obviously there has to be a way to trick it!"

"Who let him in here again?"

Fred and George exchanged an amused glance before turning to Regulus, who was smirking like he’d already solved the puzzle.

"Alright, little Marauder," George said. "What’s your take?"

Regulus leaned forward, looking far too pleased with himself. "Well, the way I see it, Dumbledore’s Age Line only stops people from crossing it. But what if you don’t actually cross it?"

Fred’s eyes gleamed. "Go on."

Regulus grinned. "What if you launch your name into the Goblet instead?"

There was a moment of silence. Then George let out a slow whistle. "Brilliant."

Hermione groaned, rubbing her temples. "That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard."

"I love it," Fred declared.

"But we don’t even know what the tasks are!" Neville pointed out. "What if it’s something really dangerous?"

"Of course it’ll be dangerous," Regulus said with a shrug. "That’s the whole point of the tournament."

Pietro, who had been nodding along enthusiastically, suddenly jumped in. "Exactly! But what if it’s, like, too dangerous? What if you have to wrestle a troll or fight off a horde of angry pixies? Or—ooh!—what if it’s a riddle and you have to think really hard, and if you get it wrong, you fall into a bottomless pit? Do bottomless pits exist in magic? They should. It’d be terrifying."

Everyone turned to look at Pietro.

"I mean," he continued, not noticing their stares, "I’d totally enter if I could, just to see what happens. But also, I wouldn’t, because I like not dying. But you two—" He pointed at Fred and George. "—you live for this kind of chaos. So obviously, you have to try."

Regulus smirked. "See? Even Pietro gets it."

Harry shook his head, hiding a smile. "You do realize Dumbledore is going to see right through you, right? I mean he's not that oblivious."

Fred waved him off. "Details, mate. That’s a problem for future Fred and George."

"Yeah," George agreed. "And future us is way smarter than present us."

Hermione huffed. "You hope they are."

Regulus just grinned. "Either way, it’ll be fun to watch."

The fourth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs sat attentively in Professor McGonagall’s classroom, their textbooks open to Intermediate Transfiguration. The professor stood at the front, her sharp gaze sweeping across the students.

“Today, we will focus on Inanimate-to-Animate Transfiguration,” she announced. “Turning objects into living creatures is complex but essential. The spell requires concentration, visualization, and precise wand movements.”

She flicked her wand at the chalkboard, where instructions appeared:

Objective: Transform a goblet into a mouse

Incantation: Vivofigura

“You must not only succeed in the transformation but ensure the creature behaves naturally. A transfigured mouse that remains stiff or unresponsive is not a complete success,” McGonagall warned.

With a wave of her wand, goblets appeared on each student's desk.

Harry grinned at Hermione. “Race you?”

Hermione smirked. “You’re on.”

McGonagall stepped back. “Begin.”

Harry immediately focused, visualizing the goblet morphing into a living, breathing mouse. He flicked his wand. “Vivofigura!”

At the exact same moment, Hermione cast her spell.

Blue light shimmered over both of their goblets. Within seconds, two perfectly formed mice twitched their noses and scurried about, their tiny feet pattering on the desks.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Potter, Miss Granger—well done. Five points to Gryffindor each.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged triumphant looks.

Meanwhile, Neville’s goblet quivered but only managed to sprout a tail. He sighed in frustration.

Blaise’s goblet turned into a mouse—but one with metallic ears and a distinct sheen. “Not bad,” he muttered, though the creature seemed unimpressed as it stared up at him with beady silver eyes.

Susan shrieked as her mouse bolted off the table. “Oh no—someone catch it!”

Blaise smirked. “I think Susan just won the escape attempt contest.”

McGonagall strode past, inspecting their work. “Miss Bones, ensure the creature recognizes you as its master before releasing the transformation.” She waved her wand, returning Susan’s mouse to its goblet form.

She turned to Neville and gave him an encouraging nod. “You’re improving, Mr. Longbottom. Keep practicing.”

McGonagall faced the class once more. “By next lesson, I expect competence from all of you. Dismissed.”

As they packed up, Neville sighed. “At least I didn’t set anything on fire.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s a win in my book.”

Blaise chuckled. “Next time, Potter, I’ll beat you.”

Harry grinned. “You can try.”

As they left the classroom, Hermione leaned toward him. “Tied or not, I still say I was faster.”

Harry laughed. “Sure, Hermione. Keep telling yourself that.”

The dungeon classroom was filled with the familiar, pungent scent of brewing potions. For most students, the sharp tang of crushed roots and the acrid burn of bubbling concoctions was simply an unpleasant part of Potions class. For Lyall, however, it was torture. His enhanced senses picked up every individual ingredient in the air, each one distinct and overwhelming. His nose wrinkled as he tried to fight through the assault, but his eyes watered, and his head throbbed from the sheer intensity of it.

Regulus, sitting beside him, glanced over and whispered, "Breathe through your mouth."

Lyall gave him a sharp look. "That doesn't help much when I can still taste it."

Across the table, Pietro was blissfully unaware of Lyall’s struggle, too busy running his mouth at a speed that made even the most patient students tense up.

“So, Professor Snape," Pietro began, dragging out the title in a way that immediately made Regulus sit up straighter, anticipating disaster. “I was wondering—well, not wondering, more like, curious, you know, like when you see a weird-looking plant, and you think, ‘huh, I wonder if that’s poisonous,’ but you don’t want to touch it because—well, actually, I would touch it, but that’s not the point—the point is, do you ever smile?”

Snape, who had been in the middle of writing instructions on the board, froze. Slowly, he turned, his black eyes narrowing to slits.

The class went dead silent. A few first years exchanged nervous glances, while Lyall, despite his discomfort, bit his lip hard to keep from laughing. Regulus, on the other hand, smirked behind his hand.

Snape’s voice was silk-smooth and dangerous. “Lupin, would you like to tell me why you feel the need to speak so much without saying anything of value?”

“Oh, it’s not need, really,” Pietro replied instantly, completely unfazed. “It’s more like—well, you know how people breathe automatically? It’s kind of like that, but with talking. I don’t really try to do it, it just happens.”

Several students clamped their hands over their mouths to stop their laughter. Lyall was visibly shaking, his shoulders trembling with the effort of holding back his amusement.

Snape’s expression was murderous. His gaze flicked to the bubbling cauldron in front of Pietro. “If you have time to waste on meaningless prattle, perhaps you’d rather recite the full list of properties of moonstone and its proper brewing techniques?”

Pietro blinked, then grinned. “Oh, sure! Moonstone is used in Draught of Peace, right? And it’s got stabilizing properties for emotional potions—kind of ironic, considering how moody you look all the time—"

Regulus buried his face in his sleeve, pretending to adjust his robe as he muffled his laughter. Lyall had to grip the edge of the desk to keep himself in check.

Snape’s hand twitched toward his wand before he took a deep, measured breath. “Enough.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it silenced the entire room. "Ten points from Ravenclaw."

Pietro blinked again. “Right. Got it. Moving on.”

Snape exhaled sharply through his nose before continuing the lesson, but Regulus could swear he saw his grip on his quill tighten with barely restrained fury.

As the lesson continued, Lyall leaned over to Regulus and whispered, “You think he’s ever going to get through a full class without driving Snape insane?”

Regulus smirked. “Doubt it. But I really hope not.”

A few hours later.

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of parchment and the scratch of quills on parchment. The dim candlelight flickered over rows of ancient books as Harry and Hermione sat in a secluded corner, their textbooks long forgotten.

Hermione's fingers gently curled around the front of Harry’s robes, pulling him closer as their lips met in a slow, deep kiss. Harry responded in kind, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. They had been sneaking moments like this when they could, a secret indulgence away from the chaos of the school.

Neither noticed the soft footsteps approaching until a quiet yet amused voice broke the moment.

“Oh no, my innocent eyes,” Regulus teased, grinning widely.

Harry and Hermione broke apart instantly, Hermione's face turning red as she quickly straightened her robes. Harry let out a slow breath before glancing at his younger brother with a raised brow.

“Regulus,” he said, his voice level but carrying a warning.

Next to him, Luna tilted her head, her dreamy expression unbothered. “I think it’s sweet,” she said, her large eyes flickering between them. “Though, if you want true privacy, you should consider the stacks near the Restricted Section. They’re rarely visited at this hour.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands, groaning softly. “Merlin, this is mortifying.”

Regulus crossed his arms, still smirking. “Oh, don’t stop on our account. I just wanted to make sure Harry was still alive, considering how long you two have been missing.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head but unable to stop the small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Absolutely,” Regulus admitted. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Mum and Dad—”

“Regulus!”

He laughed, dodging as Hermione swatted at him, before he and Luna strolled off, leaving Harry and Hermione sitting in embarrassed silence.

After a moment, Hermione peeked at Harry through her fingers. “That could have gone worse.”

Harry chuckled, leaning closer again. “We should probably be more careful.”

Hermione huffed but smiled. “Or find the spot Luna suggested.”

They exchanged a look before bursting into quiet laughter, the moment between them rekindling as they leaned in once more, this time listening carefully for approaching footsteps.

The Gryffindor common room was quieter now, most students off chatting in their own groups or finishing up their assignments. Harry and Regulus sat on one of the plush couches near the fireplace, the enchanted two-way mirror propped up between them on the table. The surface shimmered for a moment before Sirius and Natasha’s faces came into view.

“Regulus!” Sirius grinned, his face lighting up the way it always did when he saw his son. “How was the first day?”

Regulus crossed his arms, smirking. “Survived.”

Sirius chuckled. “That’s my boy.”

Natasha, however, had that look—sharp, observant, already reading between the lines. “Regulus.” Her voice was calm but firm. “Tell me everything.”

Regulus shifted slightly before sighing. “It was fine. Most of the classes were okay. Except for Potions.”

Sirius’ smile faded instantly. “Snape,” he muttered darkly. “What did he do?”

Harry leaned forward. “He wasn’t as bad as he could have been, but he definitely had something to say the second he saw Regulus, Lyall, and Pietro.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he got that look—y’know, the one where he wants to insult me but then remembers he can’t because of certain people in the castle.”

Natasha arched a brow. “Wanda.”

Regulus nodded. “Exactly. You could tell it was killing him inside.”

Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms. “Still, the greasy bat just can’t help himself, can he? What’d he do?”

Regulus shrugged. “Nothing major—just made a snide comment about some of us not having the ‘capacity’ to grasp potions.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The feed on their end shook slightly, and Harry could hear the sound of something being set down.

“Mom?” Regulus asked.

The feed adjusted again, and this time, they could see Natasha sitting at the kitchen table, casually cleaning her gun. The silencer was already attached.

Harry smirked, leaning toward the mirror. “Is that for Snape?”

Natasha didn’t even blink. “I just like to be prepared.”

Regulus grinned. “He really doesn’t like me, Mom. You might need more than one bullet.”

Sirius laughed, ruffling his son’s hair through the mirror. “Atta boy. We’ll keep an eye on Snape. If he steps out of line—”

“He won’t,” Natasha interrupted, snapping a bullet into the magazine with a satisfying click. “Because he’ll know exactly what happens if he does.”

Regulus smirked, leaning back against the couch. “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

Natasha sighed, but there was a softness in her expression as she glanced at both her boys. “You better be.”

Harry grinned at his brother before looking back at their parents. “We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

Sirius nodded. “You do that. And, Regulus?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was a pleased smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Dad.”

The mirror call ended, and Harry leaned back, nudging his little brother. “You know she’s definitely going to send Snape a ‘friendly’ message, right?”

Regulus smirked. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” 

The flickering torches cast long shadows down the quiet corridor of Hogwarts' seventh floor. Stephen Strange walked with measured steps, his Cloak of Levitation billowing slightly behind him. Wong followed at his side, his expression skeptical as he surveyed the seemingly ordinary stretch of wall.

Dobby trotted ahead, ears twitching excitedly. “Dobby is certain, sir! The Room of Requirement is here! It is the most secret place in Hogwarts, yes!”

Strange nodded. “If it's truly what the legends say, then it should appear when we need it.”

Wong folded his arms. “Convenient. But if it was easy to find, the Ministry would have used it long ago.”

Dobby shook his head vigorously. “Oh no, no! The Room hides itself unless called the right way. It only opens for those who truly need it.”

Strange considered this, then stepped forward. He focused his mind, picturing what he needed. A hidden room… A place that could hold a secret for decades… A place where Voldemort might have hidden a piece of his soul.

He paced back and forth three times.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, stone shifted, and an ornate door materialized in the wall.

Wong raised an eyebrow. “Well. That’s something.”

Strange placed a hand on the handle, glancing at Dobby. “You’re sure no one else knows what’s inside?”

Dobby nodded eagerly. “Oh yes! But Dobby hears whispers, yes. Some students find the room for hiding things. Some for practicing duels. The Room changes, sir!”

Strange exchanged a look with Wong before pushing the door open.

Inside, they stepped into a vast, cavernous space, unlike anything Strange had seen before. Towers of forgotten objects stretched to the ceiling—books, furniture, broken artifacts. The air was thick with dust, carrying a sense of ancient secrecy.

Wong exhaled. “A junkyard.”

Doby fidgeted. “A room of hidden things, sir.”

Strange’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the cluttered space. His fingers twitched, and golden sparks flickered at his hands. He could feel something. Something dark.

“Voldemort was here.”

Wong stepped forward, his expression grim. “Then let’s find what he left behind.”

 The classroom hummed with energy as students filled the seats, excitement buzzing in the air. Remus Lupin stood at the front of the classroom, his usual warm smile softened by the seriousness of the lesson ahead. It was the start of a new term, and the students were eager to see how the lessons would unfold, especially with Lyall and Pietro in the mix. The twins had grown up fast, and their arrival at Hogwarts had already caused a stir, but now, they were here, learning alongside their peers.

Pietro, as always, was quick to engage. He sat on the edge of his seat, eyes sharp, hands restless as he waited for the first question. His energy was palpable—he was the kind of student who was always ready to jump in with answers, even if it meant talking over others. His gaze flickered toward his dad, a silent challenge in his eyes. Remus raised an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly accustomed to his son’s eagerness.

"Alright, class," Remus began, his voice warm but authoritative. "Today, we're going to be discussing defensive spells. Can anyone tell me the difference between a Shield Charm and a Protego Maxima?"

The room went silent as everyone scrambled to think of the answer. Lyall shifted in his seat, trying to focus, but his brother’s hand shot up in the air. Remus gave Pietro a look, and without waiting for further prompt, he nodded toward him.

"The Shield Charm is a basic spell, used to create a barrier against minor spells or physical attacks," Pietro blurted out, his words tumbling out at the speed of thought. "Protego Maxima, though, is a much stronger shield, designed to protect larger areas, and it's much more difficult to break through."

Remus gave a small smile. "Correct, Pietro," he said, but his eyes softened as he noticed Lyall, who had shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his senses clearly overwhelmed by the speed and intensity of his brother’s answer. "Pietro, that's excellent, but maybe... let’s give others a chance, alright?"

Pietro, still buzzing with energy, was about to shoot another answer when Lyall, his normally calm demeanor now showing the strain of the situation, quietly but firmly placed a hand on his brother’s arm.

“Pietro,” Lyall whispered, his voice low but full of authority. “Dad said let others answer too.”

Pietro looked at his brother, a little confused but seeing the intensity in his eyes. He nodded begrudgingly, dropping his hand back to his lap, though his eyes still twinkled with the need to jump in.

Lyall looked at Remus with a slight nod of acknowledgment. His senses were already tingling, feeling every word, every shift in the room, and the strong smell of parchment and ink that seemed to envelop the air. It was starting to become too much for him. Even the slightest disruption, like Pietro’s excitement, made his heightened senses flare in discomfort.

“I can’t concentrate with you jumping in every time,” Lyall muttered to his brother.

“I’m sorry, Lyall,” Pietro replied, though he looked a bit disappointed. He wasn’t used to holding back, but his brother’s frustration was clear in his eyes, so he sat quietly, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

Remus, seeing the silent exchange, nodded toward Lyall. “You okay, son?” he asked quietly.

Lyall forced a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, just... it’s a lot. The smells, the sounds... it’s overwhelming in here.”

Remus’ eyes softened with understanding. He knew that Lyall’s heightened senses were both a gift and a curse. It had been an adjustment, but they were learning. The room was full of stimuli, and for someone with Lyall’s abilities, it wasn’t always easy to block out the noise.

“Do you want to step out for a moment?” Remus asked gently, already standing up to walk toward his son.

“No, I’m fine,” Lyall replied quickly, his voice firm, though his hand was trembling slightly. He didn’t want to leave class, especially when Pietro was trying to focus on his own.

Remus nodded, a quiet but understanding look on his face. “Alright, we’ll work through it. Just let me know if you need anything.”

The class continued, with Lyall gradually regaining his focus, and Pietro, after a few more moments of bouncing in his seat, settled down as well. It wasn’t easy for them, but Remus had a way of knowing exactly how to guide them, even in the middle of a lesson.

As the class continued, with a few more students raising their hands to answer Remus’ questions, Lyall and Pietro remained engaged, though their dynamic had shifted slightly. The bond between them was strong, even when it was tested by their individual needs and abilities.

After a while, the lesson turned toward actual practical demonstrations. Lyall took a deep breath, steadying his senses, while Pietro remained, as always, ready to spring into action.

“Alright, let’s begin the demonstration of the Shield Charm,” Remus announced. “Who wants to give it a try?”

Pietro’s hand shot up immediately, and this time, Lyall allowed him to go first, though his gaze remained vigilant, always looking out for his brother, even as he tried to focus on the lesson. It was moments like these—moments of connection and understanding—that made all the struggles worth it.

The hidden alcove deep in the castle felt like a forgotten relic of the past. Dust clung to the wooden walls, and the candlelight flickered over the worn carvings of Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail.

Harry traced his fingers over the names, his expression unreadable.

Regulus grinned beside him. “Told you this place was worth finding.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. You did.”

Hermione, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you show us this place before?We’ve been your friends for years.”

Harry exhaled, then glanced at Regulus. “Because I was waiting for my brother to join.”

Regulus blinked in surprise, then grinned. “Well, I’m here now. So what’s next?”

Neville stepped forward, studying the old carvings. “We add our own names, don’t we?”

Regulus nodded. “Obviously. We’re the next Marauders.”

Lyall stepped up first, smirking. Without hesitation—his bone claws slid from his knuckles, gleaming in the dim light.

Pietro yelped and jumped back. “A little warning next time, maybe? I dont heal like you.”

Lyall just smirked, retracting his claws. “I’m Wolverine.” He carved the name into the wood.

Pietro bounced on his feet. “I was thinking Quicksilver to honor my namesake, but I’m not fast—I talk fast—which is different, but I also use magic, and Wiccan fits more, so—”

Susan groaned. “Just carve it already.”

Pietro grinned and scratched Wiccan into the wood.

Susan tapped her chin. “I want something strong… something with power. Tempest.” She added her name without hesitation.

Blaise smirked. “I like Phantom. Always one step ahead.”

Neville took his time before etching Aegis into the wood.

Hermione ran her fingers over the old carvings before settling on Sentinel.

That left only Harry.

Regulus crossed his arms, grinning. “And now for you.” After he carved Volkov into the wall. Marauder Jr was just something to throw others off. Volkov was Russian for wolf so it fit him animagus and his mom's side.

Harry frowned. “I already know what I’m picking—”

“Actually,” Lyall interrupted, “we already picked for you.”

Harry scowled. “What?”

Susan smirked. “It was unanimous.”

Regulus leaned against the wall, enjoying himself. “You, dear brother, are the Scarlet Wizard.”

Harry groaned. “You cannot be serious.”

Pietro nudged Lyall. “Told you he’d hate it.”

Harry glanced at Hermione for support, but she only shrugged. “It does fit.”

Harry exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But only because I don’t feel like fighting all of you over it.”

Grumbling under his breath, he carved Scarlet Wizard into the wood.

Regulus clapped him on the back. “Perfect.”

Lyall grinned. “Now we really carry on the Marauders’ legacy.”

As they all stepped back to admire their work, Harry's gaze fell on the name at the bottom of the old list—Wormtail.

His jaw tightened.

A faint hum of red energy flickered at his fingertips, and with a casual wave of his hand, the name burned away, erased from history as if it had never been there.

Nobody noticed the dark edge in his eyes as they turned to leave.

The hallways of Hogwarts were never truly quiet, even after hours. Tonight was no exception. The excitement from the Triwizard Tournament’s shocking turn of events still lingered in the air, whispered in every corner. But Regulus Black had other things on his mind—like the fact that Snape was currently holding his wand hostage.

All he did was test out a spell movement. Not even cast it yet.

"You think just because you're Sirius Black's brat, you can do as you please?" Snape sneered, holding Regulus’ wand between his fingers. "I should confiscate this until you learn some respect."

Regulus, who had inherited far too much of his mother’s attitude and his father’s boldness, crossed his arms. "You can try, but you might regret it."

Before Snape could retort, the wand pulsed in his grip. His sneer faltered as his hand twitched involuntarily. Then, without warning, he took a step back, raised his arms, and began to... sing.

"OH, WE GOT TROUBLE! RIGHT HERE IN HOGWARTS!"

Regulus blinked. The few passing students stopped in their tracks, jaws dropping as Severus Snape, Potions Master and notorious dungeon bat, was suddenly belting out show tunes. His feet moved against his will, forcing him into an awkward, jerky step that almost resembled choreography.

"WITH A CAPITAL 'T' AND THAT RHYMES WITH 'B' AND THAT STANDS FOR BLACK—"

Snape's expression was horrified, his body betraying him with exaggerated arm movements. His robes flared as he stumbled through a half-spin, his voice unwillingly maintaining perfect pitch.

Regulus grinned. "Huh. Guess that confirms it."

Peitro and Lyall, who had just turned the corner, stopped in their tracks. Lyall's sensitive ears twitched. "Is Snape... singing?"

Peitro grinned. "Oh, I love that wand."

Snape, meanwhile, was seething as he twirled against his will, his voice carrying down the hall.

"NOW, FRIENDS, LET ME TELL YOU WHAT I MEAN—"

"That's enough!" A firm, familiar voice cut through the chaos.

Remus Lupin appeared, his robes slightly disheveled from clearly hurrying over. He took one look at the scene—Snape dancing like a fool, Regulus barely containing laughter, and a small gathering of stunned onlookers—before sighing heavily.

Snape, finally able to break free as his fingers loosened on the wand, all but threw it back at Regulus, who caught it smoothly. The music stopped. Snape took a deep, shuddering breath, his hands curling into fists.

"You—!" he growled.

Remus stepped between them before Snape could fully explode. "Severus," he said in a tone that brokered no argument, "walk away."

Snape's nostrils flared. His usual anger, usually cold and biting, was now dangerously unhinged. But Remus didn’t waver. There was a steel in his gaze that made even Snape hesitate.

After a long, furious silence, Snape’s robes billowed dramatically as he turned on his heel and stormed off, muttering curses under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Regulus let out a low whistle. "Wow. That went even better than I hoped."

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Regulus, what did you do?"

Regulus grinned, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Nothing. The wand just doesn’t like being stolen. And apparently, it has impeccable taste in musicals."

Peitro was howling with laughter. Lyall snickered, shaking his head.

Remus gave a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his temples. "Your parents are going to love this one."

Regulus beamed. "Oh, I know."

Loki, disguised as Cornelius Fudge, sat at the cluttered desk in Fudge’s office, fingers drumming lightly on the surface as his thoughts spun in a chaotic frenzy. The fireplace crackled quietly, but the room itself felt thick with tension. The papers in front of him were all routine matters—correspondence from other countries, reports on magical creatures, and the latest Ministry scandals—but Loki’s mind was elsewhere.

He was supposed to be Fudge, the bumbling, incompetent Minister of Magic, and yet, the charade wore on him. Beneath his carefully crafted persona, his true thoughts churned like a storm. His heart raced with the knowledge that his deception had not gone unnoticed—Thanos was out there. Somewhere.

The Titan was relentless, a force of nature, and Loki's thoughts turned dark as he remembered the days he spent in fear, running, hiding, constantly aware of the looming presence of the Mad Titan. He'd failed once—he wouldn't fail again.

He leaned back in Fudge's creaky chair, his mind drifting to the most secure place he could think of: Wakanda.

It was there, in the depths of the African kingdom, that the Mind Stone lay, a powerful artifact Tony Stark had delivered to the Wakandan king for safekeeping. It had taken a lot of effort, a lot of careful manipulation, but Loki had learned about its location through a variety of secret channels. The stone was a precious commodity—one that could secure his safety if Thanos ever found him.

The problem was getting there. Wakanda was a fortress, both literally and figuratively. Loki had seen firsthand the level of protection the country had put in place, but he also knew that if he was going to survive, he had to find a way to get his hands on it. The Mind Stone could give him leverage, could give him an edge against Thanos—if he could offer it as a bargaining chip.

“Do not be a fool,” Loki muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders and sitting up straighter. “You will find a way.”

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and his eyes flicked up. A secretary peeked her head in, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of the Minister, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “Minister Fudge? There’s a report that needs your signature, sir.”

Loki’s mouth twitched into a mock smile. “Yes, yes, send it in,” he said, shifting his demeanor back into the pompous role of Fudge, the bumbling, self-important fool that everyone expected.

As the door shut, Loki’s thoughts once again turned to the task at hand. The Mind Stone was the key, and getting to Wakanda wasn’t going to be easy. He needed to find a way to get close to the royal family, a way to get into the inner circle. But more importantly, he needed to do it before Thanos caught wind of his movements.

His eyes narrowed as he mentally mapped out his plan, his fingers gently tapping against the desk. He wasn’t sure how he would get to Wakanda, but he would—he had to. Time was running out.

In the meantime, he’d keep playing the role of Fudge. He'd fool them all, bide his time, and when the moment came... the Mind Stone would be his ticket to survival.

In the dungeons, the students of the fourth year sat in their seats in the dimly lit potions classroom. The air was thick with the smell of brewing potions, the bubbling cauldrons sending little puffs of steam into the air. Snape, ever the brooding figure, paced in front of the class, his robes swishing behind him. Harry, Hermione, Neville, Blaise, and Susan sat together near the front, waiting for the class to begin.

"Today, we will be brewing a more complex potion," Snape's voice sliced through the silence, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the students. "But before we begin, Mr. Potter," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "might I ask why you insist on wearing a glove at all times? What is it you're hiding?"

Harry looked up from his notes, his expression unreadable. He knew where this was going. Snape had always taken particular interest in him, always trying to get a reaction. Harry had learned to keep his cool, and now, with his fingers hidden under the glove to conceal the damage from the Darkhold, it was all the more important to remain calm.

"Ah, Professor," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow, "I didn't realize my fashion choices were such a source of academic curiosity. Should I start offering you fashion tips as well?"

There was a collective intake of breath from the class, a mix of nervous giggles and surprise. Snape's lip curled into a sneer, but Harry held his ground. He wasn't about to let Snape rattle him, especially when it came to something that important.

"You think you're clever, Potter," Snape said with an icy glare. "But you aren't fooling anyone. What exactly are you hiding under that glove?"

Harry smirked. "Maybe it's a secret weapon, Professor. You know, just in case we need to fight a basilisk or a Hungarian Horntail in class."

A few students chuckled at Harry's cheek, and even Snape's eyes flickered, as though he was trying to decide if Harry was being serious or mocking him. He took a step closer to Harry's desk, his gaze hardening.

"Enough with the jokes, Potter. If you're hiding something, I suggest you reveal it now, before it becomes a problem."

Harry leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the edge of the desk. He met Snape's gaze head-on. "You really want to know, Professor?" he asked, his voice low but steady. "You're not going to like it."

Snape's lips tightened, and he crossed his arms. "I am your professor, Potter. You will tell me—"

Harry cut him off, his smile widening. "I'm hiding a secret so dangerous, it might just turn you into a frog, Professor. So, I thought it best to keep it covered."

The class went silent, and Snape's eyes flickered with annoyance. He opened his mouth, about to retort, but then the bell rang, signaling the start of the lesson. Harry quickly turned his attention to the cauldron, not willing to waste any more energy on the Potions Master. Snape glared at him for a moment longer before walking to the front of the room, clearly deciding to let the matter go—for now.

"Very well, Potter," Snape said, his tone sharp. "We will see if your potion skills are as impressive as your witticisms. Everyone, begin brewing your potions."

As the students busied themselves with their work, Hermione leaned over to Harry and whispered, "You handled that well."

Harry grinned. "Better than I expected. But I know I’ll be hearing about it later. Snape never lets anything go."

Blaise, who had been silently watching the exchange, raised an eyebrow. "I don't think Snape ever likes it when you stand up to him like that. It's probably driving him crazy."

Neville chuckled nervously. "I’m just glad I’m not in your shoes, Harry."

Harry winked at his friends. "Don’t worry, Neville. I’ve had worse. Trust me, this is nothing compared to what’s coming."

As the class continued, Snape’s eyes occasionally darted to Harry, clearly still fuming about the interaction. But Harry kept his head down, focusing on his potion. The last thing he needed was Snape to make this worse, especially with everything going on around the tournament and the shadow of the Darkhold hanging over him.

Little did he know, the chaos that was about to unfold in the coming days would make the tension in Snape’s classroom feel like a distant memory.

The atmosphere in the Hogwarts staff room was unusually energetic as the captains of all four Hogwarts Quidditch teams gathered. The Triwizard Tournament had thrown a wrench into their usual schedules, but they were determined to make it work. At the center of it all were Sirius and Remus, who had taken it upon themselves to ensure Quidditch didn’t get sidelined.

Sirius leaned against the large oak table, arms crossed, a familiar mischievous smirk on his face. “Alright, listen up, you lot. I know the Triwizard Tournament is the main event this year, but that doesn’t mean Quidditch is taking a backseat. We’re gonna make sure you all get your matches and practices in without stepping on any tournament events.”

Angelina Johnson, the new Gryffindor captain, nodded. “That’s great, but it’s going to be tough. We usually have the pitch booked solid. Now, with the tournament, it’ll be even harder.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Remus said smoothly, rolling out a parchment filled with potential schedules. “We’ve been working on an alternative timetable, shuffling things around so that every team gets equal access to the field.”

Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw captain, peered over his shoulder. “That… actually looks fair.”

Terence Higgs, standing in for Slytherin while Marcus Flint was out, studied the parchment. “Not bad,” he admitted. “But what happens if a task lands on a match day?”

Sirius grinned. “Then we adapt. You lot are supposed to be brilliant strategists, aren’t you?”

“Plus,” Remus added, “we’ll make sure no one gets left behind. If a match has to be rescheduled, the team affected gets first priority on the pitch for extra practice time.”

“Well,” Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff’s captain, said with a grin, “as long as we don’t end up having to play in the middle of a tournament task, I think we can work with this.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit! Now, captains, take these copies back to your teams, finalize your own internal practice schedules, and let us know if anything needs adjusting.”

As the students took their copies and left, Sirius slung an arm over Remus’ shoulder. “Look at us, Moony. Keeping Quidditch alive in the middle of an international tournament. James would be proud.”

Remus chuckled. “That, or he’d be furious he’s not here to complain about the schedule himself.”

Both men shared a laugh, knowing that, at least for now, Hogwarts’ Quidditch legacy was in good hands.

The autumn air carried the excited chatter of first-years as they gathered on the Hogwarts grounds for their first flying lesson. Regulus Black stood among them, his broomstick in hand, eyes gleaming with confidence. Unlike most of the other students, he wasn’t nervous—he had been trained by Harry, who had practically drilled flying into him at home.

Madam Hooch strode up, her sharp yellow eyes sweeping over the gathered students. "Alright! Place your hands over your broom and say 'Up!'"

A chorus of voices echoed as the first-years tried to summon their brooms. Some brooms shot up eagerly, others wobbled, and many simply rolled over on the grass.

Regulus' broom shot straight into his hand. He smirked and cast a glance at Peitro, who was eyeing his broom with a bored expression. Lyall nudged him.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lyall muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just float up there with your magic.”

Peitro huffed but obeyed, muttering, “It’d be way easier.”

After a few minutes of practice, Madam Hooch finally allowed them to kick off the ground. Regulus shot into the air with a natural ease that turned heads. He looped around the other students effortlessly, diving and twisting with a control that left even some second-years watching from a distance in awe.

“Show-off,” Peitro muttered, though he was grinning.

One of the Slytherin first-years, a boy named Derrick Rosier, scowled. “Think you’re so great, Black?” he called out, his own broom wobbling beneath him.

Regulus smirked. “I don’t think—I know.”

Madam Hooch, who had been watching closely, clapped her hands. “Excellent control, Mr. Black! You’ve clearly had lessons before.”

Regulus gave a casual shrug, though he couldn’t hide the pride in his expression.

As the lesson continued, Peitro grumbled under his breath. “If I had my way, I’d just—”

“Keep it quiet,” Lyall warned again, his eyes sharp. “We’re supposed to blend in.”

Peitro sighed but listened, gripping his broom begrudgingly. Meanwhile, Regulus landed smoothly back on the ground, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeve. He sent a cocky grin toward Harry, who was watching from a distance with the other older students.

Harry simply shook his head in amusement. “Guess my little brother really is a natural.”

The next night Harry had a special spot of the castle alight with the flickering glow of magical spells as Hermione and Luna stood side by side, wands raised, facing off against Neville and Blaise. The four had decided on a friendly duel to sharpen their skills, and while Neville had his trusty axe strapped to his back, he knew better than to rely on it in a pure magical duel.

“Ready?” Hermione asked, eyes sharp and focused. Luna, standing beside her with a dreamy smile, simply nodded.

Neville tightened his grip on his wand. “As we’ll ever be.”

“Begin!” Harry called from the side, watching with Regulus and the twins.

Blaise struck first, sending a quick Stupefy toward Hermione, but she was faster. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a shimmering golden shield, deflecting the spell with ease. At the same moment, Luna twirled her wand and sent a flurry of silver birds zipping through the air toward Neville.

Neville spun out of the way, barely managing to shield himself from Hermione’s well-placed Expelliarmus. Blaise countered by sending a series of vines sprouting from the floor, attempting to entangle Hermione’s legs. She leaped back and, with a cutting charm, sliced them away.

“She’s scary,” Regulus muttered.

“She’s amazing,” Harry corrected with a smirk.

Meanwhile, Luna was weaving through Neville’s spells effortlessly, sidestepping like she was dancing through a dream. With a sudden flick, she sent a disorienting mist toward him, and before he could react, Hermione struck with a powerful disarming spell.

Neville’s wand flew from his hand, and a moment later, Luna hit Blaise with a body-binding jinx, freezing him in place.

There was a stunned silence before Harry chuckled. “Well, that was quick.”

Neville sighed but grinned. “Alright, alright, you got us.”

Blaise, still frozen, glared at Harry as if blaming him for not intervening. Hermione smirked, flicking her wand to release him. “That was fun.”

Luna nodded, looking pleased. “Good match, boys.”

Lyall and Pietro high-fived in the background, impressed by their teamwork. Regulus leaned in toward Harry and whispered, “We are so never getting on their bad side.”

Harry just grinned. “Too late for that, mate.”

Barty Crouch Jr. moved carefully through the dimly lit halls of Hogwarts, disguised under the guise of his father. Every step was calculated, every movement deliberate. He had spent years preparing for this—waiting, biding his time in the shadows while Lord Voldemort gathered strength once more. And now, the moment was here.

Strange had proven to be an unexpected obstacle. His presence in Britain, his interference in Voldemort’s old networks, and his relentless pursuit of dark magic had made orchestrating this plan significantly more difficult. But Crouch had learned patience. 

It had taken weeks to arrange the distraction. An outbreak of cursed artifacts along the Scottish coast—subtle, but potent enough to demand Strange's attention. A few well-placed leaks ensured the Ministry would call upon him. Wong, too, would be drawn away, forced to assist with the magical cleanup. With those two gone, the greatest threats to their plan were temporarily neutralized.

Now, in the dead of night, Crouch stood before the Goblet of Fire, its blue flames flickering ominously in the darkened chamber. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the slip of parchment bearing Harry Potter’s name. His lips curled into a smirk.

This was it.

With a whisper of an incantation and a careful hand, he slipped the name into the Goblet. The flames roared briefly in response, consuming the paper and sealing Harry’s fate. Crouch stepped back, his heartbeat steady, his mind already moving ahead to the next phase of the plan.

By the time Strange and the others realized what had happened, it would be too late.