Stardust and Secrets - francisthefairyqueen - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: The Witch Called Black

Chapter Text

The Witch Called Black.

FRANK BRYCE

Little Hangleton, 1994.

There’s a knock at the door.

Frank Bryce stared at the door with suspicion. No one knocked on his door anymore, not since he’d punched that young lad in the face after he’d asked him if he’d murdered the Riddles a few years prior. Ever since then, no one had bothered him. He supposed that the townsfolk had finally taken the hint. Until now apparently.

Thinking he was imagining things, he goes back to his book - a wonderful read about the UK's unsolved murders of the 20th century. Another knock on the door rings out. Someone actually wanted to speak to him?

“Who is it?” He asked, grabbing his walking stick. On his way to the door, he decides that if it was one of those kids on the other side, he was hitting them, damn the consequences. They really should know better by now. Opening the door, he's greeted to a surprising sight. It isn’t one of the kids on the other side of the door. It isn’t even a reporter wanting to re-open the long-cold case of the Riddles. Instead, it’s a young woman who he was almost certain he'd never met before.

“Hello!” She greets, a polite smile on her lips. “I just knocked to ask for directions, but then it started hammering down – may I come in?”

Surprised, he stared at her. Slowly, he steps aside, granting her request. She steps through, pausing to thank him. The woman was wearing a formal black dress, as though she was attending a funeral. The problem was that his house was nowhere near the local church. Her accent was posh too – she was clearly raised in somewhere down south. Most likely London. Another oddity was that despite the torrential rain, she was barely even wet.

“Tea?” He offers once the silence stretched on too long.

“Yes please. Thank you, that's awfully kind of you, Mr...?”

“Bryce. And you are?” He focuses on his task at hand, biting back a curse when the hot water from the kettle spilt all over the kitchen counter. Not for the first time he found himself cursing his older age. He missed the days where he could pour out a cup of tea without having to worry about his f*cking hand shaking.

“Miss Smith. Would you like any help with that Mr Bryce?”

“No, I’m alright.” Eventually, he manages to pour the damn tea, and hands it over. She drinks it quickly, seemingly not caring that the water had only just finished boiling. “Where are you headed?”

“Pardon?” She tilts her head, confused.

“Where did you want directions to?” Young woman or not, if she asked for directions to the Riddle Manor, he was kicking her out. The new tenants barely lived there, but they'd still ordered him to keep an eye on the property, and he'd prefer to not lose his job. Not when no one else in Little Hangleton would employ him.

“Ah, yes! Do you know where the Gaunt Shack is?”

Of all the places in Little Hangleton that she could ask for directions for, this was not what he expected. He stared at her. “The Gaunt Shack? What do you want with that rubble?”

“I’m a historian.” She explains. “And I’m writing a book on modern local folk stories. I’ve visited quite a few towns at this point, and one of the locals I spoke to in Little Hangleton mentioned the Gaunt Shack, so I wanted to see it for myself before I wrote about it. He couldn’t give me any directions though and I was wandering around the town when the rain hit. I saw that the light in your house was on and figured it didn't hurt to ask you instead.”

That sounded plausible enough. He points over to the woods. “It’s just outside of the village. Right by the woods over there. Do be careful though, with how old that house is, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were rats and all sorts inside.”

She nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for the directions.” She places the teacup, now empty, down. Reaching into her purse, she places a tin onto the table. “And thank you for the tea. I don't have much on me in exchange, but please take this salve - it's supposed to be extremely helpful to those with arthritis. Now I really must be going.”

“You can take an umbrella if you’d like.” He says, motioning to the one by the door. It was the only one he had, but the woman was going to need some sort of protection from the rain. Dimly, he wondered how she'd known it was arthritis he suffered with. Perhaps she was familiar with the condition? It wasn't exactly as if arthritis was uncommon.

The woman beams at him. “I will take you up on that offer Mr Bryce, thank you! I’ll return it shortly.”

With that, she picks up the umbrella and opens it with ease. She gives a wave before she departs into the night air.

Opening the tin, he rubs some of the salve onto his knee, curious to see if it would help. To his surprise, the pain goes instantly. Because of the joint still being swollen, he still needed his cane to move about, but that didn't matter. For the first time in a long while, his mind was clear. He could think clearly without the pain to distract him, which hadn't happened for about a decade. Just what on earth was in that salve? More importantly, where could he order another tin?

--

An hour later Miss Smith returns, sporting a pair of blue gloves she didn't have on before. With a grateful smile, she extended the old umbrella toward him, the raindrops glistening on its surface.

"Thank you for your kindness, Mr Bryce."

"Just what was in that salve?" He all but demanded.

Her eyes light up. "Oh? I imagine it was helpful?"

"More than helpful." He admits. "I can't feel any pain at all. Just what was in that thing? Magic?"

Her smile grew amused, as if he'd just told her a funny joke. "Something like that. Now, I really must be going. Goodbye Frank Bryce."

Without waiting for a response, she turned gracefully on her heel and began to walk away. As she moved, the rain seemed to part around her, as though reluctant to touch her. Frank finds himself staring at her retreating figure, wondering how the hell she knew his first name.

A flash of lightning nearby almost blinds him, and he blinks away the spots in his vision to find the woman, and her footprints, gone.

It was like she was never there.

A letter from Orion Black to Lucretia Prewett, dated 11th November 1971

Lucy,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been much too long since we’ve written to each other. I am overjoyed to announce the arrival of our newest addition to the family, Cassiopeia Elladora Black. She was born during the early hours of yesterday morning, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Walburga is especially pleased that she isn’t the only woman in the house anymore. I do apologise profusely for not naming her after you, but you know how Walburga is – she'd already chosen out young Cassiopeia’s name several months prior, and I couldn’t sway her decision.

The birth, I’m sure that you’d like to hear, was a fairly quick one. Walburga says that it wasn’t nearly as difficult as Regulus’. After the birth though, the most interesting incidenthappened. Cassiopeia performed her first bout of accidental magic, despite only being a few hours old. I think it’s the quickest confirmation House Black had ever had of one of the family’s magical abilities. She isn’t even two days old, but I already think she is going to be a remarkable child.

Her brothers are enamoured with her too. Sirius was graciously granted a temporary leave from Hogwarts so that he may come and meet his sister properly. Their enthusiasm is contagious, and I cannot wait for you to witness the bond that is forming between them.

On that note, Lucy, I find myself longing for your presence here at Grimmauld Place. It has been far too long since I’ve seen my older sister in the flesh. Would it be possible for you to visit us soon? I know you have always harboured a desire for a niece, and I’m sure both Sirius and Regulus have missed their Aunt Lucretia dearly. Of course, Ignatius is invited also. His company would be most welcome, and I can think of no better time for a family reunion.

Missing you dearly,

Orion

CASSIOPEIA BLACK

Peia had to admit that she found some comfort at the fact that Gringotts never changed. It’d been the same since she was a kid, and she imagined that it’d still be the same when she was long gone. Here, she was just another witch who had some money to collect from her vault. So long as she had her key, the goblins didn’t care who she was. Or what she had with her.

Here, she had some level of anonymity - something that she couldn't help but crave after spending so much of her life in the limelight.

She joins the queue of wizards at the front desk, and when it's her turn, she gives a polite smile to the goblin clerk. He doesn't look up from his paperwork.

"I'd like to access my vault please." She says. "Here is the key."

Taking it out of her purse, she hands the key over. Like most things in the Wizarding World, her Vault Key was needlessly fancy. There was even a black onyx displayed in the centre. Supposedly the jewel contained a charm on it that tethered the object to its rightful owner. At least, that was what her grandfather had said.

The goblin's hand glows blue for a moment, most likely running a diagnostic charm.

"If you could wait on one of the seats in the corner Miss Black," the goblin says, handing the key back to her. "Ugnuk will be with you shortly."

"Thank you." She takes a seat on one of the lavish sofas, another needlessly fancy thing. One of those sofas could sell for thousands in the muggle world, and the money raised could go towards bettering the community, both magical and human worlds alike.

Perhaps she could steal one? She dismisses the idea as soon as she thinks it. Instead of getting banned from Gringotts, perhaps it made more sense to ask about how they were formed first? That felt like a good idea. Her wand - a fascinating little thing that seemed more in tune with her emotions than she was herself, sends out a few sparks, expressing its disappointment. It tended to do that whenever she chose the least extreme option.

The banker for House Black, Ugnuk, was out in front of her in less than five minutes. She was quite fond of him - he’d know her since she was a child, but had always treated her with the same respect he had for the Head of the house.

(Which was technically her now, being as Sirius had been blown off the family tree years ago and Regulus was far too dead.)

“Lady Black,” Ugnuk greets. “What is it that you wish to see me for?”

“I wish to access my vault.” She hands over the key. “I also have a question.”

Turning around, he walks away, motioning for her to join him. She makes sure to follow close behind - it was disrespectful for her to walk side by side with him. That was one of the first things that her grandfather had taught her when it came to goblins.

“What is your question?” He asks once they'd stepped into one of Gringotts' many narrow passageways.

“Would you happen to know if I would be able to access a vault of my cousin's?”

With a snap of his fingers, he materialises a list and reads through it.

“If you had a key, then that should be possible. You are listed as one of the approved wizards for two of your cousins' vaults. Which vault would you need to access?”

“The Lestrange Vault. Narcissa is feeling under the weather, so I've had to pay this month’s Azkaban fees out of my own pocket, and I wanted to if I could claim the money back?"

Another one of the lessons her grandfather gave her that she took to heart was that if she was going to lie to someone, she had to make sure she was giving a half-truth. In a way, she wasn't lying – Narcissa had been feeling ill as of late, so she’d had to pay for both the Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix's Azkaban charges. It was understandable that she’d want to claim the money back, especially as their charge cost 50 galleons each.

(It also helped that there was also a Horcrux in there that she needed to get her hands on. But Ugnuk didn't need to know that.)

"You could always fill out a transfer request form?" The goblin suggests. "I can summon the paperwork and get it sorted for you."

"Thank you Ugnuk, but I'd prefer to go and take the money out in person."

“That is understandable.” They get into a cart, and with a wave of his hand, it leaves the platform. It sped down the track, and Peia found herself grateful that her hair wasn't in one of the elaborate hairstyles she was meant to be wearing. It would have come undone with the force of the wind, and the Prophet would have accused her of doing something nefarious. Again.

Her family vault was an extremely ancient one. When Cantankerus Nott published the Sacred Twenty-Eight in 1933, most of the wizarding families listed paid to change their Vault number to feature the number 28 in them. House Black had successfully outbid the other great houses to become Vault 28, which meant that it was located in one of Gringotts' deepest sections.

Ugnuk uses his palm to open the vault, allowing Peia to step inside. Even though she’d been in the vault about a hundred times now, the sheer amount of wealth inside always blew her away. The amount of knuts in there alone could keep a wizarding family alive for several, if not hundreds of generations. Other than gold, there were also several items inside, most of which would land her a one way trip to Azkaban if she took them back into Diagon Alley.

Climbing over a few artefacts, she goes to one of the corners of the room – a place she’d dubbed ‘Peia’s corner,’ as it was filled with only her items. It was also the corner that Ugnuk conveniently couldn’t see what she was doing. Not that he was paying particularly close attention to her anyway. The only items that she’d placed in the vault were the ones that she'd thought were far too dangerous to keep in her home – things that she’d found on her travels around the country, but still needed to work on to make them safe.

The majority of them were safe enough to just leave in her corner, but the most dangerous items were placed inside a protective box. One of her own creations, it had taken her many attempts until she'd finally found a protective ward strong enough to contain horcruxes. As of that moment, two were inside. And they were about to be joined by a third.

(She hadn't destroyed them yet - she had no clue whether Tom Riddle could feel their destruction like he did in the films, so not wanting to take any chances, she figured it was best to destroy as many as she could in one go.)

Opening her bag, she puts on a pair of blue gloves. They were her dad’s invention, and contained enough protection charms on them that no spell other than the killing curse could affect her. With them, she pulls out a package, where the Gaunt family ring, sat inside. To get it had been tricky, and she’d had to put on makeshift headphones to ignore the ring’s calls to wear it before she’d wrapped it up.

She opens the box and places it with the other horcruxes - the diary and the locket, before stepping back into the centre of the room and filling her purse with several galleons. “All done!” She calls to Ugnuk, who nods. Once she leaves, he closes the door.

They travel back up to the main floor in silence, passing another cart that had a terrified wizard and exasperated goblin in it. His screams leave Peia with a headache, and she makes a mental note to stop by an apothecary for some headache relieving potions.

(One of the annoying parts about being a witch was that muggle medication simply didn’t work on her, so instead of being able to go to Tesco's or Sainsbury's to get some paracetamol, she had to waltz through Diagon Alley to buy a pre-made potion, or take a few hours and brew her own. Not for the first time, she missed the relative simplicity of her first life.)

“Until we meet again, Lady Black,” Ugnuk says once they get to the main floor, leaving to do whatever it was that Gringotts goblins did in their free time.

“Likewise!” She calls after his departing form, and walks towards the exit, having to sidestep past several witches and wizards. She’d forgotten it was summer, August to be exact, and most people were no doubt shopping for their next year at Hogwarts. Thankfully it was 1994, so from her notes, none of the Weasley clan would be shopping for supplies until after the Quidditch World Cup Final and even then, it would only be Molly Weasley – a witch who she would be able to recognise from a distance, thus making her easy to avoid.

She stops to let an elderly couple pass her through the entrance and pauses, noticing a display she’d never seen before. It was a display of ancient goblin weaponry, and she walks over to try and read the signs detailing each weapon. Briefly, she wonders how much the goblins would charge if she wanted to buy one of the pretty silver knives.

A voice interrupts her thoughts. “A truly fascinating collection, wouldn’t you say? I think my favourite may be the armour. Yours?”

She looks over to find a tall, red-haired wizard with a familiar easy smile standing beside her.

It only takes her a moment to realise who he was – William Weasley, the eldest of the Weasley clan and current curse-breaker at Gringotts' branch in Egypt. She hadn't seen him for years, but was pleasantly surprised by how different he looked compared to his days at Hogwarts. According to her notes, he was supposed to be in Egypt currently, breaking into different tombs. But here he was, eyeing the exhibition in interest.

(Ever since she’d been reborn into the Potterverse, she’d had two goals in this life. The first was to defeat Voldemort – not for the glory, but just because if she didn’t, then several hundred people would die. And with her knowledge of the future, she had a moral obligation to at least try and prevent these deaths from taking place. Her second goal was to try and have as little interaction as possible with the named characters in the series. Not because she didn’t want to talk to them, but rather to ensure that the events she remembered happening didn’t suddenly change drastically, making her book knowledge pointless.

She’d successfully managed to avoid most of the cast, with the exception of a few wizarding families. The first family was the Malfoys’, who’d helped raise her as she got older, but in her opinion, a more mellowed out Draco Malfoy was better for the plot anyway. The second family were the Tonkses, as Nymphadora Tonks had been in the year below her at school. They’d gotten to the stage where she was invited around for family events, but once Tonks had become an auror, she’d made sure to interact with her far less that she used to. The third family were the Weasleys. By taking the Malfoys’ diary years earlier and replacing it with a decoy, she’d successfully prevented Ginny from getting possessed by Tom Riddle, which was the only major change to the plot she’d made. Ginny didn’t know this though, and with the Weasleys in mind, Peia had only outright interacted with the eldest three.

Percy Weasley had often sought her out during her final year, and she’d tried to be a somewhat mentor figure to him, knowing what his future would be. She’d caught Charlie Weasley trying to sneak into the Forbidden Forest with Tonks during her first year as a prefect, and ever since then, they’d become somewhat friendly with each other. They weren’t close enough that they’d write each other, but they could greet each other in the street without much hassle.

The Weasley she’d interacted most with by far though was the eldest of the bunch, William Weasley. He’d been a year above her in Hogwarts, and during her fifth and sixth years, they’d been patrolling partners on the prefects’ rota. They’d also managed to bump into each other every time she’d gone to visit her Aunt Lucretia in Prewett Manor. Though Peia had to admit she did enjoy their conversations; she was glad when he’d gone off to Egypt to become a cursebreaker for Gringotts. He was probably in the same category as Charlie, yet for some reason she felt a bit more on edge around him. Probably because he was utterly brilliant, and every time they had a long-drawn-out conversation, she felt like she told him something that she’d really wanted to keep to herself.)

“Indeed.” She responds before her silence got too awkward. “Such well-preserved relics are a rarity. I suppose my favourite part of the display are the knives.”

“Good choice! There are quite a few of them – do you think they’re throwing knives?”

She frowns. “Obviously. All goblin knives are throwing knives. That’s goblin weaponry 101.”

“They aren’t all throwing knives though – Ulrik the wise had a pair of knives commissioned for him that couldn’t be thrown. Several goblins followed his example and had their own made also.”

She gave him a look. “Then in 1040, they called Ulrik’s knives daggers instead.”

He hums. “Not everywhere did – there's a few on display in one of the pyramids calling them carrying knives.”

“Alright, my mistake. In Britain, from 1040 onwards, they called all carrying knives daggers instead.” She pointed at the sign that said the year of the weapons’ creation was 1200. “Meaning that as the display labels them as knives - those knives are throwing knives, as they were forged and used in Britain. They normally come in sets of six though, so it’s odd to only have four.” She looks over the sign, but the rest of the sign was written in Gobbledegook, and though she was learning it, she couldn’t understand it completely yet.

Bill peers at the sign. “It’s because the goblin they belonged to had four children – so in his will, he left one dagger to each of them so that they could equally defend themselves.”

“You speak Gobbledegook now?” She asks, then mentally slaps herself. Of course he would, he worked with goblins for a living.

“Yeah, it’s not that hard once you wrap your head around the syllables. A lot easier than Ancient Runes at least. I’m surprised you don’t know it, what with the sheer number of goblin artefacts you must come across in your line of work.”

He knew what she worked as? Though she’d written a few articles and a book, she wouldn’t have said that she was successful enough for him to take note of what she was doing.

“I’m trying to learn. I’ve just been busy lately.”

Busy was an understatement. The past year, she’d been on trial at the Wizengamot because the idiots at the Ministry thought she was somehow responsible for the escape of Sirius Black. Initially, Fudge had tried to lock her up in Azkaban, but she’d only been there for a total of 24 hours before Narcissa and Lucius had got her successfully released. Besides, she had a translator in the form of a portrait in her bag, so she hadn’t really needed to learn it.

“Besides,” she adds. “I don’t work with goblins daily, so I have no one to practice with.”

He chuckles. “I get that, I’m the same with French. Everyone in my block of flats only speaks English. Or Spanish, but I already know those.”

“Ah right, from the Argentinian pen pal you had, right? The one that hexed you?”

“Tomas was Brazilian-Argentinian actually.”

“He was still half-Argentinian. How did he even manage to hex you anyway?”

“He sent me a hat that I’d been wanting to get, so I didn’t bother to check for any curses before I put it on. My bad.”

She chuckled. “That was a stupid mistake,”

“It was. Why are we speaking in Spanish?”

“I was testing you.” She admits, switching back to English. “Like I did in the old days.”

It had been a routine they’d shared leading up to his NEWT exams, where she’d randomly quiz him on every topic under the sun during their patrols. It had very much confused the students they’d caught out of hours, something that they had both always found amusing.

Bill looks over at her and smiles.

“I’ve missed you Cass,” he says with a sincerity in his tone that made her face feel strangely warm. “Where are you headed to?”

“Diagon Alley,” though she doesn’t need to, she motions to the street outside. “I was going to pick up a few things. You?”

“Same here. It’s Percy and Ginny’s birthdays soon, so I wanted to go out and buy their presents instead of Owl-Ordering them.”

“Ah, yes, how old is Ginny now?” That was another reason why she’d felt so on edge around him – Bill Weasley was a family man through and through. Which meant that during conversations with him, he’d often tell her all about his siblings, unaware that his siblings were firmly on her list of people to avoid.

She walked out of Gringotts. He follows, easily walking in step with her.

“Thirteen, turning fourteen in a few days. Would you have any ideas of a potential birthday gift?”

She shrugs. “Hmm, not unless I was actively looking at something. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Probably a dress? She complained that she wanted more of her own clothes and I saw this purple dress in a shop window, which I’m pretty sure is her favourite colour...”

“You’re only pretty sure?”

“Well mum always used to make sure Ginny was in purple, but I’m not sure whether it was because she was so happy to have finally had a girl or not.”

“So, Ginny’s had to wear purple most of her life?” This was reminding her of a situation in her previous life, where she’d been forced to wear green constantly. As a result, she’d hated wearing green as an adult. It wasn’t until she’d been sorted into Slytherin during her current life that she’d begun to appreciate the colour.

“Yeah.”

She snorts. “Then that definitely isn’t her favourite colour. If I had to guess, it’d probably be red – isn’t that a requirement to being in Gryffindor?”

“I could ask you the same thing about green – why is it that once Slytherins are sorted there, that’s the only colour they wear?”

“We don’t just wear green! In fact, I’ve been told by many people that my best colour is red!”

“I’m sure it is.” He says, giving her a look she couldn’t identify. That was another thing she hated about interacting with Bill Weasley – she never could quite figure him out.

For a moment they don’t say anything, but when she goes to enter Scribbulus Writing Implements, intending on buying a new set of quills, he steps in front and holds the door open for her.

“My hero.” She mutters dryly, and he beams.

“It’s my speciality.”

“What? Aiding witches with the basic task of opening a door?”

“No - stopping wizards like that from doing it instead.” He discreetly motions to a middle-aged wizard who was standing by the door, his beady eyes fixed firmly on her. With his yellowed eyes and purple nose, Peia privately thought that he looked more like the Gruffalo than a person. His gaze made her uncomfortable, and she tried to look anywhere else. The man recognised her, and she wondered how long it'd be until there was an article about her shopping in the Daily Prophet.

Bill steps slightly to the side, blocking her from that wizard’s line of sight.

“My hero.” She says, this time far more genuine.

“Anytime.”

--

She founds a set of quills that looked exactly like her last set, so that’s that, and the pair leave the store shortly afterwards. The wizard from earlier was nowhere to be seen, but Peia wasn’t too worried. Wizards like that were way too common unfortunately, and with her last name, anyone would be a fool to try anything with her.

He stops suddenly and she turns to him with an eyebrow raised. He motions towards the display window, and she turns to see a light purple dress on a mannequin. It wasn't the worst dress in the world, but it looked too formal for a teenager to like. At the same time, it wasn't fancy enough that the girl could wear it to the Yule Ball. It also looked too big for a young teenager to wear.

“That’s the dress.” Bill says. “Now be honest, is it a bad choice?”

Now she should have ended their interaction then and there. She should have told him that it was a nice dress and moved on. Instead, there's something in his tone that makes her just be honest. "I think that Ginny would prefer something that fitted her. Or something that didn't make her look like she was forty instead of fourteen." Before she thinks any better of it, she beckons him to follow her and starts heading off in the direction of the only clothes store in Diagon Alley she could think of that had fashion that would appeal to teens like Ginny Weasley - Starlight Stitchery. The shop was owned by an old friend called Renee Egwu, whom she’d given the seed money to a few years back.

Inside the shop was a lot of muggle-inspired fashion, so it naturally drove away most of the more extreme pureblooded families. However, she was sure the Weasleys would appreciate a place like this. Renee herself stands behind the counter, and as soon as she enters, the witch’s face lights up.

“Cassiopeia Black, in the flesh!” She greets. “What brings you here? Finally deciding to exit your goth phase?”

Peia scowls. “I do have clothes in colours other than black you know. Besides, we’re here to find some clothes for his sister. It’s her birthday in a few days and someone.” She gives him a look and decides to tease him. “Doesn’t have any fashion sense when it comes to women.”

Bill rolls his eyes. “She’s a teenage girl! I don’t know what to get a teenaged sibling, let alone a sister! Besides, anything that I get her has to go through mum first, and if she thinks it's inappropriate, I’ll be hexed into oblivion!” Despite his words he doesn’t look annoyed though – if anything, he seemed incredibly amused by this turn of events.

She has the urge to joke that he at least wouldn’t get an unforgiveable curse but refrains from it, unsure of how he’d take it. Her sense of humour, much like her childhood, was incredibly messed up.

“Hmm.” Renee says, “so you want something a teenaged girl would like? But one that her mother would approve of?”

“Yes.” They say in unison.

Renee gives the both of them a curious look. “Right. Any ideas?”

Peia points to Bill’s leather jacket. “Preferably a leather jacket like that? Ginny sees him as the cool sibling, so something like his would probably rock her world.” She pauses. “Or a choker. That’s something she would probably also find cool.”

With a nod, Renee disappears in the back. She turns to find Bill looking at her again. “What?”

“You think I’m cool?” Bill asks, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I said that Ginny thinks you’re cool. But I suppose you’re alright. Though what’s going on with this?” With that, she reaches over and touches his sole earring, looking it over. She’s careful not to puncture her skin on the end of it, which look eerily sharp. It looked like a real fang, but she couldn’t determine which snake it came from.

Bill doesn’t make any move to stop her, instead he just watched her. She eventually notices how close they were and let go, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“It’s a Runespoor fang.” He explained once she’d let go. “I had to face one in my first solo expedition and got to keep two of the fangs as a prize, so I shrunk one to wear it as an earring.”

“I didn’t peg you as the sentimental type.” She says softly, still looking it over. Though not rare, Runespoors were dangerous creatures, and to kill one – especially on your own, was no easy feat. “What happened with the other fang?”

He smiles. “I’m not – there's still venom in the fangs, so I wear them as a last resort. A failsafe if I ever get attacked without my wand on hand. The other one is a necklace. Right here.” He lifts a cord around his neck, revealing another, slightly bigger fang on the end.

“That’s surprisingly cunning for a Gryffindor.”

He laughs, sounding somewhat bitter. “Yeah, it only took a near death experience. May I?” When she doesn’t answer he reaches over and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Where’d you get your earrings from?”

Her earrings – a golden pair encrusted with dark blue sapphires, were the only colourful part of her outfit.

“My Aunt Lucretia got them for me for my sixteenth birthday. Why, do you want a pair?”

He laughed. “No, no – they just look really nice on you.”

Her face started to feel warm again. Especially when she noticed that he was looking directly at her again. With that same damn smile. She shyly smiles back, feeling overwhelmed. “Oh, right. Thanks. Your earring looks nice on you too. Adds a certain ruggedness to your general handsomeness.”

His cheeks go red and with horror, she realises what she’d just said. Thankfully, before either of them can say anything, Renee reappears with a stack of clothes floating behind her.

“Alright - here’s a bunch of leather jackets. I wasn’t sure which one you specifically wanted, so I grabbed as many as I could. They all are charmed to fit the size of its wearer, so you don’t need to worry about it being a particular size.” She levitates each jacket in front of the pair, describing what leather it was before moving to the next one. Bill stops her at the fifth jacket, where his eyes look it over.

“What do you think?” He asks her, and after a moment, she gives her approval. The jacket looked almost identical to his, so she was pretty sure that if Ginny liked his jacket in the first place, then she’d like this one too. “How much for it?”

“30 Galleons.”

He frowns and stares at the jacket, clearly calculating whether it was worth the cost. She mentally slaps herself for forgetting the Weasleys' financial troubles. Though he probably could afford it, he almost definitely couldn’t afford equally as nice things for the rest of the household, and as the eldest, she doubted he could pick favourites.

“Why don’t we look at chokers instead?” Peia suggests, making sure her voice was gentle. “they shouldn’t be nearly as pricy – plus Ginny would probably be equally as appreciative of it.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get it.” Before she can convince him otherwise, he goes over and pays for the jacket. “She really likes my jacket,” he explained once they’d said their goodbyes to Renee. “She constantly tries to wear it, so this will get her off my back at least. Besides, I have the money now.”

“You’ll have to get something equally as nice for Percy,” she says matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, it’d look like you were playing favourites.”

“It’s Percy – so long as I get something that’s he’s interested in, he won’t mind. You know how he is. But for now, his present can wait. What else did you want to get from the Alley?”

“A Wiggenweld Potion. My head’s been hurting since some wizard decided to scream his lungs out on the Gringotts carts. Some other things too.” Maybe that was why she’d been acting so strange around him – because she couldn’t think straight due to her headache.

“Well then, let’s go.”

And against her better judgement, she goes shopping with Bill Weasley. Despite drinking the Wiggenweld potion, she finds herself still acting strangely around him. By the time they’d finished shopping, her face had gone red five times, and she’d slipped up several more times too. She’d even giggled.

At around 7pm, far later than she’d been planning on being out for, they finally reached their final destination - the Leaky Cauldron.

“Well, here’s my stop.” Bill says with a wry smile. “I guess I’ll see you soon? Are you going to the World Cup?”

“Yeah - I bought tickets for Hestia, Chiara and myself.”

“Oh, cool! I’ll see you there – everyone in my family but my mother isin the Top Box. We’ll see you somewhere before the match. And maybe sometime after too?”

“Yeah, sure!” She says in a strange high-pitched voice. She’d never heard herself sound like that before. What on earth was going on?

He walks to the fireplace and gets in line to use the floo. Once it’s his turn to go through the flames, he pauses, turns and gives her a little wave, which she returns before she can think better of it. Then he went, and sparks flew out of her wand again.

She gets to her house – a small flat in London not too far away from her family home, in around ten minutes, feeling utterly drained. As soon as she takes a step through the door, the portrait in the living room suddenly comes to life.

“Have fun in Gringotts?” The portrait of her brother, Regulus Black asks. “You were gone for 5 hours. That’s quite long – especially for you.”

“I bumped into an old friend.” She explained, getting her contents out of her bag and hearing laughter. She pulls out the handheld portrait - one of her best inventions - and glares at the painting on it. “Stop laughing at me! I didn’t expect to be waltzing through the Alley with Bill Weasley when I woke up this morning, did I?”

“You were doing far more than waltzing.” The man in the painting, Ominis Gaunt, teases. “Don’t forget, I heard every word of your conversation. Every word, Peia.”

“What were they talking about?” Regulus asks and Ominis snorts. He slides into the empty painting in the living room.

She notices a red velvet choker on the couch and frowns, wondering why on earth she couldn’t have decided to have just worn it today. It looked like the perfect gift for Ginny.

“It would be easier to describe what they weren’t talking about, Reg. Our Peia’s quite the damsel around him – it's actually rather sweet.”

“I am no one’s damsel!” She hisses and the portraits go silent before looking over at her. “Now, as the horcrux is safely tucked away, let’s talk about getting bodies for you both – Merlin knows that I’ve had to put up with you two for long enough.”

Excerpt from the diary of Lucretia Prewett, dated 21st December 1982

The Prewett's Yule Ball proved to be a resounding success, despite the bitter chill that swept through the evening air. The grand halls of the Prewett estate were filled with laughter and merriment, as families from far and wide gathered to celebrate the season. Among the esteemed guests were the Abbotts, the Longbottoms, and the Shafiqs, and I got the chance have a much needed catch up with several old friends.

Yet, amidst the revelry, there lingered a shadow of melancholy. My father, Arcturus Black, chose to remain at home, tending to the needs of my disturbed sister-in-law, Walburga. Her condition continues to deteriorate, a fact that weighs heavily upon us all. Both father and I suspect that it is Sirius’ Imprisonment which is affecting her so, and I can only hope she’ll recover from her bout of madness soon. It was at father’srequest that I agreed to care for Cassiopeia throughout the winter months, worried about the young girl’s state of mind. It was a duty I accepted without hesitation.

I cannot help but wonder what Walburga has done to cause Cassiopeia's unnerving silence. She hardly speaks a word in my presence, nor in Ignatius'. It is a mystery that both baffles and worries me. I can only hope that father stepped in before Walburga’s punishments got too severe.

Nevertheless, the Yule Ball was a beacon of positivity in an otherwise sombre time. Despite the tragedies that have befallen our families in recent years, we came together to celebrate life and love. I cannot help but feel a pang of longing for Fabian and Gideon, whose absence is keenly felt, especially during such joyous occasions.

Molly Weasley's absence did not go unnoticed either, although her son, Bill, made a charming substitute. Having not long started Hogwarts,Bill exuded the confidence of a true Gryffindor. His visit brought a welcome distraction, and Ignatius in particular, seemed enamoured by the boy’s tales of home.

When I insisted the boy stay for a meal, he graciously accepted, albeit with reluctance. It was during this time that I witnessed a remarkable sight – Cassiopeia, typically reserved and quiet, engaged in lively conversation with Bill. For the first time since her arrival, her laughter filled the room, a sound that warmed my heart.

Watching the pair interact, I couldn't help but reflect on the war that has torn our world apart. It is a blessing that it has come to an end, allowing these children to grow and thrive in a time of peace. May they never know the horrors of battle, and may their laughter continue to echo through the halls of Hogwarts for generations to come.

WILLIAM WEASLEY

Bill hated the fact that time inevitably bought about change. Ever since he’d returned to the Burrow a week prior, a sense of displacement had hung over him like a heavy cloak. Everything around him seemed to have shifted in his absence, leaving him feeling like a stranger in his own childhood home. The room that once belonged to him now belonged to Ginny, his possessions had been scattered amongst his siblings as if he had never existed.

The warmth of his family's welcome contrasted sharply with his own conflicted feelings. While they celebrated his return with open arms, he couldn't help but noticethe undercurrent of expectation that seemed to follow him wherever he went. It was as if they saw him not as Bill the person, but as Bill, the older brother and son that could do no wrong. He supposed there were worse things to be seen as, but it still made him uncomfortable.

(It didn’t help that as soon as he’d stepped into the Burrow, it had become apparent that some sort of argument had taken place between the twins and his mother. According to Charlie, it was because they’d wanted to start some sort of joke shop, but it had meant that the first few days of his return were awfully tense. Bill especially hadn’t been able to escape any of this, as both his mother and the twins had decided to rant to him especially about what was going on.)

As a way to avoid the Burrow and all its drama, he’d taken to leaving the house as much as he could, exploring the country. He’d wandered around Hogsmeade once or twice, looking around at the shops that had been such a big deal during his time at Hogwarts. He’d gone to Diagon Alley a few times and the last time he’d gone, had bumped into Cassiopeia Black, a witch he’d had a crush on since he was twelve.

The place he’d visited the most though, was none other than Castor’s Cottage. A house located on the outskirts of the magical community just outside of Ottery St Catchpole, it had been the home of his uncles before they’d been killed. He’d not been allowed to go thereafter the war due to the number of dangerous items inside, but now, he was allowed to do what he liked.

Which led to mornings like these, where he would spend his time sorting through the house’s contents. At first, the house had looked worse for wear, but now he could say that it looked exactly like he remembered. Even down to the pictures on the walls. It wasn’t habitable yet, but he was sure that in a few days, he’d get the house safe enough for anyone in the family to be able to step inside.

(Soon enough, he hoped that he could get his siblings to see the place as the refuge that he’d seen it as during the seventies. For now, he’d take advantage of the silence the place offered for as long as he could.)

He heads back to the Burrow at around nine in the morning, all too aware that his mother would be upset if he stayed out any longer. It was August 16th, the day of Ginny’s birthday, and his mother wanted everyone to be there for her birthday breakfast, something that she called a family tradition.

He steps inside just as Ginny’s started to openher presents. He slides into a seat next to Charlie, who gives him a smile.

“You haven’t missed much.” Charlie whispered.

“I didn’t think I would.” He whispered back, helping himself to some of the bacon still on the table.

Ginny continues to open her presents with glee, and hugs Hermione Granger, a friend of her’s and Ron’s, for getting her a pair of colour-changing gloves. A snowy owl flies through the window, carrying a parcel to the table. As soon as she sees it, she visibly brightens.

“Do you think it’s from Harry?” She asks, her voice hopeful.

(Ginny had always been obsessed with stories about Harry Potter, often asking him or Charlie to tell the stories about the kid multiple times before she eventually fell asleep. He assumed that her obsession with the kid had lessened considerably since meeting him in person, but she couldn’t keep the affection out of her voice.)

“I don’t think that was Hedwig.” Ron says as the owl flew away. “Sorry Gin.”

Reaching over, she looks at the parcel beforefrowning. “It’s for you Bill.”

“Oh.” He reaches over to grab the parcel, wondering who on earth wrote to him. The parcel was heavy, but when his hand grabsa book, he understood why. Inside were three books in total, two on learning French, and the third completely written in the language. A note is on top of the books, and he picks it up to read it.

--

William,

I found this in my house and thought that Ginny would like it. I assume you won’t mind that I attached it to a storage rune, if memory serves me correct, then runic magic was always your thing. Perhaps give it to her alongside the leather jacket? I also figured that the books would help you with your mastery of French. Notre Dame de Paris is a favourite of mine, so please do send it back once you’re finished with it. The other two you can mail back to the Black Library whenever you feel like it.

Kind regards,

Cassiopeia.

--

Out of all the parcels he could have received in front of his family, it had had to be one from Cassiopeia Black.

(He’d known the witch since his days in Hogwarts, and ever since she’d smiled at him during their first meeting in Prewett Manor, he’d been a goner. After having had a conversation with her, she’d had him smitten – she was as smart as she was beautiful, and as someone who’d not felt challenged by Hogwarts’ education, his debates with her about every topic under the sun was a much-needed outlet.)

At the bottom of the note was a storage rune, and once he adds his own magic to it, a red choker appears in his hand. The material felt soft – if he had to guess, it was probably velvet, and he couldn’t help but think it was the perfect choice of gift for his sister, being the perfect bit of rebelliousness that she was no doubt feeling as a teenager, but not too much that his mother would be upset with him for giving it to her.

“What is it?” Ron asks from his seat across the table.

“And owl order I forgot about.” He lies, deciding to not mention the fact that it was a gift from Cassiopeia. As interesting as he found her, he knew that his mother would be suspicious about anything she sent – especially due to the whole debacle that was Sirius Black, her fugitive brother.

He hands the choker to Ginny. “Here you go Gin – there's another present from me in your pile over there, but I figured you’d like this also.”

“I love it!” The birthday girl exclaims, getting Hermione to help her put it on.She gets out of her seat and hugs him tightly.

When she gets around to the rest of the presents, she loves the leather jacket he’d gotten for her also, resulting in another hug – and it was clear that he’d won the present-giving round this year.

He assumed that it was because of how happy she was that mum didn’t even voice her disapproval. Instead, she hugs him.

“You’ve always understood your siblings the best,” she says once she’d let go. “You really should visit more Bill; they miss you greatly.”

“I’ll try to.” He settles for saying, knowing that he couldn’t promise it outright.

International Portkeys to Britain were a hassle to arrange, so he tended to use the spare time he had during holidays to travel to different countriesinstead, exploring their museums and finding out about their general culture. He’d been eyeing up a job ad for a cursebreaker for the I.C.W for quite some time, as it combined the two things he loved most in the world – exploring and problem solving. He had the grades for it, plus with his job in Egypt, had more practical experience than the ad required. He hadn’t brought it up to anyone yet, knowing that his mother would most likely get upset at the thought of him spending further time away from home. Plus, the goblins had a habit of making their employees lives difficult if they knew they were planning on leaving the company, so they couldn’t know just yet.

Shortly after Ginny had finished opening her presents, the table disperses, with everyone in the house going off to do whatever they wanted. He wasn’t sure what his siblings and their friends did to pass the time but based on the explosions in the twins’ and Ron’s shared room, combined with Ginny and Hermione’s frequent giggling, he figured that he was better off not knowing.

The only person who he knew was doing nothing was Charlie, and that was because he was in the same position Bill was in. If anything, Charlie was in a worse one – it wasn’t like there were any dragons nearby that he could look after.

Speaking of Charlie, he clears his throat behind him, and Bill turns to see him holding the note.

“You’re speaking to Peia again?” The dragonkeeper asks.

“Somewhat - we bumped into each other in Diagon Alley and talked while we shopped. I didn’t expect the parcel though. Why?”

“Nothing.” As his expectant look, Charlie sighs. “It’s just – it's a good thing that you two are talking to each other. Chiara was worried that she’d started shutting everyone out again.”

Ah, right. He forgot that Charlie’s girlfriend was one of Cassiopeia’s closest friends. “Again?”

“Yeah, do you not remember when she received that letter from Sirius Black in Hogwarts? Peia spoke to barely anyone for weeks.”

He frowned. That period had been during her OWLs in 1988, so it hadn’t been surprising that she was stressed. Besides - “She spoke to me.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “That’s why I said barely anyone. Besides, you two’s dynamic has always been strange – if you so called geniuses weren’t both so stuck in your own heads, then you would have gotten together already.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” That didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Just write her a thank you note.” His brother says with a sigh. “And maybe send her something in return – perhaps one of the numerous books that only you’ve read on the bookcase?”

Perhaps Charlie had forgotten that Cassiopeia Black was the same witch who’d opened the Black Library, the only public library in Wizarding Britain. Chances were that she’d already read through all of the books he owned, and had multiple copies to pick from if she wanted to read them again. What on earth could he send her?

An idea forms in his head. “Do we have any books in Gobbledegook?”

“I have no clue what that language looks like, but probably? There was definitely a how to speak it guide on the top shelf, that much I know.”

“Good!” With that, he rushes from the dining room and goes to the bookcase, desperate to grab that book before the twins decided to experiment on it or something. Knowing his luck, they already had.

--

Hours later, when the birthday celebrationshad ended, he found himself sitting alone in the living room trying to writeout a response. Someone calls out his name, and he looks up from his seat to findRon, his youngest brother. Had the kid been wearing glasses, then hewould have mistaken him for Percy.

“Yes Ron?” He asks. “What’s up?”

“I know that you’re busy with something, but after, would you like to play a game of chess?” There was a hint of hopefulness in Ron’s voice.

“I can play a game now?” He offers, placing the parchment and quill on the coffee table. The letter could wait.

With a wave of his wand, the chess set assembles itself. “White or Black?” Percy had originally taught Ron the game, but if memory served him correct, it was only Bill who could play a good game. Or rather, it was only Bill who could play against Ron for longer than a minute.

“White.”

“Alright.” He sits on the black side, and the game begins.

They begin the game in silence, but when Ron takes one of his pawns, he speaks up. “Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember anything about the war?”

Of all the questions Ron could have asked, this was not what he was expecting. He decides to make his answer as vague as possible. The real question was, how could he forget the war?

“A few things.” Seizing the opportunity, he takes one of Ron’s pawns.

“Like what?”

He thinks his next words through carefully. “Well, I suppose I remember the fear the most. Especially towards the end. Whenever anyone left the house, I was always worried they wouldn’t come back. I think mum did too – whenever dad left for work, she’d always hold one of us and claim that it was keeping her sane.” There was a pause. “I also remember our Uncles Fabian and Gideon too. And their funerals.” He didn’t tell Ron about how many times he’d found their uncles bloodied on the doorstep, or how terrifying their father had looked under the Imperius Curse. Some things his siblings didn’t need to know.

And why on earth was Ron asking him about the war now? When it had been over for more than 12 years? “Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“What are you trying to figure out?”

“How fear could make you betray your closest friends. I don’t get it.”

Come to think of it, he had noticed Ron eyeing up an article on Sirius Black during dinner. That was probably what all of this was about. “Well, fear is a powerful motivator. I suppose that answer can come down to one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

He leans forward. “Who it is that the enemy threatens.” He takes another one of Ron’s pawns, but the younger boy doesn’t even flinch. That normally meant he had something up his sleeve. “What people value often falls into two categories. Some people value themselves above all else, so if they’re threatened with their life, they’ll do what it takes to survive. And others – well, they put their loved ones above all else, so if those loved ones are threatened, they’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that those people they care about are safe. Do you know what the worst curse I’ve ever been hit with was?”

“The bone-blaster curse?” Ron guesses. To be fair, Bill had been stuck in the hospital for a week afterwards due to it.One of his co-workers, Sean Fawcett, had even written to his mother about it, which had resulted in him getting a howler.

“No. An illusory curse – it made me go to the Burrow and try to choose which sibling to save. One of my co-workers ended up snapping me out of it. I could have broken it myself, but I didn’t. Do you know why?”

“Because you were scared?” Ron takes one of his rooks.

“Absolutely terrified. Fear doesn’t make you think straight either. I assume this whole conversation is because of that Sirius Black article I saw you looking at earlier?”

“Yeah,” Ron’s nose scrunches, a clear indicator of when he was lying, but Bill doesn’t push, assuming he’ll tell him with time. “Do you think Sirius Black was scared?”

A conversation he’d had with Cassiopeia years prior flashes through his head. It had been one of the only times where they’d brought up the topic of Sirius Black. During the conversation, she’d admitted that she thought he’d been framed.

(“ To Sirius, the Potters were his family,” she’d explained, absentmindedly fidgeting with one of her earrings. “And he wouldn’t have betrayed them, no matter what the reward was.”

“What if the reward was that those he loved would survive?” He’d asked. “Like you oryour parents?”

She chuckled, her laugh bitter. “He loved the Potters – not me. And certainly not our parents.” Then, as if realising what she was saying, her face flushes and she walks faster, her eyes surveying her surroundings.)

“ I think that he was probably scared during the war – like just about everyone else.” He says truthfully. “If we’re talking about the night he was caught, then I think he was in too much shock to be scared.”

Ron takes his eye off the game to look at him directly. “You think he was in shock?”

“He was close with the Potters – so being as it was him who’d discovered them, I'd be really surprised if he hadn’t been.”

“How did you know he was close to the Potters?”

“An old friend told me. Now, conversations about mad wizards aside, do you have any other questions?”

“Do you remember how we found Scabbers?”

Well, that was a change in topic. “Charlie and I had found him injured in the woodlands near the house. I think in 1982? We brought him back home and Percy decided that he wanted a pet.” He decides to omit the part where the twins had almost killed the poor rat. Plus the number of headaches he’d get if he thought about the pet for too long. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason!” Ron says quickly, taking his king. They play for a bit longer, but as soon as Bill realises he can’t make another move, he surrenders. His brother was easily the best as chess in the household, so he wasn’t upset by the loss.

“How did Scabbers die again?” He asks as he repairs the broken pieces.That was the only problem with Wizard Chess – it got messy quickly.

Ron’s nose scrunches up again. “He didn’t die – he ran away. I did get Pig though, and he’s loads better. Even if he does annoy the other owls...”

Bill files his previous sentence away as another thing about Ron that he’d ask about later. “He’s young – I'm sure he’ll calm down eventually.”

Ron grunts, not seeming entirely convinced, but doesn’t say anything further on the topic.

“Night Bill.” With that, Ron walks off quickly, as if needing to get somewhere quickly. He was probably going to tell Hermione something, but what was the question.

“Night Ron.” He says to the empty air.

With that, he goes back to his letter, trying to pen a response before midnight. He’d never been the best with writing, having much preferred the complicated formulas of arithmancy, but according to Charlie, the letter was fine, if not a bit formal. With that, he places the books he’d chosen into a storage rune at the end of the letter. Technically runic magic was illegal in Britain, but he assumed Cassiopeia wouldn’t report him.Sending it off with his owl, Lugus, he watches the owl leave, his mind somewhere else.

Chapter 2: Modern Dreams In An Ancient Land

Chapter Text

Modern Dreams In An Ancient Land.

ROWAN KHANNA

Rowan Khanna takes a sip of their drink, reflecting on the day’s events. They didn’t like to swear much, but today had been f*cking bizarre. First of all, their boss, Garrick Ollivander, had sent them to Albania of all places to deliver a wand to a client. Not just to Albania, but to the Dark Forest itself. Or, as the locals called it, Pylli I Errët. Then, their client, a british-born wizard in his thirties, had been extremely strange. He’d all but threatened them when they’d first met, and it was only through Rowan’s constant insistence that they weren’t a part of this ‘R’ that the man was going on about, that the wizard let them go. On their way out of the Dark Forest, they’d caught no less than six wizards watching them, which was deeply unnerving. Needless to say, by the time they’d left the Dark Forest, they were in dire need of a drink.

As if the universe had been reading their mind, they’d stumbled upon a pub as soon as they reached the nearby village. Called Hëna E Gjakut, Rowan had to admit that the ale there was good. Not that they were drinking the alcohol for the taste.

“Rough day?” The bartender asks. His voice sounded extremely familiar, so Rowan looked over to find their fourth surprise of the night. Standing behind the bar was none other than Victor Ketsueki, one of their fellow housemates at Hogwarts.

Rowan snorts before they can help it. “You could say that again. How have you been Victor? It’s been far too long.”

“It really has. I’ve been alright Rowan, got into a bit of trouble a couple of years back, but I’ve sorted myself out now. How about you? What brings you to Albania of all places?”

“My boss sent me.” Rowan answers truthfully. “I had to meet with someone. Would prefer not to meet them again though. What about you? Why are you here?”

“Albania’s my home now. Has been for the last couple of years. It’s the best place for people like me.”

“People like you?” They ask before they can help themselves.

Victor smiles with much-too sharp teeth. “People with a fanged problem. Who also have a craving for blood.”

Come to think of it, Victor had always had an obsession with the undead. It seemed like his interest turned him into one himself. “You could have just said vampire?” They point out. Several people nearby pause to look over at them.

“The people here don’t like that word.” Victor corrects. “It makes us sound foreign, like we aren’t wizards ourselves. We prefer the term undead.”

“Ah, sorry. You know what I meant. Other than your fanged problem, how have you been?”

Victor's expression darkened as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "I've been better, to be honest. These days, it seems the world is more hostile towards creatures like us than ever before."

Rowan nods in understanding, all too aware of the current political climate. Ever since a werewolf had been outed as part of the Hogwarts teaching body, the anti-creature sentiments in the UK had increased greatly. Which had resulted in the Ministry passing more legislation in favour of these sentiments. “The UK Ministry of Magic hasn’t made things any easier, I imagine.”

Victor scoffed bitterly. "That's putting it lightly. The UK Ministry's anti-creature stance has sparked outrage amongst all creature communities across the Balkans. The worst part is, they've managed to sway the ICW to their side. It’s now much harder for any creature to hold a job, regardless of what it was. The only reason I’m still keeping mine is ‘cause this is a vampire-owned establishment. As we speak, all the wizarding schools in the world are discussing what to do about their creature-blooded students."

“That’s troubling news.” Rowan murmurs, taking another sip of their drink. “What do you think they’ll decide on?”

Victor sighed. “I’m not sure. The only school I know for certain isn’t banning creatures from attending is Aeaea, but that’s ‘cause it would be stupid, what with about 50 percent of the populations here having some sort of creature ancestry. But, even so, the prejudice extends beyond the classroom. Almost all of the wand shops in the Balkans are refusing to sell to creatures just because of who they are.”

“Perhaps I could ask Garrick to expand his wand-making business past Britain?” Rowan suggests, their mind racing with thoughts of potential solutions. “He doesn’t discriminate based on blood status - and I know he’s fair-minded in regards to creatures.”

Victor sighs, giving an unimpressed stare. “I doubt Ollivander would even entertain such a notion, what with all the business he’d lose from the pureblooded communities.”

“You don’t know that!” Rowan exclaimed before taking a deep exhale, attempting to calm themselves. They’d spent the last few years with Ollivander, so it was only natural that they’d get defensive. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.” Victor agrees, letting out another sigh. “It’s certainly worth a try. Do let me know what his response is. If it’s positive, I could probably get a few locals to put together a makeshift stall for him.”

With a nod of agreement, Rowan resolved to take action. Finishing their drink, they bid farewell to Victor, promising to write to the vampire soon. They walk through the meadow outside the pub, admiring the range of flowers planted there as they pass by. All around them was people, all celebrating the early night air. As they edged away from the meadow, the temperature seemed to drop rapidly. Placing a warming charm on themselves, they can’t help but walk faster, hoping to get to their destination as quickly as they could.

Eventually, they reach the apparition area at the edge of the Dark Forest. It was located quite far from the village, though if Rowan had to guess, then they’d assume that this was an attempt to deter potential attackers. Raising their wand, they picture their destination - the outside walls of the Albanian Ministry and pull at the magic slowly, feeling the familiar tug. Apparition had never been their strong suit, so when they fail to move the first time, they aren’t worried. The second time their attempt at apparition fails, they look at their wand, baffled.

Just what was going on? It was then that the scene changed.

A scream rings out, only to be joined by several more. All around them, people ran in different directions, as if unsure of where this perceived threat was coming from. At first, Rowan stares at the people nearby in shock, but when the first person falls to the ground, their brain switches into gear, and they join the frenzied crowd, trying to get to the one destination they knew as quickly as they could. They don’t reach the Blood Moon before disaster struck though, and Rowan found themselves falling to the ground after tripping on a stray root.

A familiar dark shrouded figure appears, and with horror, Rowan noted that it was a dementor. The dementor edged closer to them, slowly pulling back its hood.

A bright blue light cuts the Dementor off, and when a lioness patronus appears, biting at the enemy, Rowan can’t help but watch it in awe.

“Need a hand?” A kind voice offers with a hand, and Rowan takes it, murmuring out a thanks. They look up to become face to face with Professor Rakepick, their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher during fifth year. She hardly looked any different to that of her days as a teacher, an admirable feat. “You alright?”

Rowan opens their mouth to answer, but something moves in the background and they spin around, trying to figure out what was there. They go to turn back around, but they don’t get the chance. A beam of green hits their chest, and as they fall down, Rowan wonders why Ollivander only gave them so few wands to make. Sleep sounded nice, so they close their eyes, welcoming the darkness. They never wake back up.

Excerpt from the diary of Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, dated December 23rd 1971

The recent Yule celebration was wonderful. Mother managed to convince Aunt Walburga to let my sisters and I help her prepare for the ceremony, and I am pleased to say that it seems that I have a knack for decorations. Bella has no such gift. Andy and I had to keep fixing the numerous mistakes she made.In the end, we had to pay Sirius and Regulus five galleons to keep our Aunt busy.

I also got to meet the newest addition to the family, baby Cassiopeia. I must say, she is perhaps the strangest baby I’ve ever encountered. She barely cried throughout our entire week in Grimmauld Place, and had she not made the occasional noise, I would have assumed that Sirius had cast a silencing charm on her. I mentioned the baby’s odd quietness to mother, but she and father seem to find no fault with it. They both told me to hope that my future child was as quiet as baby Cassiopeia was – if anything, I hope that my child will be more lively!

Yours,

Cissy

CASSIOPEIA BLACK

“hom*orphus!” A yellow spark hits the tree in front of her. For a moment, the spark disappears. Then a spot inside the tree lights up golden.

The tree briefly gains an arm, but after a moment, morphs back into its original self. It was a pitiful attempt at the charm. Though, she supposed that it was still a result, and something was always better than nothing.

For the last few hours, she’d been attempting to cast the hom*orphus charm. It was a spell that had been invented with the sole aim to temporarily turn werewolves back into their human form, but due to how much pain it caused the werewolf in question, it had been largely ignored and condemned by the majority of the Pro-Creature factions in the Wizarding World. According to the creator's half-written notes she'd managed to acquire from the Ministry Library during her Mastery days, the spell's intention was to focus on the target's own magic signature and to pull it to the surface, thus reverting it to a magical being. As lycanthropy was largely considered a curse by the Wizarding World, the spell was designed to bypass the 'foreign' magic of said curse. Though their situations were vastly different, Peia hoped that the charm would also ignore the standard magic that was placed on all portraits and focus on her portraits' individual magical essences, drawing that out instead.

All in all, she believed she had a pretty solid plan. She only hoped that the spell didn't cause Ominis or Regulus any pain, like the charm was prone to do with its intended audience.

(Which really wasn't surprising. Going with the lycanthropy curse theory, by 'pulling' a person's natural magic to the surface when their curse was at their strongest, it essentially put the two types of magic at odds with each other. And the thought of two sets of magic fighting for dominance in a sole person's system did not sound like a pleasant experience.)

The only flaw in her plan was that she still needed to learn the blasted spell.

To practise, she'd gone to one of the numerous private properties the Black family owned. This one - uneventfully named the Black Manor, was admittedly one of her favourite places to train. It had once belonged to her uncle Cygnus Black, a man who had loved duelling more than anything else. As a result, the place was wonderfully secluded, and had several different training dummies that Peia could refine her spells on. The manor was in Whitby too, and was in a place that thankfully did not have any wizards nearby. The only people who knew where she was were the House elves, who wouldn't bat an eye at her actions.

“hom*orphus!” She tries again. This time, the tree gains an arm and a leg.

Still pitiful, but at least she was improving.

A ‘pop’ sounds out next to her. She turns to see her family House elf, Kreacher, staring up at her. Whilst he wasn’t the only House elf she had employed, Kreacher was easily the one she was closest with. He’d looked after her since she was a baby, and despite her wanting to stay away from the named characters of this world, she didn't think she could ever truly banish Kreacher. She'd long seen him as family, even before most of her immediate family had perished.

“Yes Kreacher?"

“Two owls arrived for Young Mistress Cassiopeia.” He says. “Kreacher has the letters they delivered.” He hands them over.

She smiles. “Thank you Kreacher.” One of the letters had a dark green envelope with silver-based lettering. Opening it, she wasn’t surprised to see that it was from her cousin Narcissa Malfoy. Cissa had always liked to show off her wealth in small ways - it was something that she assumed was a Malfoy trait, as they'd been drowning in money for centuries.

--

My dearest Cassiopeia,

I do hope everything is well. If you aren’t busy, would you like to join myself, Draco and Lucius for dinner this evening? We have some wonderful news to share.

With Love,

Narcissa

--

She supposed that whatever this news was, it had to be important.

Normally, Narcissa would give her a few days notice if she wanted her to visit Malfoy Manor, not mere hours.

(Whatever this news was, she hoped that it wasn’t another pregnancy announcement. As much as she appreciated Narcissa wanting her involved in all family meetings, it was always a heartbreaking affair, as with every time other than Draco, she’d ended up miscarrying.)

Being as the second envelope had Cass written on it, she knew who’d written the letter before she’d even opened it. The handwriting was neat and natural, but not painfully perfect - as if William Weasley, like the rest of his family, was taught the proper way to write with a quill, but never disciplined the same way his other pureblood peers were if they blotted their letters.

--

Cass,

I can't express my gratitude enough for the thoughtful gifts. Ginny's been absolutely enchanted by the choker. You have an impeccable taste.

The jacket, of course, was a triumph. Your assistance in tracking it down really helped me to get the title of coolest brother. It seems like you have an uncanny ability to uncover hidden gems. Perhaps you could share your secret sometime when we next see each other? Merlin knows that I could use those tips on my next excavation.

Thank you for the books too - I've only got through a chapter of Notre Dame de Paris, but I can see why you like it. I can’t help but wonder though, was this book written by a muggle? I had to write an essay on the translated version of Les Misérables for Muggle Studies years ago, and was wondering if this was the same author? I’ve also sent over a few of the books I have on Gobbledegook and speaking it. I will warn you though – I'll be testing you when I see you at the World Cup!

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Bill

--

Underneath his words was a storage rune, and she activates it to reveal a few books on Gobbledegook. A strange feeling blooms in her chest, and Peia closes the letter, deciding to not think about it for now. She couldn’t afford to be overanalysing minor things, especially with a meeting with the Malfoys in the horizon.

“Could you place these books in my flat please Kreacher?” She asks.

“As young mistress commands.” Taking the books from her, he disappears with a ‘pop.’

Using her wand, she reattaches the felled tree to the ground before heading inside.

Another reason why the Black Manor was one of her favourite Black properties to disappear to, was because if she had to make a last-minute public appearance, she had several different outfits inside that she could change into. Uncle Cygnus had been a doting husband and loving father to three witches, which meant that there were enough outfits inside to dress all of Hogwarts.

Today, she chooses to wear one of Andromeda's old outfits - a dark green dress that distantly reminded her of her old quidditch robes. Out of the three Black sisters, Andromeda easily had the least items left over. It wasn't surprising - according to Narcissa, as soon as Andy had left, Bellatrix had gone on a rampage, burning most of the witch's items. It was only really Andy's clothes that had remained, which were so Slytherin-coded that it made Peia wonder how on earth her cousin still liked the colour green.

(In contrast, Narcissa's outfits were all long gone. The witch had taken them with her when she'd moved out,having no doubt wanted to pass them on to the daughter that she’d thought she’d have.)

Hours later, she's ready. One of the house-elves – Neely, helped her get into the dress, and puts her hair up in a complicated braided bun that the Malfoys would no doubt deem acceptable. She wears one of Bellatrix’s old necklaces, one made of black silver that a different house elf, Rospy insisted brought out her dark eyes.

(That was another reason she liked this house – all the elves that were left were the ones who’d been tasked with ensuring that the Black sisters had looked perfect when leaving the house, so she could rely on them to make sure she looked presentable.

They still read up on fashion trends even now, so whenever she didn’t need their assistance, they helped Renee Egwu with her store, finding the perfect outfits for many witches and wizards. They received a wage too – something which Peia had had to force upon them. It was something she’d enforced with all the elves she’d had, claiming that it was an emergency fund they could dip into if they ever fell ill. The only elf who didn’t have a wage was Kreacher, and that was because he’d put his wages back into her vault before finding her and insisting that working for House Black was enough of an honour.)

Pairing her outfit with a nice set of black heels, she thanks the elves. They beam at the praise.

“Does mistress want anything to eat or drink before she goes?”Another elf, Lossy asks, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“I’m alright, but that you for the offer Lossy, that is very kind of you. I will have some Gillywater though if you have it.” She takes a sip of the beverage, the sweet taste comforting. “Have you been by the shop recently?”

“Yes mistress!” Neely says. “Neely and Lossy were just there the other day – where we saw mistress Cassiopeia herself! Neely came out to say hi, but mistress had already left with her friend.”

“Sorry Neely – next time, just say hello, I wouldn’t mind.” She notices the time and blanches. “Right. I need to go now, thank you all for your help. And the Gillywater. I’ll see you soon!”

With that closing statement, she grabs her wand from the counter and stands. Focusing on her destination, she pulls on her magic, feeling a familiar tug. The world changes around her. When everything came back into focus, she was just outside the gates of Malfoy Manor.

A click sounds out from behind her, and she turns to give an unimpressed look to the Prophet cameraman.

“Slow day at the office?” She asks him. It felt like everywhere she went, there were cameramen and reporters. It had honestly been a miracle that no one had caught her and Bill Weasley in Diagon Alley, because she was sure an article on that would have made the front page.

“You could say that. Smile for the camera?”

She gives an awkward half-smile, half-grimace, before knocking on the gate. She wished that she could flip the cameraman off, but she knew it was a dumb idea to antagonise the people who watch your every move. The gates open immediately.

Instead of a servant, Narcissa Malfoy herself opens the door, looking as radiant as ever in a dress of pure silver. Crystals trailed down the dress, an obvious ode to the family’s wealth.

“Peia!” She greets and hugs her firmly before ushering her inside. “How are you dear cousin? It’s been much too long. And what a lovely dress.”

It had been a month since they’d last seen other, which wasn’t all that long, but being as they used to see each other at least once a week in the years prior, it was a while for them.

“I’m alright Cissa. And you? It is nice to see you again too. How is Draco? And Lucius?”

“I am alright.”

“As are we all.” Lucius says, stepping forward. “And Draco’s in the dining room, pouring out glasses of our finest wine.” They only did that for celebrations. “Have you told her yet?”

“I have not.” Narcissa admits. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“What did you want to be a surprise?” She asks, tilting her head in confusion.

The couple share a look.

“We’ll tell you over dinner.” Lucius decides, giving her a knowing look.

They usher her into the dining room, where she immediately gets hugged by a blond blur.

“Peia!” Draco Malfoy greets. “I’ve missed you!”

(Out of the main characters in Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy was the only one she could never have outright avoided. Mainly because she’d already had an established relationship with Narcissa by the time he came along. She’d also come to the realisation that having a positive influence in his life encouraging him to not be a pureblood supremacist would do the boy some good.

She wasn’t sure how well she succeeded, but being as he didn’t seem to show the same disdain towards muggleborns she so distinctly remembered him having in the books, she considered it a small win. Some things didn’t change – such as him and Harry Potter having a rivalry caused by Harry refusing his offer of friendship, but other than that, he seemed a much more well-grounded individual. She also wasn’t devoid of all emotion, so it wasn’t surprising that over time, she’d come to see him as the younger brother she’d never had here.)

“I’ve missed you too.” She says, before letting go and taking a seat. He automatically takes the seat next to her. “Now tell me what’s new about you. What have I missed?”

He tells her all about his third year – about a Hippogriff that had apparently harmed him. He’d gotten Lucius to complain about the use of Hippogriffs for third-year students which had resulted in Fudge deciding that the best course of action was to move the teaching of those creatures to fifth year students. Which made sense. What made less sense was the execution of the Hippogriff that attacked him, but she kept her opinions to herself.

“Potter and his gang refused to see any reason!” Draco exclaims, justifying his complaint. “Hippogriffs are dangerous!”

“That’s why you don’t goad them,” she murmurs, giving him a knowing look and he flushes.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have, but Hagrid shouldn’t have introduced them to us if they can’t handle one kid prodding them. Besides, it was only one beast that died – it wasn’t the whole flock, was it? As far as I’m concerned, it could have been far worse.”

Buckbeak, her brain supplied unhelpfully, his name was Buckbeak.

Sirius saved him though, didn’t he? She couldn’t remember much of what happened during third year – every time she tried to remember, her head would start to ache, as if she’d tried to access information she didn’t have. It was probably due to her small stint in Azkaban, but she didn’t get why she could remember the events of the years afterwards so well, if she couldn’t remember why her brother broke out of Azkaban.

Naturally, as soon as she starts to think about Sirius, the conversation strays to him.

“He broke into the Gryffindor Common Room.” Draco says gleefully, unaware of the tension in the room. “And appeared above Ron Weasley’s bed with a knife. He also slashed the Fat Lady’s portrait. It was terribly amusing.”

“It sounds terrifying for Gryffindor.” She says mildly, drinking a bit more of her wine than she had been intending to. Her head was starting to ache now, and the wine dulled it somewhat.

“It was – that's what made it so interesting! Plus, it tonedthem down, which was much needed, what with them winning the Quidditch Cup.”

“I’m sure Oliver Wood was thrilled.” She says without thinking, remembering the Quidditch-obsessed Gryffindor who'd terrorised Charlie Weasley on a daily basis.

“He was.” Draco sighs. “He was the only one who couldn’t stop celebrating. It was very annoying.”

A house-elf appears, one that Peia didn’t recognise. “My Lord, My Lady. Dinner is ready.”

Narcissa, who had been watching Draco and her with a fond expression, turns, her smile wide. “Wonderful Neek – Please bring it out.”

The food appears in front of them, and she was pleased to note that it was lamb stew, her favourite dish. It wasn’t often served at dinner parties, due to it being considered a more common dish by the Wizarding World, but she loved it. And the Malfoys knew that.

“More wine, Lady Black?” Neek the house-elf asks, reappearing with a bottle.

“Yes please Neek – thank you.”

The elf’s eyes go wide with unshed tears, and she refills her goblet. “Lady Black is terribly kind.”

Peia hated how cruelly the Malfoys treated their house-elves. Narcissa was alright with them, no doubt having remembered the ones that she grew up with, but Lucius and Draco acted awfully around them. It was no wonder that Dobby had hated them as much as he had.

(She rather liked Dobby. Somehow, he'd still been freed the same way he had in the original plot, despite the whole Chamber of Secrets debacle having never taken place. She assumed that there were a few things in the plot that were fixed, and so if she didn't actively intervene, they'd still play out the way they originally did.)

“Well then,” she says after she’d taken another sip of wine. “What is the good news that you both wish to tell me?”

As soon as she asks, glasses filled with champagne appear, and Lucius stands, raising one to the room.

“I was speaking with the Minister,” he explains, “and he’s told me of his intention of letting you be the official historian for the Tri-Wizard tournament!”

“Me?” She raises an eyebrow. One of the first things she’d learnt during her Magical History Mastery was that every event in the Wizarding world had a historian alongside it, recording the details for everyone to know. With the rise of newspapers such as the prophet, that traditional historian role had more often than not gone to journalists, who knew how to present an interesting, if not heavily biased, story. As a result, fewer wizards were taking Masteries in Magical History and going for Journalism instead, as they were more likely to get jobs. Even the ones who did get the Mastery tended to not stay as historians, often choosing instead to become curse-breakers or Ministry Archivists.

Peia had been lucky that due to her parentage and family ties, several close friends and relatives were willing to employ her to write about their history, or their role in different events in history, but even with all those jobs, she wasn’t sure that she’d have stuck with the job if she hadn’t had had centuries of generational wealth to fall back on. Her articles had done well in wizarding academia – and her book on the Malfoy’s family history had even won her a few awards, but even so, when she’d applied for the position of Tri-Wizard Historian, she hadn’t thought that she’d get it, instead assuming that the role would go to Rita Skeeter instead. Someone who had taken a module in magical history as part of her journalism mastery, and thus was eligible for the role also. Skeeter had also gotten the job role in the original plot, so it would have made sense if she'd achieved it in this world also.

Peia had applied for the job on a whim, figuring that this was the best way for her to get access to Hogwarts before the war started. If it hadn’t worked, then she would have had to pester Lucius to try and push for her to be on the Hogwarts board of governors, and she really hadn’t wanted to deal with their constant meetings.

“Yes, you!” Narcissa says with a laugh, her glass raised in the air. “Isn’t it wonderful? Two monumental achievements in such close proximity to each other! Let’s raise a toast to the star of the evening!”

“What is the second achievement?” She asks, raising her glass.

“Why, the Quidditch World Cup of course!” Lucius says with a smile.

“What about the Quidditch World Cup?”

The Malfoys look to each other, confused.

“Have you not read the Prophet?” Draco asks.

“I haven’t unfortunately, I’ve been busy – what does it say?”

“Neek!” Lucius barks and with a ‘pop’, the house-elf appears. “Fetch the Daily Prophet and hand it to Cassiopeia. Now.”

Thanking Neek, Peia takes the copy of the Prophet and skims it over, pausing at an article which mentioned her.

--

CASSIOPEIA BLACK NAMED OFFICIAL WORLD CUP FINAL CORRESPONDENT

Exclusive Article by Rita Skeeter

In a surprising turn of events, the coveted role of World Cup Final Correspondent, left vacant due to unforeseen circ*mstances, has found its rightful occupant in none other than Cassiopeia Black, Britain’s wealthiest and most eligible bachelorette. The Ministry's decision comes after a heated debate over who would step into the shoes of myself, the original correspondent.

Minister Cornelius Fudge, in an official statement, expressed confidence in the selection, stating, "I can think of no one more suited to the role than Miss Black. With the brilliant articles she’s written for the Prophet alongside her natural love for Quidditch, I am sure that she’ll complete the role to the best of her ability and give a performance that every witch and wizard in Britain would be proud of."

Cassiopeia Black, a certified magical historian, adds the prestigious role to her growing list of accolades, amassed over her remarkable two-year career. Widely acclaimed for her debut novel, 'Enigmatic Legacy: The Enduring Saga of the Malfoy Dynasty,' Black has solidified her position as a prominent figure in the wizarding academic world.

"I am truly honoured to be chosen for this role," Black remarked, radiating enthusiasm. "Quidditch has always held a special place in my heart, and I am eager to capture the essence of the Final for readers and fans alike."

Known for her eloquent writing style and deep understanding of Quidditch dynamics, Black's appointment promises a unique perspective on the highly anticipated match. Her time as Quidditch Captain at Hogwarts further bolsters her qualifications, ensuring a comprehensive and insightful commentary.

As the official correspondent, Cassiopeia Black is set to contribute an exclusive entry to the ongoing 'Quidditch Apex: Chronicles of World Cup Triumphs.' In addition to her written coverage, she will share the Commentator’s box with Ludo Bagman during the Final, a prospect that has already sparked envy among many witches.

Though I am disappointed at missing out on such a grand event, Cassiopeia Black is a fitting replacement. So long as she doesn’t have any stage fright, that is.

With the World Cup Final looming on the horizon, all eyes are now on Cassiopeia Black and the Wizarding World eagerly awaits the enchanting words that will flow from the quill of this esteemed correspondent.

--

Peia reads through the article twice, having not expected that. She hadn’t been aware that she was even in the running for the job, let alone that she’d receive it. That’s why she’d accepted tickets for herself and a few of her friends in the first place, having wanted to go there to try and help that poor muggle family that had been tortured in canon. At least Rita Skeeter hadn’t sounded bitter – though her comment on stage fright made her realise that she hadn’t actually spoken in front of that many people before. She hadn’t made that statement to the Prophet either, but she supposed that from what Skeeter normally wrote, this was very tame in comparison.

Speaking of tickets, she was going to have to write to Fudge about this. The only reason she'd received tickets from him in the first place was because he was trying to publicly portray them as political allies. Surely in her absence, they could still use the tickets that she’d received from him for the Top Box? It felt like the right thing to do. Besides, she was sure Hestia and Chiara would have a blast with the Weasleys. Perhaps she should give away her ticket? The question was though, to who?

“I see,” she says mildly and raises her glass. “I suppose that is a cause for celebration then.”

The dinner runs on smoothly after that, though she notes that the Malfoys seem far happier at the news than she did. It wasn’t too surprising, being as she knew that she was burdened with knowledge that they simply didn’t possess. To them, the darkness that was the war had dimmed, the one threat long vanquished. But to her, she knew that Tom Riddle was coming back and so every action she took had to try to mitigate the destruction that he’d cause. The World Cup was only one step closer to the war, and she wanted, no she needed, to be ready for it.

Speaking of the upcoming war...

“Cissa,” she says once dessert is served. It is another one of her favourites – tiramisu, and the sight of it makes her mouth water. “I have a favour to ask.”

“Mm?”

“You know how I paid for the Lestrange’s Azkaban fees last month?”

With the mention of the former death eaters, the atmosphere changes drastically. “Yes.” Narcissa raises a hand, cutting off her next sentence. “Let me guess, you want to enter the Vault to get your money back?”

“Well, yes.”

With a wave of the older witch’s wand, the key appears in front of Peia. It was an old key, being made in goblin silver instead of the usual gold they used for keys, but its age didn’t make it any less beautiful. A blood red ruby sat in the centre of the key, no doubt a reference to the old spirit bloodhounds that the Lestrange family were known to keep. She places it in her purse, murmuring a thanks.

“Will you be alright to use their vault to make this month’s payment also?” Her cousin asks. “I’m still feeling somewhat under the weather.”

Ah right, she’d forgotten about that. About a month ago Narcissa had contracted the Shivers – the wizarding equivalent of the flu, and though she’d mostly recovered from it, the aftereffects of the illness could remain for weeks or even sometimes months afterwards. Come to think of it, Cissa did have a bit more make up on than she usually did, no doubt to cover up the shadows under her eyes that the shivers often bought.

“Of course.” If Narcissa wasn’t able to make the payment, then that left her as the only one to do it anyhow, as she was the only other one out of Bellatrix’s immediate relatives who wasn’t dead or disowned.

Draco changes the topic of discussion to talk about Quidditch instead. She eats her tiramisu and nods along to his words, making pointers here and there for his team’s strategy. Of course, majority of her suggestions revolved around Slytherin playing fairly instead of using dirty tactics, but it doesn’t deter Draco from describing the matches that he’d been in. If anything, it seems to encourage him to start describing them in more detail, so that she could analyse every move that they made.

She’d been Quidditch Captain during her last few years at Hogwarts and though Slytherin had lost the cup one year, she’d consider winning two out her three years a pretty good run.

(In her defence, she’d had a lot on her plate in seventh year, having had to manage Prefect and Head Girl duties alongside managing her Quidditch team.)

The only problem with Draco’s topic of conversation was that as she hadn’t played as a Seeker, there was only so much that she could advise on his own performance. She’d been a Chaser during her days at Hogwarts, having found it the easiest to play as. She’d only played as a Seeker once, and that match had been extremely embarrassing. She'd had to play against Charlie Weasley himself, one of the greatest Seekers she’d ever seen. He’d ended up giving her tips during the match and when she had turned to yell at him to stop, had plucked the snitch from right in front of her.

Thankfully though, when the conversation strayed too far into Seeker territory, Narcissa would cut in and give Draco advice herself. Having had been a Seeker in her own years at Hogwarts, the older witch’s advice was better than Peia could ever give.

Eventually, the night drew to a close, and when she notices the time – ten pm, she decides that it’s time for her to leave. She declines the Malfoys’ offer to stay in a spare room, and bids them goodbye, hugging Draco and giving Narcissa a kiss on the cheek. She goes to the fireplace and floos back to her flat, where her brother’s portrait awaits.

He gives her a look, raising an eyebrow and looking utterly indignant. “And where have you been?!”

“The Malfoys invited me to a surprise dinner,” she explained, taking off her jacket and hanging it up. “Why?”

“He’s been worried sick,” Ominis calls from the kitchen, stepping into Regulus’s picture frame. “I’ve had to put up with his moaning for 5 hours now. He’s extremely annoying.”

Regulus hits him and he yelps, rubbing his head. Watching the display made her wonder how on earth portraits felt pain. She knew that both portraits weren’t normal ones – having both been made with blood magic that made them much closer to being ghosts. That being said, they weren’t horcruxes – so they shouldn’t be able to feel anything at all.

“I told you that I was going to Whitby,” she says with a sigh, undoing her updo, letting the loose curls fall down her back.

“Yes - I know you did, but I thought you’d be back sooner.” Regulus murmurs before looking over at her. “It doesn’t matter now I suppose – was that dress Andromeda’s?”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Obviously not,” Ominis mutters, motioning to his pale and very blind eyes. Both Peia and Regulus ignore him.

“Yeah - that was the dress Andy wore when her engagement was announced.”

For a moment Peia thought that he was referring to Ted Tonks, but then she remembers that Andromeda had ran away to marry him, so it definitely wasn’t him. “Who was she supposed to marry?”

Regulus smirks, mirth clouding his eyes. “Why Lucius Malfoy of course.”

So, in other words, she’d shown up to Malfoy Manor wearing what only could be described as an ex’s dress? Not just any ex’s dress, but the sister of his current wife’s? Thankfully neither Lucius of Narcissa had acted like anything was amiss, so she assumed that they were aware she’d been far too young to know what dress Andromeda wore to what function, but had this been any other pureblood family, then it would have been considered a great insult.

Instead of responding to Reggie, she takes a seat on the sofa, opens a book and starts reading, deciding that the intricacies of Gobbledegook were far more interesting than any conversation they’d have that night. She’d pen a letter in the morning, but for now she’d focus on learning a new language.

(And if a certain redhead appeared in her head every time she practised speaking the language, then that was just a terrifying bonus.)

Letters exchanged between William Weasley and Cassiopeia Black, dated from the 13th to the 17th of August 1994:

13th August 1994

William,

I believe I have learned most of Gobbledegook. I can’t figure out how to say your name though. Names, in general, seem to dance just out of my reach in Gobbledegook. It's a charming language, full of quirks and nuances that keep me on my toes. But, let me express my sincerest gratitude for the books you sent my way. I really do likethem. Remind me to return the books to you when we see each other again, as I have a feeling we’ll be crossing paths at the World Cup.

And William, you needn't worry about any linguistic tests. The mere thought of Gobbledegook makes my throat ache, and the last thing I desire is for my voice to betray me, especially in the Top Box during commentary. Imagine the embarrassment, especially with Ludo Bagman as my companion

Send Charlie my love – Oh, and Percy too! It feels like an eternity since I last saw them, and I can't help but miss their company. Is Chiara there yet? If so, tell her I miss her too, lest she feels like she’s missing out.

Kind Regards,

Cassiopeia

14th August 1994

Cass,

That’s good to hear! I find with Gobbledegook that it's better to give different names nicknames, so that they’re one or two syllables long. After all, that’s how most goblins names are spelt, so it makes sense. So instead of William, perhaps try sounding out Bill instead? I hear your plea and won’t quiz you on it yet – perhaps we can speak in French? I believe that Ron’s friend Hermione speaks it, but I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of 14-year-olds. As I said before, I’m the cool sibling, so I have an image to maintain. I’d like to hope that she’d be too distracted by your fluent French to notice my little slip ups.

Charlie says hello to you also. As does Percy, though he’s spending far more time writing about cauldrons than he is spending time with his family. You’d think his brothers finally coming back home would have him excited but no, he’s far too focused on the Ministry. Next time you see him, could you talk to him? I’m starting to get a little worried and he’d always listen to you best.

Congratulations on your commentator role, I’ll try not to focus on it too much though, as no doubt you’re currently swimming in congratulatory letters. Has anyone sent you an elaborate proposal yet? I remember you mentioning in Hogwarts that you’d received a few, and I imagine with Rita Skeeter dubbing you ‘Britain’s most eligible bachelorette’ hasn’t stopped them in the slightest. Perhaps we could speak in Gobbledegook on a day after the Cup? I’m going back to Egypt mid-September, so I have a depressing amount of free time.

Speak to you soon,

Bill.

15th August 1994

Bill,

Was that correct? I’ve gone over it a few times and it seems correct but do let me know. Is this Hermione, Hermione Granger by any chance? I’ve heard about her from my cousin's son, Draco. He’s not fond of Harry Potter but seems to have a grudging respect for Ms Granger. He gave no description as to what she was like though, only that she was smart – so going off that, she probably will notice if you slip up on the language. I certainly will, but to help maintain your status as the ‘cool sibling,’ I will tell you where you messed up when we’re away from them.

I’ll try to pop into the Ministry later today to speak to Percy too. Fudge had me come in yesterday and this morningto go over final preparations for the World Cup. I’d be fascinated if I wasn’t so nervous at the thought of me presenting.

Thank you for the congratulations, and for keeping them short too. I’m currently swimming in congratulatory letters, each sounding falser than the last. I’ve had my fair share of proposals too, and they would be funny if they weren’t so revolting. Some of these men are half my age! They’re older than both of my brothers, and there was eleven years between me and Sirius! It is truly revolting, especially as I can’t even write back to give them a piece of my mind.

I have attached something for you in the storage rune below. I remember how much you liked Exploding Bon Bons in our days at Hogwarts, and a suitor sent a box to me, so I figured that you’d like them far more than I would. Don’t worry, they aren’t jinxed – I checked them myself.

See you soon,

Cassiopeia

16th August 1994

Cass,

Thank you for the sweets. I haven’t actually eaten any yet, but my siblings have all said that they’re wonderful. Ginny’s starting to think that I have a secret admirer. I do have to agree with your sentiment on the proposals you’re receiving – it is a tad awful, especially if some of these wizards are as old as you say. It’s a shame you can’t hex the suitors you wanted to – would you like me to do so instead? I promise, I’m very discreet.

To answer your question, yes, the Hermione I mentioned is Hermione Granger. She is friends with both Ron and Ginny and gets along surprisingly well with everyone else in the household. Even the twins, which I didn’t think would happen, what with their penchant for rule breaking. She reminds me a bit of Percy, however lacking the same enthusiasm for the Ministry that he has. I’d say she’s like you and I in her pursuit of knowledge, and I imagine that you’ll find her intriguing if you bump into her at the World Cup. Out of curiosity, does Draco Malfoy mention Ron at all? If so, what does he say? I am morbidly curious to see just how deep his and Harry Potter’s rivalry goes.

Thank you for speaking to Percy too. This morning he came downstairs and spent time with us, a thing that hadn’t happened since the day Charlie returned to the Burrow. I spoke with him about the Wizarding Dark Ages and was pleasantly surprised at how much he knew from the event. Sometimes I forget that he’s a scholar like us, so he also goes out of his way to read obscure pieces of media any chance he gets.

I have to say, it is strange sharing a room with Charlie again. I thought it’d be the same as it was before, but I think we’re a tad too different now. I’m much more of a morning person than I was before, and Charlie tends to wake up at even the slightest of sound. We’re both adults, so we haven’t fought over this, but it’s something that’s been on my mind lately. Ignore my rambling, there isn’t much to share in the Burrow, so I can only really talk about what’s on my mind.

I’ve attached a book on rune-decoding in a storage rune at the end of this letter. Feel free to read it at your own pace, but I figured that you’d appreciate reading through something that had nothing to do with Quidditch. You’ve always hated being overloaded on information, and I imagine the constant focus on the World Cup is overwhelming.

Speak to you soon,

Bill

August 17th 1994

William,

I think in your old age you’ve become lenient with your siblings. The William Weasley I knew wouldn’t have just let your siblings take your sweets – you would have hexed them to oblivion if they’d even dared. Well, you probably wouldn’t have hexed Ginny – but my point still stands. I am glad they enjoyed it though, albeit a tad disappointed that you haven’t tried one yet. They’re from Manchester too – the birthplace of Kaboon Choco Ltd. Have our letters really made Ginny suspect that you have a secret admirer? If so then you really do need to write to more people.

I’ve received a few more proposals from equally unflattering wizards. If this continues, then I may need to take you up on your offer. Only if you promise to not get caught of course – I'm not going to be the one responsible for sending Gryffindor’s Golden Boy off to Azkaban.

Draco does mention Ron quite a little bit, however his words aren’t very flattering. I believe Harry Potter chose Ron over him in first year, so on Draco’s end there’s a lot of annoyance and jealously. It’s something that I’m sure will resolve itself in the years to come, but for now, you and I are going to have to grin and bear it as the boys complain at us about utterly petty disputes. My piece of advice to you if Ron goes off on a tangent is to focus on an interesting part of the wall and think about anything and everything under the sun. Just make sure that you nod in all the right moments.

I’m glad that Percy has toned down somewhat. If I had to guess, I assume everyone’s arrivals has caused an unneeded stress onto this already stressful summer, so in response to this change, he’s retreated into his work. A habit which is unhealthy, but not as bad as one such as alcoholism. He’s made me promise to see him at the World Cup, so I suspect that I’ll be popping by your family’s tent prior to the match. Hopefully your siblings won’t see me as a Dark Witch, and we’ll all get along.

I imagine it would be strange sharing a room with someone who’s also moved away. You both no doubt are far too used to your freedom for it to be anything other than awkward. But being as you haven’t fought yet, and it’s been more than a week, I’m sure you’ll persevere.

Thank you for the book – I really did need the distraction. The challenge of the World Cup is daunting, and I have discovered that I seem to have developed a stage fright that I simply did not have before. I still don’t know if I will be writing the Prophet article on it or not. Speaking of the World Cup, I have found out that as I’m in the Commentator’s box, my ticket isn’t needed. So, being the good Samaritan I am, I have given the ticket to someone I remember thoroughly enjoying Quidditch whenever they watched it. I won’t tell you who I’ve given the ticket to, but I imagine you’ll find out soon enough.

See you tomorrow,

Peia.

WILLIAM WEASLEY

Bill reads through the letter, a fond smile on his lips.

For the last few days, his letters with Cassiopeia Black had been non-step, and he often found himself greatly amused by her words. She wrote very similarly to how she spoke, so he could practically hear her voice every time he read through them. With each letter he got, the more teasing her voice became, so he considered it a sign that she was as invested in these letters as he was.

Ginny, having grown increasingly observant as the days went past, gave him a knowing look. “Was that from your sweetheart?”

Yes. “No.” Because as much as he wished her to be, Bill Weasley wasn’t delusional enough to think that a few letters made someone his girlfriend. They were friends at most, friendly acquaintances at worst. “Just a friend.”

Hermione, who’d been sitting next to Ginny, snorts. “If a friend is making you smile like that, then she’s clearly someone special.”

“Or he’s someone special. Regardless, we need to meet them!” Ginny insists.

“You’ll meet them someday.” He promises, and like usual, the girls roll their eyes and look at each other.

“But we’ll meet several people one day!” Ginny whines. “Can’t you invite them round to the Burrow or something? So we can get to know them too?”

He chuckles. “And sic mum on her? No chance.” He wasn’t letting his mother around any potential girlfriend he could have until he was confident that they could handle her. Though well meaning, she tended to be a little forceful, something that he was sure would overwhelm several witches.

“So, it’s a her?” Hermione asks, and the girls giggle at each other, happy to receive a piece of information, no matter how little said piece of information was.

“What's a her?” Mum asks, carrying a stack of toast into the dining room.

“Nothing,” the three chorus. Though she looks suspicious, his mother relents and doesn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she turns on the WWN where her favourite programmed, the Witching Hour was playing. From what he could make out, the hostess was interviewing Celestina Warbeck, a witch who just so happened to be mum's favourite singer. They were discussing the release of Warbeck's newest album, and Bill made a mental note to check the price of the record next time he went to Diagon Alley. It would be a good birthday present, perhaps he could pretend it was from all of the family?

The door to the kitchen slams open and Charlie runs into the room, an excited glint in his eye. When Percy follows with the same look on his face, Bill can't help but be on edge.

“She’s done it!” Charlie exclaims, shoving the copy of the Prophet he was holding into Bill’s hands. “Go on Bill – read the article!”

He looks down at the article, and skims through it, noting that other than the author – Cassiopeia herself, nothing was odd with it. The article was the final part of a four-day piece she’d apparently sent to the Prophet in 1991, giving brief summaries of the last seven families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, a list that had been published by a Pureblood fanatic he couldn't remember the name of years ago. The families in question were the Selwyns, the Shacklebolts’, the Shafiqs, the Slughorns, the Travers’, the Yaxleys and of course, their own family the Weasleys. Cass's portrayal of the Weasleys was a lot nicer than he would have expected, even taking into consideration her tentative friendships with himself, Charlie and Percy, but he still failed to see why Charlie was so excited.

"Sonoro Quiescis," he quickly casts, all too aware of the rising number of people in the room. And he really didn't like that look in his mother's eyes. “What has she done?”

“Read the article!” Percy insists and he rolls his eyes.

“I have. But why are you guys so excited?”

"I can't hear them!" Ginny complained to Hermione, who pats her on the shoulder.

"I think that's the point Gin."

“Read it aloud. The part on the Weasleys.” Charlie insists and with a sigh, Bill skims through the article.

“The penultimate family on this list is the Weasley family,” he reads aloud. “The Weasley family, rooted in a legacy dating back to the 15th century, stands as a paragon of resilience and familial bonds. Their inclusion in wizarding family rankings, despite the absence of the prestigious Potter family, sparks debates, but the enduring love within the Weasley clan transcends financial challenges. The family's diverse careers, from Deputy Headmistress to aurors, potion masters, models, and Quidditch players, showcase a rich tapestry of achievements. Remarkably, the Weasleys are the only Sacred Twenty-Eight family with no members sent to Azkaban, a noteworthy feat given their extensive history. While scandals, like the elopement of Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley, add colour to their history, the present generation continues the family tradition with diverse career choices, academic excellence, and the promise of a bright future.

Examining the present Weasley family, it's evident that their tradition of embracing diverse career paths continues with the current generation. From curse-breakers to dragon-keepers, the younger Weasleys embody the spirit of individuality and innovation. Their academic prowess further solidifies the family's standing, with William Weasley earning the prestigious Barnabus Finkly Prize for Exceptional Spell Casting and achieving a rare feat of ten NEWTs during his time at Hogwarts. As we peer into the future, the Weasley family's trajectory appears promising. In a world filled with magical families, the Weasleys continue to stand out as pioneers, proving that forging one's own path is not just a motto but a way of life for this family.”

He gives them a blank look. "She’s a historian who happened to write an article on our family. I fail to see why you’re so excited by this.”

By now the twins, dad and Ron had joined them, and were giving the trio an odd look.

"Why can't we hear them?" Ron asks.

"Your brothers are being secretive." Mum says with a giggle. "About a witch."

Bill shudders. Why on earth did Charlie need to mention this in front of everyone?

"Which witch?" Fred asks.

"No clue." Ginny says. "But I want to know though."

“She mentioned you by name!” Charlie exclaims, giddy and completely oblivious to what was going on around him. “You, Bill! In a public newspaper that hundreds, if not thousands of people read.”

“She mentioned that I was smart,” he corrected, his face growing warm. “that’s all. It’s not anything to celebrate over. Besides, it’s an article that was sent in years ago.”

“But she publicly acknowledged you.” Charlie insists, but again, he really didn’t get why he was so excited. Sure, it may be surprising for some wizards, but it was public knowledge that he and Cassiopeia were aware of each other’s existence. They hadn’t hidden their friendship during their Hogwarts days, so his brothers really didn’t need to look so elated now.

“What I think our brother is trying to say,” Percy interjects. “Is that in her article, not only has she named you specifically, but she’s mentioned things that she only knows due to going to Hogwarts with you. The number of NEWTs we get isn’t disclosed by the Ministry, is it? By mentioning that specifically, it implies that the two of you know each other well enough to share that sort of information.”

“But we do know each other?” He was sure that anyone with a brain would have figured that one out, being as he and Cass were born a year apart. Besides, the article was years old - it wasn't like she'd re-edited it to include him. Most likely, her mention of him was an afterthought.

“But Wizarding Britain doesn’t know that do they?” Charlie says, and before Bill can react, he snatches the letter out of his hands. “She’s just told the entire country that she knows you – including her relatives. This is great!” He reads through the letter before showing Percy and the two of them grin. “And have you seen the length of this letter? Bill, that’s practically an essay!”

“Wait, do you think it's the same witch he’s writing letters to that wrote an article about him in the Prophet?” Ginny asks, leaning over to try and get a look.

“Bill’s writing someone?” Several voices chorus. He really didn’t like the excited expressions on the twins and his mother’s faces. Before they can even think of reading the Prophet, he burns the newspaper and throws it into the fireplace.

“But I hadn’t read it!” Dad complains, genuinely dismayed.

“Sorry dad. Finite. Accio.” Letting the soundproofing spell fall, he summons his letter out of Charlie’s hands and puts it in his pocket. He doesn’t like the calculating look in the twins’ eyes and makes a mental note to put some of his own locks on his bedroom door.

“Sorry Bill. I didn’t realise they were there.” Charlie apologises, looking genuinely guilty. “If it helps, I’m sure I can get them off your back with my next words.”

“We’re still in the room Charlie.” Fred said dryly.

“I have an announcement to make!” Charlie says, ignoring him.

“Are you telling us the name of Bill’s girlfriend?” Ron asks.

“No. I’m telling you something even better!”

“And that is?” Dad goads.

“My own girlfriend is arriving at the Burrow in approximately,” he checks his watch. “3 hours.”

There was complete silence at his sentence. Though Bill had suspected Chiara was going to meet Charlie whilst she was in Britain, he hadn’t expected her to just turn up at the Burrow. If anything, he thought that Charlie would bring her to the house himself. At least Cassiopeia's mention of Chiara made sense now.

“You have a girlfriend?!” Ron, Ginny and the twins chorus together. They sounded confused.

“How come when you think Bill has a girlfriend, you’re excited, but when you find out I do, you’re confused?” Charlie asks with a frown.

“Well don’t take this the wrong way son,” Dad says, adjusting his glasses. “But you’ve always loved dragons more than people. And with how dangerous your job is – I think we all assumed that you didn’t really have much time to meet people.”

“But Bill has a dangerous job too?”

“Yes,” Fred chimes in. “But he’s not nearly as obsessed with cursebreaking as you are with dragons.”

Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but a strange noise cuts his off. The rest of the family – dad included, turn around to see mum grinning, a strange sound leaving her lips. It almost sounded like she was squealing.

“You have a girlfriend!” She cheers and rushes forward, embracing Charlie. “This is wonderful! Oh, how I’ve waited for the day one of my kids would bring someone home!” She pauses and looks at Ron and Ginny. “Well not you two – you're both far too young.”

Ironically enough, out of all of them, Ron had brought the most people home, but Bill supposed that friends didn’t count.

“It means that you’re serious about her!” Mum continues. “And that I’ll get my first look at my future daughter-in-law!”

“I haven’t proposed to her, mum!”

“Yet.” George quips, and at mum’s even happier expression, Charlie gives him a withering glare.

At all this mayhem, Bill laughs. Though he did enjoy the solitude of Egypt, he really did love spending time with his family. With a soft ‘hoot,’ an unfamiliar owl flies through the window and drops a letter at the table.

Dad picks it up and peers at the writing on the envelope. “It’s for you Molly-wobbles.”

Several of the Weasley children dry heave at the nickname. He does his best not to grimace, remembering that he’d been exposed to far worse in the past.

“Oh!” Mum exclaims, finally letting go of Charlie. “No one ever writes to me.”

With a frown she opens the envelope, and a silver ticket falls out onto the floor. She takes out a note and reads it aloud.

“To Mrs Weasley: I hope this letter finds you well. Your warmth and kindness have not gone unnoticed, and I wanted to express my gratitude in a way that reflects the joy you bring to others. Enclosed, you will find a ticket to the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. It is a ticket to the Top Box, so you can join your family in celebrating the event.

Kind regards, Elizabeth Smith.” She frowns. “Does anyone know who Elizabeth Smith is?”

Everyone looks to each other, baffled. Bill has an inkling that he knows who she is, but he sure as hell wasn’t telling anyone.

“I assume then, that this is a prank.” Mum concludes and gives a sharp look to the twins. “Fred, George – this isn’t funny!”

“It wasn’t us mum,” Fred insists.

“We promise!” George adds.

“I don’t think it’s a prank mum,” Ginny says, bending down and peering at the ticket. “It looks almost identical to the tickets dad has.”

“Give it here Gin,” Dad says, getting out his own tickets alongside his wand. “Aparecium!”

The ticket doesn’t change. Instead, it glows a soft blue. Looking it over, the ticket was identical to the other ones, which lit up the same colour when dad charms them too.

“Who on earth would send me a ticket for the Top Box?” Mum wonders aloud.

Cassiopeia Black, that was who. It seemed that she had noticed his mother’s presence at the majority of Charlie’s Quidditch games during their days at Hogwarts. Granted, as he distinctly remembered his mother somehow screaming over the entire crowd to show her support of her second eldest, he assumed that everyone in the damn school knew about her love for Quidditch.

As the family continue to speculate, he chooses that moment to leave the room, deciding that it was probably the best time for him to write his response to Cass. He doubted that he’d have the time to write to her otherwise, what with both Chiara and Harry arriving later. An hour later he’d finished his response, and goes downstairs to the bathroom, figuring that everyone else would have already gotten ready.

As he passes Ginny’s room, he pauses when he hears voice that weren't his sister’s. Instead, the voices belonged to Ron and Hermione. Bill sighs, two fourteen-year-olds left alone did not sound like a good idea – especially when he was already 50 percent sure said wizards had a crush on each other. Making sure to be as quiet as possible, he presses his ear to the door, reluctantly accepting the fact that if he could hear anything inappropriate going on in there, then he’d need to break them up. He prayed to Morgana that this wasn’t the case, because he really didn't want to think about having the talk with Ron. Not to mention the disrespect - this wasn't even Ron's room.

Thankfully, it sounded like the pair were only talking.

“Do you reckon it was Sirius who sent mum the ticket?” Ron asks Hermione, and Bill raises an eyebrow. The only Sirius he knew was Sirius Black, but they couldn’t be talking about him, could they?

“Maybe. I mean, I’m sure the Black family easily has enough money for tickets to the Top Box. But how did he know your mother wasn’t coming?” They were talking about Sirius Black. But why?

“I wrote to Harry the other day. I mentioned that all of us, but mum were going. Maybe he wrote to Sirius?” Bill’s head was spinning. Since when had Harry Potter been in direct contact with Sirius Black? Better yet, why were Ron and Hermione discussing this in Ginny’s room, when said witch could wander in at any moment?

“Perhaps.” Hermione agrees. “He would do absolutely anything for him. We’ll bring it up with Harry later. Let’s go downstairs – I'm sure your mother will appreciate us helping the place get prepared for Charlie’s girlfriend.”

With those words, Bill turns around and steps into the bathroom, quickly closing the door. That was... a lot to process. It seemed that he had to keep an eye on his brother and his friends, lest they accidentally get themselves killed by being too trusting.

--

At ten to noon, the entire Weasley clan was in the living room, waiting for Chiara to arrive. For the first time in twenty-one years, Bill got to watch Charlie be truly worried, as he paced between the living room and the kitchen.

Eventually, at five to twelve, the dragonkeeper stops, staring everyone down.

“Alright everyone!” Charlie barked, sounding eerily like their mother when she was annoyed. “Now listen up – this is the first time Chiara’s met some of you and with that in mind, please be on your best behaviour!” He gives the twins a pointed look. “I don’t want anyone to scare her away.” His voice takes a softer tone. “I really love her, okay?”

Bill didn’t think that Chiara was nearly as fragile as Charlie was making her out to be – not when she’d shared a dorm room with Nymphadora Tonks for seven years and you know, was a werewolf, but he keeps his mouth shut, choosing to nod along instead.

“Aww Charlie,” mum coos, hugging her second eldest. “You said the L word!”

“Yeah Charlie!” Fred chimes in, his voice a surprisingly accurate rendition of their mother’s. “That is so sweet!” George makes obnoxious kissing sounds.

Mum glares at them. “Any small talk, and you won’t be able to go with your father to pick up Harry later on.”

They go quiet then. Every person but their parents knew that the twins had been planning on testing their new sweets products on Harry’s cousin. By all accounts, the kid was a bully, so being as their father was also accompanying them and could step in if things got truly dangerous, Bill didn’t see anything wrong with putting the kid in his place.

There’s a knock on the door, and Charlie springs into action, running to the door before anyone else could even get the chance to.

“I never knew he was that fast.” Ginny says, impressed.

Percy gives her a look. “He literally works with dragons for a living.”

Her face goes red. “Well, yeah.”

The sound of laughter rings out from the hallway, and Charlie enters the living room again, somehow looking even more nervous than he did earlier. “Hey everyone. Mum, dad, siblings, this is Chiara, my girlfriend. Chiara, these are my parents Molly and Arthur Weasley. These are my siblings Fred, George, Ginny, Ron and Ron’s friend Hermione. You of course already know Bill and Percy.”

Stepping out from behind Charlie, Chiara Lobosca gives everyone a nervoussmile. She was wearing a nice yellow summer dress, a departure from the turtlenecks and combat boots he remembered her wearing, but he supposed that she was trying to make a good first impression.

“Hello everyone,” Chiara greets, giving the children a wave before turning to his parents. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr and Mrs Weasley. You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

“Hello Chiara, dear!” Mum says, pulling the witch into a hug. “It’s lovely to meet you too! Please, take a seat!” She shoos Fred off his seat and practically forces Chiara into it. “Now, Charlie didn’t give us much notice of your arrival, otherwise I would have planned it sooner, but we’re planning on having dinner at around 5:30 pm, when Harry gets here. Will you be staying until then?”

“If you’ll have me,” Chiara answers. She waves at him and Percy. They both wave back.

“Wonderful!” Mum says with a smile, and forces George to move so that Charlie could next to his girlfriend. What followed next was an awkward interrogation that each sibling watched in morbid fascination.

"Remind me not to bring anyone home until after I've proposed," Fred murmurs to the rest of the family. "Otherwise, I have a feeling mum will scare them off."

Bill agreed with that statement full-heartedly.

--

A few hours later, Bill found himself sitting with Chiara and Charlie in the dining room, talking about potion making of all things. Though he had a feeling they were both humouring him, it was interesting to hear about how the potions one could make effortlessly differed depending on what job you had. They were waiting for Ron, the twins and his dad to return with Harry Potter, the boy who lived and most importantly, Ron’s best friend.

The fireplace turns green, and the trio look over.

“Who do you reckons going to come out first?” Charlie asks them.

“One of the twins.” Bill answers the same time that Chiara answers “Ron.”

She grins at him. “Pick a twin, and I bet you a sickle that I’m right.”

Seeing no harm in it, he agrees. “Alright then. I pick George.”

“I pick Fred.” Charlie decides.

Sure enough, a moment later, one of the twins' stumbles through the fireplace. Chiara scowls.

“Which twin are you?” Charlie asks.

The twin grins mischievously at him.“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“We did it Fred!” the other twin says excitedly, stepping through the flames and taking a seat across from him.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he hands the sickle over.

“What did you do?” Chiara asks curiously.

“We left a bunch of sweets for Dudley Dursley to eat.”

“I assume that these are prank sweets?” She guesses.

“You would be right. Say Chiara, were you friends with Tonks by any chance?”

“She was one of my best friends.”

George nods. “I thought you looked familiar – well, any friend of Tonks' is a friend of ours.”

Of course, he’d say something like that. Before the Weasley twins, Nymphadora Tonks had been the reigning pranking champion at Hogwarts, often using her metamorphagus abilities to turn into various teachers. If memory served him right, she had once been threatened with expulsion by Snape for going into the staff room as him and starting drama between him and McGonagall.

Ron appears through the flames next, and sits closest to the fireplace, staring at the fire excitedly, clearly waiting for his best friend. Who appears not long after and falls face first to the floor.

Well, that wasn’t a stellar first impression.

“Did he eat it?” Fred asks, helping Harry to his feet. If Bill hadn’t known who he was already, then he never would have guessed that this was the boy who lived himself. The kid was extremely scrawny - did he even eat enough?

“Yeah,” Harry said. “What was that?”

“Ton-tongue toffees,” Fred explained. “George and I invented them – they make your tongue swell.”

“Well Dudley’s certainly did!” Harry says with a laugh, and the rest of the room joins in. Upon noticing him, Charlie and Chiara, Harry shoots them a curious look.

“How’re you doing Harry,” Charlie says, standing up and shaking his hand. “I’m Charlie.”

“Then that makes you Bill,” Harry says, turning to him.

“The one and only.” He says with a grin. He shakes his hand. “A pleasure to meet you Harry – Ron hasn’t shut up about you!”

“Shaddup,” Ron mutters, his face red.

“And you are?” Harry asks Chiara, taking her hand and shaking it.

“I’m Chiara – Charlie’s girlfriend.” She gives him a look over. “I have to say, it is nice to finally put a face to the name – Remus was never one for descriptions.”

“You know Professor Lupin?” Ron and Harry ask in unison.

She nods. “We’re old friends. If anything, he’s like an older brother to me.”

Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and dad appeared, having apparated in.

“That wasn’t funny, Fred!” He bellows, his face an angry shade of red.

Bill watches the scene with amusem*nt, deciding that he did not miss the days when it was him who was being yelled at. He repeats the thought when his mother appears. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny leave and though he considers following them, he decides against it, figuring that they wouldn’t be talking about Sirius Black with the youngest Weasley present. Instead, he sits back and watches the argument unfold

--

Twenty minutes later, Bill found himself playing table wars with Charlie in the garden. Mum had asked them to set up, but noticing the grim atmosphere, he’d suggested the game to lighten everyone’s mood. Chiara was the referee, and every time one of the tables ‘lost,’ she would mendit back together. The other siblings had quickly taken sides, and Bill was pleased to note that both Ron and Ginny seemed to support him.

Unfortunately, their game got interrupted in its fifth round. A very irate Percy poked his head to yell at them to keep it down.

“Why don’t you join in Perce?” Charlie asks. “I’m sure you’d be good at it – at least better than I am!” The dragonkeeper was losing 4-1.

“I’m working!” Percy hisses. “Ever since someone’s girlfriend told me to take things easy, my workload in the evening’s tripled!”

“Not my girlfriend!” Bill retorts. “And if you come downstairs right now, I’ll help you with the damn work myself.” Surely, whatever work Percy was doing on cauldron bottoms couldn’t be that hard?

Percy pauses and with a ‘pop’ apparates to the garden. “Alright.”

It turned out that Percy was a lot better shot that Charlie. By the time dad came outside to tell them that dinner was ready, Bill was only narrowly winning with 6-5.

“Bloody hell Perce,” Charlie says, as he helps the others quickly lay out the table. “I didn’t expect you to be such a good shot.”

Percy shrugs. “I’ve always been rather precise with my spellcasting.”

“Have you tried enrolling in a duelling tournament?” Bill asks. He figured that it would probably be a healthy outlet for Percy, with it having nothing to do with his actual job.

“Not yet. Peia suggested that I should go to onethough.” They start taking their seats at the table, and Bill is secretly pleased when Ginny sits next to him.

Chiara snorts. “Peia thinks thateveryone shouldenrol in a duelling tournament. According to her, it’s to ‘gain actual experience’ but she honestly just sounds like a female version of AlastorMoody.”

Bill had met Mad Eye Moody once, in a Ministry party his father had dragged him to, and like the name suggested, that man was on a whole other plane of existence to the Wizarding World. He’d been extremely paranoid, to the point where he’d made his dad question him to double check whether he’d been replaced by a Death Eater spy or not.

The food is brought out, and after thanking his mother for the food, he tucks in.

“She hasn’t suggested that I should go to a duelling tournament.” He murmurs. He’d won quite a few competitions in Egypt and was curious to see just how similar they were in the UK.

“Probably because you’re a cursebreaker?” Charlie guesses, rolling his eyes. “If you went, it wouldn’t be fair on the poor duellists.”

With that conversation over, Bill finds himself drawn into a debate with his mother regarding his outfit. Honestly, he was surprised that it’d taken her as long as it had to bring it up to him.

“How will you find a nice witch with an earring like that!” She complains, motioning to his Runespoor fang. “Really Bill, what do they say at the bank?”

Honestly? “They don’t really care what I wear mum.” He admits. “So long as I bring back treasure from my finds, they’re alright.” At her frown, he sighs. “They’re goblins, mum, so they have far different traditions than what we have.”

“I know that dear. Your hair’s getting rather long too – I wish you’d let me give it a trim.”

“I like it!” Ginny defends and shoots Bill a grin. “You’re so old-fashioned mum!”

“Honestly Mrs Weasley,” Chiara adds, “I don’t think Bill is Bill without long hair – he always used to grow it out during our Hogwarts days.”

("So – have you heard from Sirius lately?” Ron asks from further down the table. Bill keeps his eyes on his mother in front of him but pays attention to his brother’s conversation instead.)

Mum tuts. “Please call me Molly dear. I suppose – though it does seem a bit longer than usual. Is there a reason you’re growing it out dear?”

“Well, I’ve always been jealous of Ginny’s luscious locks,” he jokes and the women all giggle.

(“Yeah,” answered Harry. “Twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I’m here.”)

He smiles at them, though inside his mind was filled with worry. Ron and his friends were actively writing to Sirius Black, the escaped convict? Just what were they getting into?

“Chiara dear!” Mum says loudly, causing everyone on the table to stop their conversations and stare. “I wanted to ask – we received an extra ticket for the World Cup this morning, and I was wondering if you’d like to go?”

“That’s terribly kind of you Mrs Weasley, but I’m already going.” Chiara says with a smile. “In fact, I’ll be in the Top Box also. I’ll be with my friends, but we’ll make sure to sit with you all!”

“Who’s going?” Charlie asks her.

“Well, it’s only going to be me and Hestia in the Top Box – Peia's commentating, isn’t she? We’re going to be meeting Tulip and Tonks beforehand, though we’re still trying to figure out a meeting place.”

“Why don’t you all just hang out with us?” Surprisingly it’s Percy who suggests this.

“Look at the time!” Mum says, peering down at her watch. With that, the dinner ends, and everyone apart from Bill, Charlie, Chiara and Percy get sent to bed.

“I best be heading off now.” Chiara decides, standing up. She gives mum a quick hug. “It was lovely to meet you, Molly.”

“And you as well dear!” Mum says, smiling up at the taller witch. “You must come around again – perhaps you could stay around the Burrow for a few days? I would love to get to know you better.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea.” Chiara agrees.

Deciding that they didn’t need to hear the rest of this conversation, he ushers Percy upstairs and they head off to his room, where they get to work on Percy’s Cauldron bottom thickness report.

--

An hour later, Bill’s ready to scream. Though the work was easy enough, as all he did was merely go through different reports and incidents, it became painfully obvious that the Ministry should have just standardised the thickness of cauldron bottoms in the first place.

“Surely there’s some sort of legislaturein place regarding this?” He asks, confused. This felt like a pretty big oversight to have, especially with how widespread cauldrons were used in not only Wizarding Britain, but the world.

Percy, happy to have someone listening to him, smiles, sliding over a book on Ministry law that looked far too heavy. “There is legislature in place for British-made cauldrons, however there isn’t any legislation in place for cauldrons imported in from the rest of the world, and those international cauldrons make up almost 50 percent of the cauldrons we have on our shelves today. As a result, this oversight has been resulting in a rising number of cauldrons leaking on the buyer’s first brew.”

“So, the I.C.W needs to pass legislature to standardise Cauldron Bottoms?” At Percy’s excited nod, he continues. “But then why is Crouch petitioning Fudge on this? Why isn’t he going to the ICW directly instead?”

“Mr Crouch feels that the Minister is the best suited British Wizard to raise the issue.”

“But isn’t Dumbledore Supreme Mugwump?”

Percy’s silent for a moment, and Bill could practically see all the cogs spinning in his head. “Mr Crouch doesn’t like Professor Dumbledore.”

“Why?” There was definitely a story there.

“I’m not sure. But I’m not getting involved in any of it. Now let’s get back to work. I would like to be done with this by midnight.”

With that they get to work. By the time he goes to bed, his brain hurts from the sheer number of books he’d just had to skim through. Before succumbing to sleep's embrace, he lies there, gaze fixed on the ceiling, his thoughts consumed by the enigma of Sirius Black. The pressing need to act hung heavily on him, yet the path forward remained elusive, a puzzle yearning to be solved. He would figure out a solution eventually, but for now, he remained uncertain of how to proceed.

Chapter 3: The First Stage

Chapter Text

The First Stage.

HESTIA JONES

Hestia wanders through the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, her steps echoing against the worn stones. It was extremely busy, but she couldn’t say that she was surprised - with it being August, everyone who was there was most likely trying to do their back to school shopping. Once upon a time, she’d been there too, trying on new school robes cause she’d happened to hit a growth spurt. A group of children surround one of the numerous Quidditch shops, looking at all the League’s posters displayed in the window. The biggest poster of all belonged to the Holyhead Harpies, her older sister Gwenog’s team.

With a fond yet exasperated smile, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. If Gwenog caught wind of her likeness plastered on the poster, she’d never hear the end of it - as much as she loved her, she had to admit that her sister did have an ego.

She passes by Ollivanders, one of the most popular shops in Diagon. Normally, it was surrounded with witches and wizards, all of whom eager to get their hands on new wands. Today though, its doors were closed. A sight that sent a ripple of unease through her. Drawing closer, Hestia noticed a small notice pinned to the door. "Closed for personal reasons," it read, the cryptic message leaving more questions than answers. Well, she decides, whatever it was that caused Ollivander to close shop, she supposed it had to have been pretty serious.

She continues onwards to her destination, a clothes shop called Starlight Stitchery. It was a quaint little shop located in one of the many corners of Diagon, and owned by a fellow former Ravenclaw, Renee Egwu. Pushing open the door, she was greeted by the cheerful chattering of house-elves, their tiny forms darting to and fro as they stacked shelves with colourful bolts of fabric and shimmering threads. These were Peia’s house-elves, and according to the witch, they had more fashion sense than the majority of Wizarding Britain.

“Good Morning!” They chime in unison, their voices hopeful.

“Morning,” she returns, hoping that the smile she gave didn’t look too forced. The way that they were staring at her was unnerving.

She carries on forth to the front desk, where Renee, the owner, was waiting. The younger sister of Andre Egwu, she’d often had to hang out with Hestia’s friend group if she wanted to spend time with her brother, so they’d known each other for years.

“Renee, lovely to see you.” She says genuinely.

Renee returned the smile, her dark eyes sparkling with delight. "Hestia, it's been too long! How have you been?"

“Alright. Finally passed my exam, so there's that. You?” Becoming a Hit Witch was perhaps her biggest accomplishment. It had been the hardest thing she’d had to work for, NEWTs included. The training had been gruelling, but now that she was on the field, she understood the need for it.

“I’m doing well! The shop is doing better than ever and don’t tell anyone I told you this but,” she leans over the counter and lowers her voice, “I’m going to have a sister-in-law in a few months.”

“Andre proposed?” Her eyes widen.

Renee nodded. “Yes. Last week. All the wedding invitations should be sent out in the next few days. The wedding’s going to be in France, so they want everyone to have as much notice as possible. Anyway, that’s enough about me - what brings you here?”

“Ah, yes. I’m here to collect a package for Peia? I figured I’d pick it up before I headed over.”

At the mention of Cassiopeia's name, a flicker of recognition crossed Renee's features. "Ah, Cassiopeia," she mused. "Of course, I have her package in the back. Follow me."

She follows her through the door behind the counter. With every step away from the main floor, the ambiance of the shop seemed to shift, the whimsical displays of muggle-inspired fashion giving way to rows of duelling robes and light armour. It was an interesting change - Hestia couldn’t help but wonder just who Renee was making these clothes for.

Stopping in front of a mannequin adorned in sleek black duelling robes, Renee turned to face her, her expression a mix of pride and excitement. "Here it is," she announced, gesturing towards the outfit with a flourish. "Peia’s custom design."

Her eyes skim over the robes, and she can’t help but be impressed by them. Especially by the stitchwork in the sleeves, which made the robes look like they were adorned with black flowers. “They’re stunning.”

Renee beamed with pride, her dark eyes alight with enthusiasm. She waves her wand and the clothes fly off the mannequin, fold themselves up and place themselves into a paper bag. "Thank you, I wanted to try something new with this design."

“Something new? What do you mean?”

With a mischievous grin, Renee leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've added a new feature to these robes," she confided. "They're laced with cushioning and shield charms, so should help protect Peia from any impact damage. I’m hoping that they’ll absorb spellfire too."

“Absorb spellfire?” Hestia echoed, her mind reeling at the thought. Absorbing spellfire was one of the key features of magical armour, so if Renee had managed to adapt the spells needed to work on everyday clothing… the possibilities were endless.

Renee nodded eagerly, her excitement palpable. "It's an experimental feature," she explained. "I wanted to see how it would hold up in action."

“I’ll be sure to let Cassiopeia know.” She promises, unsure of what else to say.

Though it did beg the question, just what on earth was Cassiopeia getting up to? Why would she need duelling robes designed to absorb spellfire? It wasn’t like Peia faced danger on a daily basis - the most dangerous thing she faced from her job was a papercut.

She bids farewell to Renee once they reach the front counter and goes back through Diagon Alley. Her path leads her to Morsel's Bakery, a cozy establishment nestled amidst the bright buildings of its neighbours. The aroma of freshly baked pastries wafted through the air, beckoning her inside.

Pushing open the door, she was greeted by the sight of Marty Morsel, the owner of the bakery, bustling about behind the counter with a smile. His smile widens when he notices her.

“Miss Jones! What a pleasant surprise, how can I help you today?”

“I’m just browsing.” She lets the man behind her make a purchase as she stared at the display, debating which pastries to pick.

Eventually, she decided on a couple of Pain Au Chocolats, as they looked the freshest.

Marty’s hands deftly wrapped the pastries up in bags before handing them over to her. "Charmed to stay warm," he explained with a wink before bidding her farewell. “Tell Miss Black I said hi!”

With her purchases in hand, she set off towards Danae Towers, the block of flats that Peia lived in. It was a short distance from Diagon, only about a ten minute walk at most. Her knuckles rapped gently against the door of Peia’s flat and moments later, the door swung open.

Cassiopeia blinks at her. She was wearing one of her usual dark dresses, accompanied by a cardigan that she never would wear outside of the house. “Morning.”

“Morning! I brought us a little treat.”

She steps into Peia’s flat, which looked exactly like it did the countless other times she’d visited. Still to this day she didn’t understand the empty picture frames on the wall. She tosses over one of the bags, which her friend catches.

“I’ve been craving this for ages!” Peia exclaims, immediately biting into her pastry. “Thank you Hestia.”

“I live to serve.” They settle down on the sofa and use the time it takes to finish their pastries to catch up. Not much had happened in Peia’s life, but Hestia got to update her on the three dates she’d been on with various members of the Ministry.

(That was the problem with having become an official Hit Witch in the last year - she’d become one of the newest things for her coworkers to pay attention to. She rants about this too.)

“Anyone that you have your eye on?” She asked once she’d finished.

“No, unfortunately I’m still as boring as ever. Though I’m about sixty percent sure that Narcissa will try to set me up with someone at the next ball I go to.”

“My dear, you are anything but boring. Any wizard would be lucky to have you!” She exclaimed. “Though, please do me a favour and don’t marry any person Narcissa Malfoy pushes forward.”

Hestia had met the Malfoys through Peia years prior, at one of their Yule balls that every posh pureblood family attended, and though she did think the family cared about Cassiopeia, she also knew that they were very stuck in their traditional ways. As was all the company they kept. Perhaps it was selfish, but she didn’t want Peia to be like them, pushed into an arranged marriage because it was the proper thing for her to do. She didn’t want to lose her friend, no matter how odd and mysterious she could be.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Peia says. The witch waves her wand, and two glasses, full of something, appear on the coffee table before them. Figuring that it wasn’t going to be poison, Hestia takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised to find that it was gillywater in her glass, her favourite drink. Non-alcoholic of course.

Speaking of odd and mysterious…

“I have that delivery by the way.” She says, reaching into her bag and pulling out the package. “Apparently there was a special feature added - they’re supposed to absorb spellfire.”

Peia chuckles, her smile pleased. “Ah, Renee and her experiments. She’s been trying to perfect that for quite some time now. I’ll be sure to tell her how successful she was.”

Alarm bells ring in her head. “Cassiopeia, what exactly are you up to?” She asks, her tone laced with genuine worry. “I know these robes aren’t for a duelling competition - you haven’t attended one in years. Is everything alright?”

A look of surprise passes over Cassiopeia’s face before she composes herself.

“I just have some things I need to sort out.” The witch replies, keeping her words purposefully vague.

There was only one topic that Hestia knew of that caused Peia to close up. Her family. This had happened several times during their days at Hogwarts - where the witch would retreat into her books and not interact with any of the people she knew. Sans Bill Weasley that was, but she didn’t even pretend to understand that dynamic. Before, both Hestia and their friend Chiara, would have to try and figure out what family member was causing Peia such strife, but now, she didn’t have to guess. There was only one family member left alive that would cause her hassle.

“Has Sirius Black threatened you?” Hestia asks, making sure that her tone wasn’t accusatory. “If he has, I can help you know? You don’t have to do this alone.”

Peia stares at her for a moment, before she reaches over and holds her hand. “Sirius hasn’t threatened me, Hestia. He hasn’t spoken to me either. I just have some things I need to sort out, that’s all.”

“Do you need help with anything? It sounds like it’s going to be dangerous.”

Peia shakes her head, her gaze unwavering. “I appreciate the offer, but I can handle this on my own,” she insisted, her tone resolute.

“If you say so.” Hestia says, letting the matter drop.

She leaves Peia’s flat shortly after, unable to ignore the sense of unease that lingered. It seemed that Cassiopeia was about to do something dangerous and all she hoped for was that she’d be able to prevent her friend from getting killed.

A letter from William Weasley to Cassiopeia Black, dated 18th August 1994

Cass,

Your letters never fail to bring a smile to my face. Yes, I might have mellowed a bit with age, or perhaps the chaos of a large family has softened my edges. Rest assured, I haven't entirely abandoned my hexing tendencies, but Ginny is, indeed, exempt from such practices. I am pleased to announce that I’ve finally gotten to eat the rest of the Exploding Bon Bons, and I immediately remembered why they were my favourites. Did you know it had been over a year since I last had one? They aren’t exactly a common delicacy in the Egyptian Desert.

I stand by my offer – a discreet intervention, if needed. Though I do take some offense at the title of Gryffindor’s Golden Boy. I wasn’t by any means a model student, and definitely wasn’t the wizard who managed to achieve all three of the big student leadership titles, was I? So, you really aren’t one to talk, Slytherin’s Success Story?

Draco's lingering resentment from first year is both expected and somewhat amusing. I'll take your advice on managing Ron's rants; a focus on the wall and timely nods it is. Percy's retreat into work doesn't surprise me, but he seems to have adjusted to mine and Charlie’s daily presence again. Your presence at the Weasley tent is sure to be a welcome addition, and I doubt anyone will mistake you for a Dark Witch. We're a rather accepting bunch, you know.

I appreciate your gratitude for the book, and I hope it provides the distraction you need. Don't let the challenge of the World Cup overwhelm you; you have a way with words, and I have faith that your article, whenyou write it, will be exceptional.

Lastly, on the topic of the mystery recipient of your ticket - my mother is extremely pleased to go to the Cup alongside the rest of us, and I believe she’s sent a thank you note to ‘Elizabeth Smith.’ Don’t worry, I’ve kept your involvement a secret.

Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Bill

A letter from Chiara Lobosca to Cassiopeia Black, dated 18th August 1994

Peia,

I hope this owl post finds you well and in high spirits! It brings me immense joy to know that our long-anticipated reunion at the Quidditch World Cup is drawing near. The excitement is almost palpable, isn't it?

I’ve finally decided on our meeting place, and that will be the Weasley tent. I’m not sure where it will be yet, but being as we all have top box tickets, I’d assume that it’d be somewhere near each of ours? Percy mentioned that you were planning to pop by anyway, so I’ll see you there!

With love,

Chiara.

CASSIOPEIA BLACK

“I see that you have the Lestrange Vault Key.” Ugnuk notes. She could have sworn she heard a bit of pride in his voice. “Very well. Follow me.”

Peia smiles and walks forward. She’d gotten up earlier than usual today, figuring that she’d be wise to get her first visit to the Vault over and done with before even thinking about the mayhem that awaited her at the World Cup. On the way down to the vault, she puts on her protective gloves, claiming that she was cold. Ugnuk doesn’t say anything, though he gives her a knowing look.

This time, there was a witch screaming as they cascaded down in the Gringotts carts.

“Do they ever stop?” She asks Ugnuk, who gives out a rare chuckle.

“No.” He answers honestly.

They stop at the vault and had she not become so used to her own, Peia was sure that she would have been impressed by the sheer amount that was inside. The Vault was stacked high with a high number of items – from money to weapons, she was sure that it had at least one of everything from the last hundred years.

“May you step outside Ugnuk?” She asks.

“Unfortunately, I cannot, Lady Black. But I can stare at the door?”

“That would be a suitable alternative.”

Revelio Tenebricae, she thinks, and waves her wand.

Practically the entire room lights up red, and mentally, she berates herself. Casting a dark magic detector on a room full of dark items was not one of her brightest ideas.

Revelio Horcruxia, she tries again, not confident that the spell would work. She’d invented it during her last year of Hogwarts and though both the Diadem and Locket had lit up, it hadn’t worked on the diary. She hadn’t tested it on the Ring, having been far too aware that the item in the shabby hut had been the horcrux.

Distantly, something in the room lights up. After climbing over most of the objects in the room, Peia comes face to face with Hufflepuff’s Cup itself. It was larger than a standard goblet, but she suspected that the reasoning behind it was to show off the craftsmanship. Which was understandable, as it was beautiful. There were badgers engraved on it which moved around the cup, seeming completely at ease.

(It really was a shame that Riddle had chosen an item of such high value to ruin – something like this deserved to be placed in a museum, where it could be marvelled at by millions.)

The history of Hufflepuff's Cup dated back to the early days of Hogwarts, where Helga Hufflepuff, one of the four founders, wanted to create a lasting symbol of her house's values and contributions to the magical community. In the spirit of inclusivity and fairness, she’d decided to craft a magnificent cup that would not only represent the house but also serve as a reward for exceptional students. The Cup was awarded year after year, until Hufflepuff’s death in 1045, where it was given to her descendants instead. The Cup was rumoured to be able to brew Healing Potions at will, but with the Horcrux currently inside it, Peia definitely wasn’t going to drink anything it produced.

There’s a portrait watching over the cup, but Regulus appears in the frame, successfully distracting her. She takes out a camera - a polaroid that she'd taken apart and remade fro the Wizarding World, from her bag and takes a photo. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t take the cup out yet, not when that portrait would just report her to Bellatrix the moment the older witch appeared. No, it made more sense to get a replica made and use a switching spell to swap them over. That way, it wouldn't be seen as missing until 1998, when Tom Riddle himself checks over the horcruxes. That is of course, if she hadn't killed him sooner.

She nods to Reggie, who kisses the witch’s hand in the portrait before leaving the frame.

Picking up several galleons and placing them in her bag, she calls out to Ugnuk. “I’m ready to go now!”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” The goblin asks.

“Perhaps. Can we deposit this in my vault?” She hands over her own key.

Dumping some of the money in the Vault, she decides to keep a fair bit in her purse, suspecting that a few of the vendors were going to be charging ridiculous prices at the World Cup. She also was going to be buying Chiara and Hestia some merchandise to use as an apology for missing them before the match.

(She didn’t normally pre-plan her absences, but there was no way in hell that she was going to the Weasley tent. There were way too many main characters in there, and she was already nervous around meeting one of them, let alone ten. She’d accepted the fact that she was going to see them, especially if she was going to Hogwarts for the tri-wizard tournament – but she didn’t want to interact with them more than she needed to. It made sense for the Golden Trio to see her as a neutral party instead of a friend of Bill or Percy's - that way, she could still do as she pleased without drawing any attention to herself. Well, more attention than usual.

Bill and Percy would probably be disappointed, but they’d get over themselves. She had a feeling that she’d be forgiven if she gave a particularly good excuse, and with her ‘planning’ to see them in her letters, it wasn’t like she could help it if she got caught up in other matters. And if they complained, she could just buy them sweaters too.)

Once she gets back home, she gets her hand-held portrait out and grins at Reggie. “We did it!”

“We did.” He gives her a fond smile and steps back into his frame. Regulus was usually the portrait that stayed at home, preferring to watch out for any potential intruders than listen to his baby sister ‘fraternise with all sorts of unknown individuals.’ The only time he insisted on going along with her instead of Ominis was when she went Horcrux hunting. She had a feeling his sole reason was to avoid her dying the same way he did.

Kreacher appears almost immediately. “Master! You’ve returned! Kreacher has had the most horrible morning! Speaking to the strangest individual!”

“I’m right here!” Ominis exclaims from his portrait. The House-elf's hatred of him was quite amusing. “And how did your Vault trip go Peia? Did you find it?”

She gets out the camera and presses a button, letting the photo print off.“I did. I’ve got the picture. Now I just need Jae to make a replica.” That was phase one of the plan at least. And there was only one issue -

“After you find him.” Jae Bo Kim was notoriously difficult to keep track of.

He was constantly moving around the world, and so, Peia often found that whenever she needed his services, she had to wait weeks or even months until he was back in the UK. Thankfully, she still had time, so as long as he came back to the UK in the next ten months, she was fine.

“Expecto Patronum!” She casts. Her patronus – a beautiful silver lioness, dances around her, waiting to hear its purpose. It’d taken her a few years to master the patronus charm in Hogwarts, but once she found out what her animal was, made her glad that her mother hadn’t been alive to see it.

“Deliver a message to Jae Bo Kim.” She commands. “Tell him that I have a favour to ask, shall we discuss it over afternoon tea?”

The patronus swirls around her once more before disappearing. Jae normally got back to her in a few days, so all she had to do was wait.

“Young Mistress has some more letters.” Kreacher says, a few bundles in his hands. He’d already delivered both Bill and Chiara’s letters earlier on, so she was surprised to receive more. Especially as most of the people she would write to were going to the World Cup later that day. Three letters were given to her, and she decided to open them in the order of least to most surprising.

The first letter was from Percy Weasley, who asked if she had any books on the history of cauldron legislature. Apparently, Bill had suggested that he go through the history books to see if there had been any prior cases pushing for an international standardisation of cauldron thickness. She did have one – and if memory served her correct, there was a case on this in the 1800s regarding gold cauldrons, but she’d give it to Percy after the World Cup, figuring that he needed a bit of a break from work. Reading through his letter made her glad she didn’t have a job in the ministry – she didn’t think she’d be able to write essays on topics as boring as cauldron bottoms. At least she got to choose the topics she wrote papers on.

The second letter wasn’t actually addressed to her. It was addressed to her alias, Elizabeth Smith instead. Normally it was Celestina Warbeck who wrote to her, desperate for more content for a deluxe version of her album.

(Many years ago, when a young Peia had had too much to drink, she’d gotten angry at the lack of 2010s music in the 90s, so had sent what were essentially demos of several songs to the queen of music, Celestina Warbeck herself. Having not listened to the songs for several years at that point, the lyrics for them were probably wrong. Either way, it didn’t matter. The singer had apparently loved the demos, because ever since then, she’d been writing ‘Miss Smith,’ non-stop.)

This time though, the handwriting was different. She opens it and it’s a letter from Molly Weasley, thanking her for the tickets to the World Cup:

--

Dear Miss Smith,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to express my deepest gratitude for the incredibly generous gesture of providing me with a ticket to the Quidditch World Cup final. Your kindness has truly overwhelmed me, and I cannot thank you enough for this thoughtful gift. Please know that your kindness will not be forgotten. I am looking forward to the World Cup with great excitement, and I will be sure to cherish the memories created during this extraordinary event. As a token of my gratitude, I would like to formally invite you to the Burrow for dinner after the World Cup has commenced – Would the 21st of August be a good date?

Yours sincerely,

Molly G Weasley,

--

Peia puts the letter to the side, deciding that she’d write a response after the world cup, where she’d make up a polite excuse and never address the topic again.

The final letter has her name written in dark blue cursive writing. To her surprise, it’s a Wedding Invitation.

--

Dear Cassiopeia Black,

We joyfully extend an invitation to you for the wedding ceremony of Andre Kalu Egwu and Penny Grace Haywood. Your presence would mean the world to us as we celebrate this momentous occasion.

Date: October 15th, 1994

Time: 11:00

Location: Château de la mode, Loire Valley, France

Please join us in witnessing the union of two hearts and the beginning of a beautiful journey together. Your warmth and good wishes will add to the joy of our special day.

Kindly RSVP by 25th Augustto ensure we can make the necessary arrangements for your comfort.

We look forward to sharing this day filled with love, laughter, and happiness.

Warm regards,

Merula Snyde, Maid of Honour.

--

She reads through the invitation, surprised. Though she knew that the two had been in a relationship for quite some time, she hadn’t expected them to get married anytime soon. If memory served her correct, then Penny had hated the concept of marriage itself, seeing it as an ‘outdated practise that helped to reinforce stereotypical gender roles.’ She was surprised to have gotten an invitation as well, however she did suspect that they saw her as a friend.

Despite having her own friend group, Penny Haywood had hung out with Peia, Hestia and Chiara often enough that they could speak comfortably together in the halls of Hogwarts. They’d also exchanged a few letters here and there since Hogwarts – the Hufflepuff liked to tell her about her attempts of recreating various ancient potions whose original recipes were lost in the burning of the library of Alexandria. Though being far closer to Renee, she’d bumped into Andre a lot during the early days of Starlight Stitchery, where he’d help his sister design and make a lot of the outfits for the store. He still did that sometimes now, she believed, though he was a lot busier than he was before, having become the personal stylist to the Vibes Twins, a singing sister duo whose feistiness caused both her and the media much amusem*nt.

Going upstairs, she places both the wedding invitation and Molly Weasley’s letter on the desk, deciding to answer them as soon as she got back. If she started to write now, then she’d be late and miss her portkey.

She has half an hour left, and spends the time going through her plan. As soon as the World Cup was over, she’d go and find the muggle family before the death eaters did. She’d get them to safety by booking them into a near-but distant hotel, and then feel proud that she’d saved one family at least from the horror that awaited them.

The crowd from her notes would form, but she hoped the lack of muggles to torture would deter them from causing any bodily harm like they had in the canon plot.

Grabbing her coat and bag which had a spare change of clothes inside, she raises her wand and fills the familiar tug at her magic. The world starts spinning, then turns black. When everything comes back into focus, all she could see was trees.

“Name?” A ministry official asks, appearing in front of her with a soft ‘hiss.’

“Cassiopeia Black.”

Other than the raise of an eyebrow, he doesn’t react. Instead, he marks something off on his list. “Alright the Ms Black – You need to walk about a quarter of a mile’s walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager’s called Mr. Roberts.”

“I see. Thank you. Do you know which field the Tonkses are in?” The Tonks family had arrived in Dartmoor a week prior, and being as she knew Nymphadora well enough to know that she’d try and find Chiara the first chance she got, Peia had a feeling that she had a chance to talk to Andromeda and Ted alone.

“Hm, I’ll check. Tonks...Tonks...Same field. Just ask the site manager and he’ll direct you to there. Now I suggest you start making your way to the field Ms Black, otherwise someone might apparate directly into you.”
That did not sound pleasant. “Thank you.”

She walks through the woodland, pleasantly surprised by the number of flowers that surrounded the pathway. Almost all of them were in full bloom, and Peia had a feeling it was due to all the magic in the area. Walking around, she felt the usual tingling sensation in her fingers that she’d only get in magical areas. Several people – young and old, walk in front of her, excitedly whispering about the upcoming match.

After around twenty minutes, she reaches the first field, which has a beautiful cottage overseeing it. Outside of the cottage is a man who is so focused on the field below him that he doesn’t notice her approach.

“But how is it floating?” He asks, genuinely confused.

She clears her throat, and he jumps.

“Hello.” She greets. “I have a booking under the name Black.”

“You’ve got a booking, have you?” He asks and grabs a map. “It seems like everyone here has booked. Really strange it is – I've never seen it this crowded.”

“Just think of the money you’re making.” She suggests. “Having so many people here must be good for business.”

“It is.” He agrees mildly. “But it’s so strange. What brings you all here anyway?”

“A fantasy convention.” She lies, knowing that though they weren’t that popular in Britain yet, it was an excuse that covered all the strangeness that was magic. She hands over a twenty-pound note. “It’s the biggest one we’ve had in Britain.”

He nods. “That makes sense. But...”

“But what?”

“Everyone here is just so odd. Y’know I saw someone earlier turn a map into a handkerchief earlier, and I’m all for magic tricks but,” he leans in closer, his voice a whisper. “I could have sworn it wasn’t a trick.”

“Obliviate!” A voice calls out, and Mr Roberts’ eyes become unfocused. Peia looks over to see a familiar face holding his wand out. His name was Arnold Peasegood, a young hit-wizard who’d been in the same school year as her. As he’d been in Ravenclaw she hadn’t seen him much, but she distantly remembered seeing him studying with Hestia Jones in the library. Him and Hestia had dated once too if memory served her correct. It hadn't ended well, but as they worked together in the same department, she hoped that they'd made up by now.

“Arnold.” She greets, accepting the map a dazed Mr Roberts gave her. She didn’t understand why they didn’t send the Roberts family on a holiday and stick wizards in the cottages instead. Constantly obliviating the man felt cruel.

“Cassiopeia.” Peasegood greets back and gives a resigned look to Mr Roberts. “I think he’s the muggle we’ve had the most issues with over the past few days. I’ve been having to obliviate him a few times an hour the past day alone.”

“It’s not that surprising.” She says with a shrug. “What with the amount of high-profile people in his field.”

In Mr Roberts’ field alone, he had several members of the Ministry, the Minister of Magic himself, several pureblood pseudo-nobility and the boy who lived himself.

“I suppose. You’re over near that part of the woods.”

“I see. Where are the Tonkses?”

He points in the opposite direction. “By the edge of the field over there.”

Her tent – a small thing that contained the inside of a mansion, is set up quite easily. She’d needed to borrow a hammer for the pegs from a nearby family, but it wasn’t as exhausting as she remembered setting up tents being. Once it’s done, she makes her way through the crowds, deciding to try and find the Tonkses tent.

She looks out for any red or pink hair, but for once the universe seems to listen to her prayers, as neither sets of hair were anywhere to be seen. Though it was only mid-day, several wizards had seemingly given up on their pretence of normalcy and were openly casting spells left right and centre. Children were flying around on their toy brooms, being followed by their weary but proud parents.

She passes a tent where a dark-haired teen was showing his very young sisterhow to fly.

“No, no,” The teenager says, correcting his sister’s grip. “Now try it!”

The little girl manages to fly out of the tent, and she cheers. Once she gets down, she quickly hugs her brother.

“You did it!” He says warmly.“I’m proud of you!”

Peia watches the scene with a soft smile, briefly wondering if she’d looked as happy as the little girl did when Reggie had first taught her how to fly. She doubted it, but it was nice to imagine. She carries on walking, only stopping when she hears a familiar voice.

“This is why you don’t cook, Andy!” Following the voice, she follows the crowd before pausing. There was a white tent, that looked good considering the fact that it was bought second hand. In front of the tent was her cousin Andromeda, who was sitting on a log and frantically stirring a pot of something that had black smoke billowing out of it. Andy’s husband, Ted Tonks, watched her with an exasperated but fond expression.

Andromeda Tonks was not what she’d expected her to be like. She was a woman who though certain of her decision to leave, was constantly stuck thinking of the past. Her husband Ted was the opposite and seemed to see every mistake as a future lesson learnt. When Peia had first spent time with them, he’d been the first to accept her, pleased to meet a ‘non-crazy member of Andy’s family.’ Andy, who knew the family inside and out, had been much more wary of her, but after she publicly spent time with Nymphadora Tonks at Hogwarts, had welcomed her with open arms. The couple was extremely intelligent, with one being a lawyer and the other a healer, and it wasn’t hard to see where Tonks got all her kindness and wits from.

Ted’s the first to notice her, looking up at just the right moment. He gives a wide grin. “Wotcher, Peia.”
“Peia?” Andy asks, looking up. She gives her a warm smile.“Hi dear, have you eaten yet?”

“I haven’t. What on earth is that?” She asks, motioning to the still smoking pot.

“It was supposed to be stew...” Lifting the lid and using her wand to dissipate the smoke, Andromeda uses a wooden spoon to poke a lump of blackened sludge. “I think I burnt it.”

“You think?” Ted asks, undeterred by his wife’s glare. “Andy dear, I love you, but there’s a reason you don’t cook – the end results of your cooking tend to be monstrosities to society.”

Andy gives her husband a half-hearted glare. “Shut up.”

“So why were you trying to cook stew?”Peia asks, taking a seat on the log across from her.

“It passes the time. Plus, it’s tasty.”

“When it’s cooked right.” Ted quips, and ducks to avoid a hex sent his way. He pouts. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“I don’t know where he got the impression that I was a nice person.” Andy says to Peia and ignoring him completely. “Anyway, what brings you here? Don’t you have a World Cup Final to prepare for?”

She did, but she didn’t need to meet with Bagman for another twenty minutes. And she wasn’t aiming to be there earlier than necessary – she found him extremely irritating.

“I wanted to see you guys first. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” It’d been three months to be exact, when she’d been admitted to St Mungos after her attempt at Horcrux-hunting had gone awry. Ted had been the healer who’d treated her, so he’d contacted Andromeda and Tonks, who’d both sat with her as she recovered.

“It has.” Andy agreed. “But at least this time, we’re seeing each other under better circ*mstances. Who do you think’s going to win?”

“Ireland,” she answers immediately. It made it a lot less exciting, already knowing the answer.

“Good.” Ted says. “You actively have sense, unlike Dora.”

“She’s supporting Bulgaria?”

“Yes.” Andy confirms with a sigh. “Though I’m half convinced it’s due to Viktor Krum. You know how she is with Quidditch.” Tonks’ attitude to Quidditch seemed to be ‘the more dangerous stunts, the better.’ It was the main reason why she wasn’t selected for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team in Hogwarts, as she’d attempted a Wronski Feint and failed miserably. She’d ended up in the hospital wing over that.

“Her hair’s been red all week.” Ted laments. “When I tried to make her see the error of her ways, she just turned her hair redder.”

“I’m sure you’ll get through to her eventually.” She reassures.

“He’ll only get through to her when Bulgaria loses. Then she’ll say she was supporting Ireland the entire time!” Andy shakes her head, chuckling.

That did sound like Tonks. They spend about ten minutes talking, catching up on what each other had missed. Eventually, Peia has to leave, otherwise she’d have been late for her meeting with Bagman, but she manages to agree on a time where she’d visit them – the 20th of August. A planned meeting had been the sole purpose of her visit, which left her feeling pleased. Plus, as it was a weekday, there was a high chance that Tonks wouldn’t pop around, which meant that she could continue avoiding her.

She leaves the tent to head to her destination, which hadn’t been very clear. Yesterday, Ludo Bagman had written to tell her to meet him at his tent, which could be anywhere.

“Excuse me?” She asks a Ministry Official when he’d finished admonishing a wizarding family for using magic to light their fire.

“Yes, Miss?”

“Do you know where Ludo Bagman’s tent is?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell a young witch where Mr Bagman’s tent is. I assume you’re one of his many admirers?”

Her face flushes angrily. “No! I don’t admire him.” She takes a moment to regain her composure. “I am Cassiopeia Black, the other commentator for the Cup. He asked me to meet him at his tent? He didn’t mention where said tent was unfortunately.”

“Oh right. Sorry Lady Black. If you’ll follow me.”

He takes her towards a tent that was in the middle of the campsite. It was taller than the others around it, and with the almost-neon yellow colour of it, it was like Bagman was trying to draw attention to it. There weren’t even any notice-me-not charms on it.

“Mr Bagman!” She calls from just outside the entrance.

The tent flap flies open immediately. Ludo Bagman beams at her. “Ah, Cassiopeia Black!” He practically bellows. “What brings you here?”

“You asked me to meet you here?” She’s all too aware of the families nearby that are looking over, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Ah, yes, I did! One moment.” He steps out of the tent wearing what could only be described as one of the most noticeable robes that she’d seen. They were long Quidditch robes – something that didn’t exist in the normal world. They were yellow and black robes that clashed horribly with his complexion.

“What did you need my presence for?” She asks.

“Well, I wanted to go through last minute arrangements for the cup, go over our lines, and give you the rundown of the World Cup so far.” He puffs his chest out. “I was the commentator for each of them after all, and though Rita tried her best... I do think that she didn’t quite encapsulate the Quidditch world.”

That was an understatement. Rita Skeeter, though she had the qualifications, was a sensationalist writer, and so preferred to go with news that would shock viewers, rather than be truthful.

“I see.” She’d already been given the rundown by Bagman and Fudge in her last few meetings, but she supposed another conversation about the previous games didn’t hurt. For now, she’d listen and think about his renditions as she was writing her entry in the Quidditch Apex. “Alright, so what’s the rundown?”

Bagman links his arm with hers and starts to wander off, pulling her to follow him. She schools her expression into a blank one, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but if he tried anything more provocative, then she’d hex him where he stood.

“Well, the favourites for this season are Bulgaria, having won the last twelve Eastern European Championships. They’re the first ever team to do so. Peru was another favourite, having won the South American Championships, but you saw what happened with them. I guess Ireland were another favourite? They’d won in all of their friendlies this season, so that gave them higher odds that most wizards anticipated. And – oh! Hello Croaker! Bode! How are you chaps doing today?”

Two men nod to Bagman. “Alright. You?” One says, but before he responds, they walk off.

He continues to tell her about the Quidditch matches as they walk, cutting himself off to talk to various ministry officials who seemed like they were a step away from ripping their hair out. This pattern continues throughout their entire conversation, and though she was able to maintain her poker face, Peia couldn’t help but feel like this entire interaction was pointless.

She suspected that Bagman’s whole aim of their conversation was to increase the credibility of his betting pool. Him being arm in arm with her implied a familiarity that they did not have, and so a lot of wizards seeing them together would probably assume that he was a wealthy man himself. She’d tried to disentangle herself from him three times, but his grip was stupidly strong.

(At least that reason was what she was hoping. If this was his attempt at courting her, then she was hexing him as soon as she found out. She wouldn’t do so yet, as it was stupid to react based on suspicion alone. Besides, she figured it wasn’t worth having a hostile relationship with Bagman – not when they’d have to be around each other for every event of the tri-Wizard tournament anyway.)

“Ludo!” Someone calls, interrupting their conversation for the sixteenth time.

Bagman turns and beams. “Arthur!”

He strides towards a tent with several redheads, and Peia realises with horror who they were.

HARRY POTTER

“Aha!” Mr Weasley exclaims, jumping to his feet. “The man of the moment! Ludo!”

“Arthur!” Mrs Weasley admonishes softly, focused on stoking the fire. Majority of them were sitting on the chairs outside the tent, as Bill, Charlie, Charlie’s girlfriend Chiara and a bunch of their friends were all talking inside the tent.

The most noticeable person Harry had seen so far strode towards the Weasley tent. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed, probably broken by a rogue bludger, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy. On his arm was a beautiful witch dressed entirely in black. She had an eerily blank expression on her face, not too dissimilar to the one Mr Roberts’ displayed earlier.

“Ahoy there!” Bagman calls, coming to a halt. “Arthur, old man – what a day, eh? What a day. Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming – and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements! Not much for me to do!”

Behind him, a group of haggard looking Ministry officials run past, chasing after a child on a broom. The witch on Bagman’s arm detangles herself and watches the scene with worry.

“Shouldn’t you help them with that?” She asks.

Bagman ignores her. “I suppose this beautiful woman here is your wife, Arthur?” he says instead, stepping forward and placing a kiss on Mrs Weasley’s hand.

The Weasley matriarch lets out a giggle.

Mr Weasley gives his wife a fond look. “Yes, Ludo. This is my wife, Molly.” He motions to the other people present. “This is my son Percy. He’s just started at the Ministry, and this is Fred – no, George, sorry – that’s Fred – Ron – my daughter, Ginny — and Ron’s friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. Everyone! This is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it’s thanks to him that we’ve got such good tickets.” He looks to the witch. “And you are?”

“Cassiopeia.” She says, giving them all a curious look.

Percy, to Harry’s surprise, waves at her. He’s even more shocked when she gives a small wave back. Who would willingly wave to Percy? That was practically an invitation for a conversation about Cauldron Bottoms.

Bagman beams and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

“Yes - my companion and I were just talking about Quidditch, when we noticed you all. Are you really Harry Potter?”

“Yes?” Harry answers, unsure of how else to phrase it.

Beaming, Ludo Bagman shakes his hand. He had a really firm grip. “Well, then I must say Mr Potter, it’s an honour to meet the boy who lived himself! Thank you for your service to the country!”

“Companion?” Percy questions whilst Bagman’s attention was elsewhere.

“Colleague.” The witch, Cassiopeia clarifies. “Mr Bagman and I were meeting before the Cup started to discuss all the matches before this one, so that I knew what to write in the Quidditch Apex.”

Quidditch Apex? What on earth was that? Both Mr and Mrs Weasley seem to recognise the name, as both give Cassiopeia a wary glance.

“Are you prepared for later?” Percy asks, and the witch gives a wry smile.

“I’m as prepared as I can get, but I’m trying not to think about it.”

“I’m sure you’ll be alright.”

(Harry was sure that this was the longest Percy had gone this week without mentioning the Ministry or Cauldron Bottoms.)

“You’ll be fine!” Bagman exclaims, walking over and putting a supportive arm around the witch’s waist. “I’m sure you’ll smash it!”

“Thank you for the confidence, Mr Bagman.” The witch murmurs, the blank expression on her face.

“Please dear, call me Ludo.” Bagman says.

Cassiopeia’s eyes flash with anger. “But I hardly know you Mr Bagman.” She admonishes. “It is not proper.”

“I think Bagman is going to get hexed.” Ron whispers to Harry, who nods. It seemed that she wasn’t as enamoured by him as he was of her.

The tent flaps open and Ron’s cool older brother, Bill steps through.

“Why aren’t you with your friends?” Ginny asks.

“They’re more Charlie’s friends' Gin. I started to feel old, so I stepped out.” He joked.

“Ah, yes!” Mr Weasley says suddenly. “This is Bill, my eldest. He’s a cursebreaker in Gringotts.”

“Cassiopeia Black!” Bill greets, looking over with a smile. His eyes flit towards Ludo Bagman. “A pleasure to meet you sir.”

Black? Harry looks over at Ron and Hermione, hoping that they’re thinking the same thing as him. Was she related to Sirius? Mr and Mrs Weasley give each other a panicked glance.

“William Weasley.” Cassiopeia says, a small smile on her lips.

“Do you know each other?” Bagman asks, looking between the two of them.

“We were in Hogwarts at the same time.” Bill explains calmly, his eyes not leaving the witch. “And Cassiopeia wrote to me a few weeks ago, asking if she could purchase one of the pieces of goblin silver that I’d managed to acquire.”

“Yes! I wanted to purchase some silver to make a ring for Ugnuk, my family’s goblin banker.” Cassiopeia continues. “But I didn’t receive a response?”

“I figured I’d be able to speak to you at the Cup. Speaking of, do you have a moment?”

“I do.” She steps away from Bagman, letting his arm fall back to his side. “I’m terribly sorry Mr Bagman, but I’m afraid I’m going to be cutting our conversation short. It’s incredibly hard to get goblin silver these days, what with the goblins refusing to sell them.”

“They’re refusing to sell wizards goblin silver?” Bagman asks, confused.

Bill gives him a surprised look. “You didn’t know? There’s been a push in the goblin movement to ban selling their silver altogether.”

“Yes, you see. So, I really would like to talk to William about this. Then I have to get ready for the match, so I’m going to have no time to spare. See you at the match.”

With that she walks off with Bill. Bagman watches after her.

“Magnificent witch, she is!” Bagman remarks to the Weasleys. “Pretty and rich, what more could a wizard ask for?”

“Er, she didn’t seem very interested in you Ludo.” Mr Weasley says, trying to phrase it in a way that was kind.

“That’s an understatement.” Fred mutters.

“She’s playing hard to get!” Bagman insists.

“Who is?” A wizard says, appearing out of thin air.

“Mr Crouch!” Percy exclaims, rising up from his seat.

Barty Crouch could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman in his old Wasp robes. Hewas a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager; Harry doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was.

“It was Lady Black, wasn’t it?” Mr Crouch guesses, and with a long-suffering sigh, grabs the bridge of his nose. “I’ve told you to stop being so provocative with her before Ludo. It breaks company rules.” He sighs again. “Anyway Barty, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.”

They continue to talk about politics, and noticing that everyone’s attention is on them, Harry motions to Ron and Hermione. The three of them sneak off to the girls' tent, which currently had no one inside.

“Do you think she’s related to Sirius?” Ron asks.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know, he never mentioned having a sister.”

“She did look similar to him.” Hermione agrees.

“I think she is.” Harry finally decides. “Did you say the way your parents reacted when they heard her last name?”

“True.” Ron agrees. “But in what way do you they’re related? Siblings, Cousins?”

“I didn’t think Sirius had any close family left,” Hermione says. “So probably cousins?”

“Why don’t we ask her if she comes back?” Harry suggests. “If being the operative word.”

“And if she doesn’t come back to the tent?” Hermione asks.

“Then we write her a letter.” He decides. It wasn’t like he was asking her for her deepest darkest secret, was it? Moreover, he'd hope she could muster some sympathy for him, considering the ongoing belief that Sirius still harboured intentions of killing him.

A lot of laughter sounds out from outside, and the trio go outside to see what was going on. All of Charlie's friends had left the main tent and were speaking with the Weasleys. Harry found his friends rather nice - it was nice to see that wizards remained friends post-Hogwarts, if a bit more distant. Chiara, Charlie’s girlfriend, was chatting away with one of her friends, a brunette woman called Hestia, and Mrs Weasley herself. Another one of Charlie’s friends – a woman called Tonks with bright-pink hair, was laughing away with the Weasley twins.

“Hey Ron, Harry, Hermione, guess what?” Fred calls.

“What?” Ron asks.

“Percy’s boss doesn’t know his name!”

“He calls him Weatherby.” George adds. The trio look at each other, trying desperately not to burst into laughter. Eventually, Hermione lets out a few giggles which it sets all three of them off.

Percy ears were red. “Laugh all you want,” he mutters. “I saw Cassiopeia by the way.”

The trio look over, interested. Harry wasn’t aware that Charlie knew Cassiopeia Black also.

“You have?” Tonks asks. “Awesome! Where is she?”

“Somewhere in the camp. I’m not sure.”

Charlie looks around. “Where’s Bill?”

Percy gives Charlie a look.

“He’s with Cassiopeia?” The dragonkeeper guesses. “Cool!”

"They're speaking again?" Hestia asks.

"I hope so!" Tonks says. "Peia's been down lately. A conversation with Weasley always used to pull her out of her moods."

“Was that really Cassiopeia Black?” Mrs Weasley asks, her lips pursed into a thin line. “I wasn’t aware you all knew her that well.”

“She’s our age mum.” Charlie says, using his wand to conjure another seat, and motioning for Chiara to sit down, who does with a giggle. “We all went to Hogwarts together."

"Yes, but she was a Slytherin," Mrs Weasley continues. "I would have hoped that there would be enough separation between each of you and someone like that."

"Peia isn't a bad person." Chiara says shortly. "And it was kind of impossible for anyone our age to not know each other, what with the war.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asks, curious. “The war ended in 1981?”

“It did. But the aftermath of it ruined Hogwarts student population.” Chiara explained. “Which meant that there were far less children attending Hogwarts. Some parents had seen the horrors of the war and sent their kids to other schools on the continents. Other children...just didn’t make it. The rest of us went off to Hogwarts, but there was what? Thirty kids in our year?”

“Thirty-three.” Charlie corrects. “There were only seven Gryffindors in Bill’s year too. I think his year was the smallest. It’s not that surprising though, being as his year was the first year that didn’t have to think about the war.”

“I get that,” Hermione says. “But why would it only be the aftermath that ruined the population of Hogwarts? Surely it should have been during the war that all this stuff was happening?”

“The short answer? Ideology. Yes, the population did suffer slightly during the war.” A red-haired girl near Charlie says with a grimace. “But You-Know-Who had a lot of support from students and staff alike. Once the war ended, well it was clear which side won. And a lot of the parents who’d survived were scared.”

“Scared of what?” Harry asks. All other conversations had gone quiet by this point.

“Of retribution.” Charlie answers, looking at the flames. Mr and Mrs Weasley looked at each other panicked. “They realised that their children would be going to school with kids who’d suffered directly because of them, and feared that someone would attack them, so they sent them away to avoid that directly.”

“But there are a load of kids whose parents were death eaters in Hogwarts?” Fred asks, baffled.

“They were in the minority when we were there.” Charlie says, motioning between him and his friend group. “I think I could have counted them on one hand?”

“Perhaps we should move on to another topic?” Mr Weasley says quickly.

“Should we have let Bill walk off with that woman?” Mrs Weasley asks, looking extremely panicked. “Arthur, she could really hurt him.”

For some reason, Charlie and his friends all burst into laughter.

"I'm sorry Mrs Weasley," Tonks says, though she didn't sound sorry at all. "But Peia isn't going to hurt Bill. Trust me on that."

WILLIAM WEASLEY

As they walk away from his family’s tent, Bill found himself imagining what the best way to hex Bagman was. He wouldn’t go as far as to use an unforgivable, but the bat-bogey hex looked especially painful for someone with as squashed a nose as his was.

As soon as they got out of earshot from the Weasley tent, Cassiopeia bursts out laughing. He looks over, having not expected her laughter to sound as musical as it did.

“That was brilliant William!” She says with a grin. “Though now we do have to conjure up some Goblin Silver.”

“I have some at home. But why? You only have to see Bagman again for the World Cup tonight, and he’s the only one who you’d need to uphold that lie for.”

“I have to see him for the tournament actually.” She says with a sigh.

“The tri-wizard tournament?” His father and Percy had told him about it. Apparently, it was going to be far safer that what it once was, which Bill sincerely doubted. “Are you the main reporter for it?”

“I’m the historian mainly. But I will write some articles. Don’t tell anyone this though – it's supposed to be a secret.”

“My lips are sealed.” He tries to not smile when her eyes travel down to his lips and back up again.

“Good. Now I’m starving – Have you eaten yet?”

“Not since breakfast.” By the time he, Charlie, Percy and their mother had apparated over, the rest of the group had eaten lunch. “What did you have in mind?”

“There was a saleswizard nearby selling tarts. I believe I saw some strawberry ones.” With that, she starts walking off in a different direction. He walks next to her but makes sure that she’s leading the way.

“They’re selling strawberry tarts in the middle of a field?” He asks. “That wouldn’t be the first product I’d think on a campsite full of wizards. I’d go for a far flashier food, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh absolutely.” She agrees. “I’d make them Quidditch-themed too. Have golden snitch cake pops that actually fly or something like that.”

“Cake Pops?” He asks, having not heard the term before.

“They’re an Americanthing. I read about them in a book and decided to make them one day.”

“I see.” She did have a habit of doing that. Several times he’d found her in the kitchen at Hogwarts, cooking an obscure recipe that she’d once read about in a book. “I’d probably make edible flags.”

She snorts. “I think the Irish would cry if they saw someone eating their flag.”

“Probably. Being as I don’t want to start a war with them, how about Chocolate brooms that flew around?”

“Hm, that idea has merit. I’d buy one at least.” She gives him a look. “Though that may also be due to the fact that its creator happens to have a pretty face.”

“You think I’m pretty?” He asks with a grin. He keeps his composure, but there was a small part of him that really wanted to know what she thought about him. Another part of him had wanted to kiss her for years but was terrified of her reaction.

Instead of answering, she walks away. “I think that I’ve found that stand I was on about. Now let’s go, I’m starving!”

It turned out that the tart stall she’s mentioned was one of many that was located in the food court of the campsite. As they approached the food section, the aroma of butterbeer and the sizzling sounds of enchanted cauldrons filled the air. The stalls they encountered offered a variety of international magical street foods, and Bill had a feeling Charlie would be offended by the one that sold dragon kebabs.

Cass looks at each stall, seemingly at a loss as what to eat.

“Perhaps some Buffalo skewers?” He suggests. It sounded the nicest out of the bunch. He really didn’t want to know what Fwooper tasted like.

They ordered the kebabs alongside some gillywater and found a cozy spot at a nearby picnic table. She pays for them, much to his frustration, and he makes a mental note to buy her something in return.The kebabs were served on skewers with tender pieces of buffalomeat, charred to perfection and drizzled with a spicy sauce. They were lovely to eat, however he quickly found that they were impossible to eat without getting messy.

“Have you had buffalo meat before?” He asks after he’d finished his first skewer, using a napkin to wipe away the sauce that was around his mouth.

“Yes, once. My Great-Aunt Cassiopeia sat me down and made me eat several exotic foods. Just so I knew what they tasted like. You?”

“Never.” While he was more than happy to try new food, meat-wise he hadn’t had anything more exotic than duck. “I’m assuming you were named after your Great Aunt then?”

“Yeah. My parents had always been fond of her, and from what I understand, she’d been a massive help to my mother during her pregnancy with me. And out of my relatives, Aunt Cassie was alright. There were worse members to be named after at least. What about you? Where did William come from?”

“It was the name of my mother’s grandfather. He’d died not long before I was born and apparently asked my mother to use it.”

“It is a good name.” She murmurs. “William. It isn’t strange to hear in the muggle world but isn’t strangeto hear in the wizarding world. It's a nice balance. Not like my name at least.”

“I like your name. It suits you. Plus, it’s the type of name that means that anyone you’re close to will automatically give you a nickname.”

“Oh? Like Cass?”

“Exactly like Cass.”

She takes a bite out of one of her kebabs, and sauce oozes down her chin. Bill had a feeling that not many people got to see her like this. “Why do you call me Cass?”

He finishes the last of his kebab. “Do you want the short answer or the long answer?”

“Both.”

“Well, the short answer is that I like calling you something that nobody else does.” Her face goes red at that, and Bill tries to not think about the fact that he was close enough that he could lean over and kiss her. “The long answer is that I thought Cass was your nickname at first, so I’d refer to you as that. It wasn’t until I saw other people interact with you that I realised that your nickname wasn’t Cass, it was Peia. But by then it’d gone on for so long that I just couldn’t stop thinking of you as Cass instead. Does it upset you?”

“It should.” She says, taking a sip of her gillywater. “But it doesn’t.”

He hadn’t thought it had anyway, but it didn’t hurt to check. She finishes her kebab and wipes her face with a napkin.

“Do I have any more sauce on me?” She asks.

“Yes, on your lip.”

When she fails to wipe it away three times, Bill grabs a napkin. “May I?” When she gives a slight nod, he wipes it away from the corner of her mouth. She stares down at his hand, an intense look in her eyes that he didn't know the meaning of.

“There’s an ice cream stand.” He notes, standing up. “Shall we have some?”

“You just want to buy me something, don’t you?” She teases, finishing off her gillywater.

“Perhaps.” And he knew it was stupid, being as she had more money than he ever would, but he didn’t want her to pay for everything – it didn’t feel right, not when it was for the both of them.

“You know, the history of ice cream is absolutely fascinating.” She says, once they’d sat back down again. They’d decided to try butterbeer-flavoured ice cream, and after his first spoonful, he had to admit that the price he paid was worth it.

“Is it?”

“Well, the wizarding side of it is at least. Legend has it that thousands of years ago, a young wizard called Sorbetus Mahmoud was experimenting with an ancient ice-incantation spell in the Crystal Oasis. However, the magical forces proved more potent than anticipated, and instead of a gentle frost, he conjured a frosty whirlwind.

Realizing the potential for something extraordinary, Sorbetus deftly harnessed the essence of the magical frost into a specially crafted enchanted bowl. The result was a creamy, frozen elixir that seemed to defy the laws of temperature. He named it ‘Surbitus Alnashwa,’ which roughly translated to Sorbetus Euphoria. Now this was before the ICW existed, so he went from country to country to show off his creation, and slowly but surely, the news of his accomplishment spread. With time, the recipe evolved, incorporating a spectrum of magical flavours and enhancements, becoming what we know and love today.”

As she talks, there’s an intensity in her eyes that makes him smile. It was the same look that Charlie got when he talked about dragons, or his father when talking about anything muggle related. He imagined that he was the same when talking about anything curse-breaking related. Cassiopeia loved history, and he had a feeling that in a few years she’d be one of the greats in her field.

She looks over, and upon noticing his eyes on her, her cheeks go red. She fidgets with a strand of her hair. “Sorry.”

He chuckles. “You have nothing to apologise for Cass. You know, I’ve been to the Crystal Oasis before – the place is absolutely fantastic. And beautiful. The lake changes colour depending on where you look at it.”

“It sounds like a nice place to go to. When did you go to Syria?”

“During my first holiday as a curse-breaker. It was cheaper than going back home.”

“Really?” She looked surprised. “Is that why you haven’t been in Britain much lately. Because of the cost?”

Realising where she was going with this, he shakes his head. “Please don’t offer to pay for me. I could afford coming back home every year if I needed to, but I don’t see the point in it.”

“You don’t see the point in going back home?”

“I don’t see the point in going back to somewhere I know when there are so many places that I know nothing about. Did you know that it was Syria that contributed the most defensive magic to the Ottoman Empire?”

She frowns. “I didn’t.”

It wasn’t surprising – though most knowledge was shared worldwide; the Ottoman Empire had always been rather tight-lipped about its magical community, choosing instead to have books solely on its successful trade.

“Or that in Norway, they’ve figured out a way to successfully incorporate runic magic into kitchenware?”

“I’d read about it, but I’ve never gotten to experience it. What was that like?”

“It was different, but it made cooking much simpler.” All he’d needed to do was use his magic to activate the rune and wait. There wasn’t even any fire that was needed to heat things up. “But that’s my point. I wouldn’t have known or learnt any of those things if I hadn’t have gone there. It makes you wonder what else is there. What else you’ve missed.” Noticing that they’ve both finished their ice cream, he uses his wand to vanish their empty cups.

“Should we get something for your siblings?” She asks, motioning to a French pastry stand. She insists on buying them, despite his reasonable argument that they were for his siblings, not hers. In response, he buys her a few exotic elixirs from a potion-themed beverage stand.

“I’m pretty sure there’s alcohol in these.” She murmurs after starting to drink one and pausing mid-way through.

She hands it over to him and he finishes it, surprised to note the taste of rum. “There’s definitely alcohol in there.” He looks at the bottle, which has a tiny little sign saying ‘20% Alcohol content.’

They look over at the teenagers who’d gone before them in the queue and had bought some elixirs for themselves. At the moment, they were pulling faces and staring at their bottles as if they contained poison.

“Should we be worried about them drinking it?” He asks, thinking that they looked barely older than Ron.

“They seem alright.” She says uncertainly. “Besides, the vendors should cover it.” The kids, having come to the same conclusion they had, started downing their bottles. The vendors couldn’t seem to care less.

“Never mind. If you handle the vendor, I’ll handle the kids.” He decides, and before she says anything else, he gets up and approaches the kids, who had taken a second bottle each from their pockets and started to down them too. This was going to be fun.

--

Half an hour later, and several arguments later, Bill was relieved to be returning to his tent. They’d ended up returning the kids to their parents, and when the vendor refused to, Cass had given the families the money back for the elixirs that was purchased out of her own pocket. He wasn’t sure what words were exchanged between her and the Vendor, but the encounter had gone badly enough that she’d got the attention of a nearby Ministry worker and reported him. They’d left when other Ministry officials came in as back up.

On their way out, they’d bumped into a saleswizard selling scarves with preening lions and dancing shamrocks on them. They’d bought each other scarves and had immediately transfigured them to better suit their old Hogwarts houses. He now owned a white scarf that had a snake slithering through it, doing a strange sort of dance. Cass, in contrast, had a red and gold scarf which roared at anyone walking past. They walked back in silence, a rarity for the pair.

“Thank Merlin, for warming charms, eh?” He says on their way back, holding the still-warm bag of pastries.

She hums softly, a contemplative tune that fills the air. "I think I should head to the Malfoys' tent," she suddenly decides, turning to leave.

He blinked at her, surprised. Her demeanour had completely shifted. One moment, she exuded an air of complete ease and familiarity with him, and the next, it was as if an invisible barrier had materialized, leaving her entirely closed off. The abrupt transformation left him grappling with a sense of perplexity, wondering what had prompted this sudden change in her disposition. Was it him? He racked his brain, replaying all their interactions.

"Everything alright?" He asked.

"What do you mean? I need to get ready for the final," she replies, her tone matter-of-fact.

"You've been silent since we started heading back. Plus, you've been glaring at the ground for quite some time," he observes. "I'm sorry if I've annoyed you."

Now she's the one who's baffled. "Why on earth are you apologising, Weasley? I'm not annoyed with you."

"But something is bothering you?"

"Not bothering me per se. It's more of a bother than anything else."

"Then what's the bother?"

She pauses, considering her words. "I don't think you'd understand."

"Then I'll just listen. It's healthy to vent. Was it the Vendor?" he ventures.

"Yes!" she says immediately, frustration evident in her voice. "The Vendor! He was an absolute jerk! I told him about the children, and he told me..." She trails off, her glare returning to the floor.

"He told you?" he prompts.

"He essentially told me to piss off." Bill senses there's more to this than she was letting on, but he decides not to push her further.

“He did seem like a bit of a prick.” He notes, remembering that the Vendor had seemed to only want to speak to him instead of her.

“He did, right?” She says with a giggle. “Sorry for being quiet earlier, I just needed a moment to calm down. Otherwise, I would have gone back to hex him. It had nothing to do with you.”

“It’s fine. Though, remind me to never get on your bad side. I kept wondering what I did wrong.”

“Well, you’ve done nothing as of yet.” She reassures. “If you do, I’ll let you know. Though I do need to go to the Malfoys to get ready.”

He checked his watch. “We still have 5 hours until the match.”

“I could take that long to get ready.” She says airily. “I have to look perfect, don’t I?”

“I think you already do.” He leans closer to her. “Stay for a little bit longer.”

“We’ve already spent a lot of time with each other.”

“But you haven’t spent any time with Chiara or Hestia. They’re waiting at the tent for you, you know?”

A brief flash of fear crosses her eyes. Perhaps she was nervous about the tent itself? He couldn’t understand why.

“I do want to see them,” she admits. “But I can’t see them there.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.” She says, for a moment looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Did my family say something to you?” He asks, wondering which one of his siblings asked about Sirius Black. That seemed like the likeliest thing that had happened.

“No, no, it isn’t your family.” Her gaze goes to him, looking uncertain.“It’s more...Harry Potter.”

Oh. She’d known James Potter, hadn’t she? From what he could remember whenever they’d discussed him, her opinion of him hadn’t been positive, but her brother Sirius, had adored him.

(“He loved James Potter. Not me.” )

“Don’t worry about explaining. I’ll tell them that the Malfoy’s called you away.” He decides, and she smiles.

“Thank you, William.” She murmurs.

As she walks away, Bill watches her go, wishing not for the first time, that he could get a glimpse into her mind.

Chapter 4: Let The Games Begin

Chapter Text

Let the Games Begin.

CEDRIC DIGGORY

Ever since he was a young boy, Cedric had loved Quidditch. He followed the League Cup every year and listened to both the African and South American Leagues whenever he could. He played as a Seeker on his own house team in Hogwarts, and he was pleased to note that even Dumbledore himself thought he was a good player.

His favourite thing about Quidditch by far though was the World Cup. It happened once every 4 years, and in his sixteen years of existence, he was proud to say that he distinctly remembered 3 different world cups. The first one was the 1982 World Cup in Madurai, India, where Norway had won. The second was the 1986 World Cup in Luxor, Egypt, where Argentina took home the cup. The third was the 1990 World Cup in Victoria, Australia, and it was the first time he’d seen a country in Britain come so close to winning. All three times he’d sat by the Wireless, listening intensely to the commentator’s voice and imagining just what the match looked like.

This time, at the 1994 World Cup in Devon, England, he wouldn’t have to imagine. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d cried when his parents had given him the tickets for Yule. Finally, he was going to see the very thing he’d dreamed to watch since he was a child. The only thing that upset him was that his closest friend and neighbour Selene Fawcett wasn’t going, but she’d told him to have enough fun for the both of them.

On the morning of the final, he wakes up feeling bright and refreshed. Nothing ruins his mood, not even an interaction with the Weasleys, all of whom were glowering at him for beating Gryffindor once at a Quidditch game the year prior.

(Which really wasn’t fair. He’d tried to ask for a rematch several times but had been denied at every turn.)

The day mainly passes in a blur, with him and his father going over various strategies both teams had used over the years. Secretly, he hoped for Ireland to win – a Celtic nation getting through to the final two years in a row was a rare feat, and he doubted that it could be replicated a third time. Several different Ministry officials apparated by their tent, and his father makes sure to introduce him to them, explaining that it would be good for him to make connections.

(Cedric wasn’t sure how to tell his father that he wanted to be a hit wizard, so it was only his grades that mattered, not who he knew when he applied for the role.)

At around five in the evening, they have dinner – a nice beef stew that his mother had placed in a stasis charm, and another Ministry wizardapparates into view.

“Dawlish!” Dad greets with a smile. “What brings you here?”

“Well, sir. There’s been a situation.”

“I see. I assume that you need my help?”

“It you have the time to.”

“Alright then.” Putting his food down, dad turns to him. “This is a valuable lesson for you Ced, my boy – when duty calls, you need to answer. Regardless of what you’re doing. Now will you be fine on your own?”

“Noted Dad. And I’m sixteen, not five! I’ll be fine.” When his father hesitates, he waves him away. “Go!”

With a laugh, his father apparates away.

Cedric eats the rest of his dinner, glad that for at least a few summers more, he didn’t have to worry about things like jobs and duties. For now, he could think about Quidditch, and nothing more.

A voice calls out something nearby, sounding eerily familiar. It starts to get closer, and putting his empty plate down, he decides that he might as well see what’s going on.

Stepping out of his tent, he’s greeted to the sight of the Wizarding World in all its glory. Several families passed by decked head to toe in green, and he notices saleswizards apparating every few tents or so. The voice calls out again, and as soon as the wizard step into view, he recognises them.

“Mr Lovegood!” He calls out. Xenophilius Lovegood, one of his neighbours turns around. He’d known Mr Lovegood for his entire life, the man was a close friend to his mother and the Fawcetts.

“Cedric!” He says warmly, before his face falls. “Have you got a minute?”

“I do – is everything alright?”

“Not really, no. I can’t find my Luna anywhere. Luna!” He calls, sounding frantic.

Cedric wasn’t surprised. Ever since Ms Lovegood died a few years ago, Mr Lovegood had become a bit more paranoid when it came to Luna. If he had to guess, he’d assume it was because she had an inquisitive streak very similar to what he could remember of her mother, Mrs Lovegood.

“I’ll help you find her Mr Lovegood.” He decides. After all, it was a rather large field, and two heads were better than one.

“Thank you! Luna!”

They split off to find her and noticing how alike the woods looked to the Forbidden Forest, Cedric decides to look through there. He’d caught Luna by the forest several times over the past year during his patrols as a prefect, so he really didn’t think it’d be a stretch to assume that she’d gone into the woods on the hunt for some new strange creature. What was it that the Quibbler had gone about lately? He couldn’t remember it which was a shame – Luna had always reacted better when he at least had a vague idea as to what she was on about.

As soon as he steps in the woods, he has the feeling that he’s being watched. Assuming that it’s just a paranoid auror, he continues walking on through.

“Luna!” He calls out.

The area around him suddenly goes dark. Being as it had been sunny not even a minute ago, warning bells sound in his head. He pulls out his wand and casts Lumos, figuring that with the amount of magic in the area, he isn’t going to flag up with the trace. In the distance, there’s a dark figure. Upon closer inspection, they seem to be wearing a robe.

“Luna?!” He calls, but the figure remains completely still.

Something felt wrong. But on the hope that it was Luna, he edges forward. From the figure, he hears a voice chanting. It sounded like she was speaking a foreign language.

“Luna?” He asks again. And the chanting stops. The figure starts to turn around.

“Cedric!” Luna says, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing onto his arm. “I forgot that you were turning up today.”

The area turns light again, and he cancels his charm, placing his wand back in his pocket.

“Today’s the day of the final Luna, I’d kind of have to be there by today, wouldn’t I? What brings you out here anyway?”

“I’m trying to find Moon frogs for daddy, he’d be terribly pleased! Would you like to join me?” She raises her arms, which were covered in varying colours of metallic bangles.

“As much as I would like to, I think we need to head back.” He says kindly. “Your father’s worried about you.”

As they head back, he notices that Luna was wearing no cloak. But when he looks around, there was no cloaked figure to be found.

It was like they were never there.

Letter from Orion Black to Hadrian Prewett, dated 5th May 1978

Hadrian,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. It has been too long since we last spoke and with the war currently taking place, I find myself yearning for the wisdom you always bring to our conversations. How is Guinevere?

The times we find ourselves in grow ever more dire with each passing day. The war rages on, and the most recent Death Eater attack alone has claimed fifty souls. According to rumours, my eldest son Sirius seems more and more likely to join Dumbledore’s Army so I do hope that your sons Fabian and Gideon will look after him, as those same rumours have them named as members also.

But I digress. The true purpose of this letter is to seek your counsel and assistance regarding my only daughter Cassiopeia. She has been struggling as of late, and I fear for her well-being. In recent years, she has become increasingly sensitive to magic, particularly in public settings where the sheer volume of magical energy present.

This sensitivity has led to several incidents of accidental magic, as Cassiopeia struggles to control her magic in the midst of crowded spaces. Despite my best efforts, I have been unable to find a solution to this problem. I implore you, Hadrian, to lend us your expertise and guidance in this matter. This whole matter is weighing heavily on my mind, and I fear that Walburga’s patience is wearing thin. She has already threatened more severe punishments if Cassiopeia’s condition does not improve, and I cannot bear to see my daughter struggle any longer. Not when she’s beyond advanced when it comes to any of her subjects.

Please, Hadrian, if there is anything you can do to help us, I would be forever in your debt.

Kind Regards,

Orion Black.

CASSIOPEIA BLACK

Once upon a time, when she’d been much younger and more excited about being in the world of Harry Potter, Peia had often found herself watching the grandfather clock on the top of the staircase, wishing time would move quicker. Now, she’d give anything to slow it down.

She sat in one of the many rooms in the Malfoy tent, eyes staring ahead at the various tapestries on the wall. Narcissa works on her hair, fashioning it into a painful updo. Normally, it was a house elf that works on things like make-up and hair, but her cousin had insisted on doing it herself.

It was something that Cissa had always done with her, helping her get ready for important events. The older woman simply had a skill that Peia didn’t possess when it came to outfits. Today, as she couldn’t be seen supporting either side, she was dressed in gold robes that had darker golden leaves embroidered down its front. The dress was beautiful, and she almost felt bad at the fact that she was going to ruin it by the end of the evening.

(She shouldn’t ruin it too badly though. In an attempt to pre-emptively stop the most messed up part of the riot happening before it even began, she’d placed a timed portkey in the Roberts’ and every other muggle field owner's cottages, that would send them to a nearby hotel that one of her friends worked at. She’d already paid for a room for them that night and being as she’d already placed a compulsion charm on the Portkey, she was sure that it would get them out of the way before the riot happened.)

There’s a particularly hard tug on her hair and she hisses.

“Sorry,” Cissa says. “I didn’t think that knot would be so hard to detangle.”

“It’s fine.” That was the only annoying thing about Narcissa doing her hair – though she tried, her cousin didn’t have the same hair type as her, and thus wasn’t a good judge or her haircare. By now she’d have put a bottle of Sleekeazy’s in her hair to make the process easier, but Cissa had always insisted on brushing it dry.

“All done!” Handing her a mirror, Peia has to admire Narcissa’s handiwork. The updo made her look professional and refined, something that she needed to be for her appearance tonight. The only thing that could be frowned upon was the modesty of her dress, but as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world of her unmarried status, it wasn’t like they could use her against it in future articles.

Pureblood society had a strange way of determining what sort of robes witches wore. For the unmarried witch, they were expected to have robes that covered their skin, not revealing too much to the public eye. If they did happen to wear a revealing dress, then the media would essentially slu*t shame them, and they’d be shunned by the society. Peia suspected that this was half the reason why Narcissa had insisted on helping her get ready for today, lest she decided to walk out to present in a co*cktail dress to ward off any more of her numerous proposals.

“You look lovely!” Cissa praises. She was dressed head to toe in black – a colour that Peia unfortunately couldn’t wear due to it being a colour of Bulgaria, one of the teams playing in the final. As a commentator, she had to look neutral, lest she could be accused of playing favourites.

A gong sounds out. It sounds far away but based on the abrupt silence from the campsite outside, she assumes that it’s the signal for everyone to start heading to the stadium.

“It’s time.” Narcissa says, confirming her suspicions.

Putting on her shoes – a pair of heels just as golden as her robes and grabbing the purse containing her notes, she heads into the living room, where Lucius and Draco waited. The latter was glaring at her scarf, which was on the sofa. The scarf in response, roared at him.

“Did you have to get that scarf?” He asks her.

“I thought it was interesting.” She responds, deciding that it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell him that a Gryffindor got her it.

“But it’s so Gryffindor-ish!” She believed that was the point.

“It has roaring lions on it. And it's red and gold.” She points out. “Do you know how difficult the spell crafting required to make this is?”

“But you were in Slytherin!”

“And?” In her days at Hogwarts, Gryffindor-Slytherin hostility wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed these days. She’d hoped that the lack of feuding between the two houses would have continued on after she’d left, but clearly, she was wrong.

“Draco,” Lucius interrupts. “Enough. We need to get to the stadium.”

With that, the Malfoy patriarch leaves the tent, his robes billowing behind him. He’d always been one for dramatics. With a final glare at the scarf, Draco quickly follows him.

“Are you ready for the final?” Narcissa asks as they walk step in step together. Green and red lanterns lit up the trees around them, illuminating a pathway to the stadium. All around them were wizards excitedly talking about the match. With the differing looks and fashions, it looked like people from all over the world had come to see the event. Over the chatter, there was an amplified voice, telling people to follow the lanterns.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She responds wryly.

“You’ll do fine!” Her cousin reassures. “Who do you think’s going to win?”

“I can’t have an opinion, can I? Being the commentator and all.”

Narcissa rolls her eyes, and for a second, she looks exactly like Andromeda. “It’s only me that’ll know Peia! And I promise not to tell anyone else. Lest that ruins your non-partial reporting skills.”

“Hm, I think Ireland will win.” She answers, remembering that she’d written this in her notes. She’d also written that Barty Crouch Junior would cast the Dark Mark tonight with Harry Potter’s wand, but she hoped that with Molly Weasley’s presence, the boy-who-lived wouldn’t drop his wand in the first place. “You?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to Ireland winning. Though Bulgaria does have Krum, and he’s nothing short of phenomenal. Merlin, if only I was twenty years younger...”

Lucius, who’d clearly heard every word of their conversation, turns around and gives her a horrified glance, before walking a bit faster with Draco.

“And that’s why he shouldn’t be listening in on my conversations.” She says in a matter of fact tone, and the two witches burst into giggles.

Though Peia had seen concept art of what the stadium was supposed to look like, it didn’t do it any justice to the real thing. It was gigantic, and she got the sense that after the tournament, it was going to be added to the UK’s list of wizarding stadiums. The stadium looked expensive too – it's walls were made of pure gold, which would have cost the Ministry a pretty penny to build.

“Top Box!” The Ministry Witch who checked the Malfoys exclaims when they show their tickets. “Straight upstairs sir, then go as high as you can go!” She pauses when she gets to Peia’s. “Likewise, with you Miss Black, I believe the Commentator’s box won’t open until five minutes before the match begins?”

The witch was right. According to Fudge, it was a safety measure that had been put in place since the 1954 World Cup final in Chile, when two wizards had snuck themselves in and refused to leave.

They climb up several sets of stairs, enough so that Peia was glad that she wasn’t wearing muggle heels. These ones had softening charms in to make them far comfier – though she wasn’t intending on testing this, she had a feeling that she’d even be able to run in them. As they approach the Top Box, she feels a familiar sense of dread.

Inside that box were practically all of the main characters of the books she grew up reading. She’d barely managed to cope with it all earlier and she feared that any further interactions with them would cause her to slip up. And what would they do then? Would they go to Dumbledore directly, who would obliviate her in the name of the greater good? Or would they go to the Ministry who would lock her up and pick her brain apart?

“Peia?” Draco calls, rousing her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d fallen behind. She catches up, and together they enter the Top Box.

For all its hype, the Top Box was rather lacking in comparison with the rest of the stadium. About twenty or so chairs stood in the middle of the room, and she was somewhat impressed with the view. The box was absolutely packed too, and wizards were running around in every direction.

“Lucius!” A voice calls, and from the front row of the chairs, the familiar face of Cornelius Fudge emerges.

(She tries to pretend that she doesn’t recognise the numerous redheads surrounding him.)

“Ah, Fudge.” Lucius says, striding forward. She wishes to stay behind, but trudged on, knowing that it would appear strange if she didn’t. “How are you? I don’t think you’ve met my wife Narcissa? Or my son Draco? You have of course, met Cassiopeia before.”

“How do you do!” The Minister says with a smile. “And how could I forget Lady Black! Lovely to see you again – It hasn’t been very long since we last saw each other, has it?”

Several heads spin around to stare at her, and she tries not to fidget. It was a bad habit she’d adopted whenever she was nervous.

“Only about twenty-three hours.” She says with a polite smile, and he laughs as if she’d told him a particularly funny joke. Silently, she wishes he'd stop talking to her. She'd never much liked the man, even less so since he'd sent her to Azkaban.

He continues. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying anyway, so never mind. And let’s see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay? And perhaps his wife Molly too?”

Lucius glared at Arthur Weasley, who returned it full-heartedly. Narcissa had adopted an expression that Peia liked to call the ‘holier than thou’ look. It was an expression that only House Black could use effectively. Mrs Weasley’s face had gone red with anger.

“Good lord, Arthur,” Lucius said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

“A pleasure to see you again Mr Weasley!” She says suddenly, stepping forward to shake Mr Weasley’s hand. As much as she didn't want to really interact with him, it still made sense to be polite. Shocked, he shakes her hand, his grip surprisingly firm. She moves on to Mrs Weasley. “And you too Mrs Weasley! I’ve heard so much about the both of you, so it’s nice to properly meet you!”

“Yes. Only heard good things, I bet?” Mr Weasley asks, his voice sarcastic.

“I’ve heard things that aren’t as bad as you’re thinking.” She responds. Her eye catches Hestia’s, who beckons for her to join her and Chiara at the edge of the row. Bill Weasley was watching her, his expression unreadable.

“Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.” Fudge says. “And Cassiopeia is one of the commentators for the match today.”

“That’s nice.” Mr Weasley says, his smile weak.

“We are going to find our seats now Fudge.” Lucius decides, and the Malfoy family walks away. He pauses when he realises that she wasn’t following. “Cassiopeia?”

“I’ll use the time before the match catch up with my friends.” She says mildly, and following her line of sight, Lucius’ lip curls at the sight of her friend Chiara. He’d developed a problem with her when she’d starting dating Charlie.

“Ah I see. Feel free to join your friends and their Company.” With that closing remark, he saunters away.

Mr and Mrs Weasley watch her as she walks over to the end of their row, their eyes still wary. She had a feeling that this was going to be an ongoing problem.

“Peia!” Chiara Lobosca greets, standing up. “I would hug you, but I don’t want to mess up your robes.”

“Screw the robes.” She pulls the witch into a hug. They hadn’t seen each other for approximately two years, and though they’d written weekly, it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person.

Another set of arms join them.

“I felt left out.” Hestia Jones says as an explanation once they’d all let go. The three of them had become friends during Peia’s secondyear at Hogwarts, when they’d wound up in the Hospital Wing at the same time. She looks her over. “You still look fine Peia.”

“You look more than fine – You look amazing!” Chiara gushes. “And I’m sure you’ll be an amazing commentator!”

“I’ve never commentated before.” She says dryly, though to her embarrassment, her voice wavers slightly, betraying her nerves.

“There’s a first time for everything!” Chiara insists. Peia wants to point out that normally people’s first experience isn’t in front of a hundred thousand wizards but decides to refrain from saying that.

“You’re going to do great!” Hestia reassures. She turns around and shoots the eldest two Weasleys a look. “Isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says quickly. “You’ll do great!”

They continue to reassure her, but she finds herself focused on Bill, who doesn’t say anything. Instead, he continues to watch her. She wished that she could identify the expression on his face.

“Ludo!” Fudge exclaims, and she turns to see Bagman practically charge into the Top Box.

“Minister!” He replies. His eyes search the box until they land on her. “Cassiopeia!” He grabs her hand and gives a wet kiss the back of it. “I must say, you simply look exquisite.”

“Thank you, Mr Bagman.” She says simply, trying hard to not show her disgust. Before he can say anything else, she pulls her hand back and turns to Fudge. “I think the Minister wants to speak to you though."

"Ah, yes!" With that, Bagman wanders off. As soon as he walks away, her face sours. She wipes her hand on her dress.

"I also have to put up with that for the next few hours." She mutters. "Between that and the proposals, I'm this close to hexing someone. At this point, I don't even care what the papers say."

"Proposals?" Hestia asks.

"You know my offer still stands." Bill says wryly. "I doubt the papers would care much if I hexed someone. Plus I'm subtle."

"Are you saying I'm not Weasley?" She teases. Hestia, Charlie and Chiara give the pair a look.

"Not when you're angry." He says with a chuckle. "You'd stand up in front of everyone and hex whoever it was that was pissing you off."

She opens her mouth to refute that. But pauses and thinks. "You're right, I absolutely would. They'd have deserved it though."

"I'm not saying that they wouldn't." She hadn't noticed either of them moving, but now they were directly in front of each other. "All I'm saying is that if you need it, I'm more than happy to help you out. I've already thought of the perfect hex for Bagman."

"I feel like we're accomplices in whatever this is." Charlie says to the others.

"I think Peia and I have very different ideas of what an uninteresting life is." Hestia mutters.

"You have, have you?" She asks with a giggle. "What hex?"

"A bat bogey hex." He leans forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Between you and me, I think it'd be extra painful for him, what with how squashed his nose is."

Before she can help it, Peia bursts out laughing. Several people look over, including both the Malfoys and Weasleys. As if realising how close they were, Bill takes a step back so he's next to Charlie again.

"What's so funny?" Bagman asks, walking over. She bursts out laughing again and this time, both Hestia and Charlie join in.

"An inside joke." She says once she'd recovered. "Minister? Would you say that we’re ready to start?”

Fudge looks at his watch. “I would, Lady Black! The commentator’s box should be open any second now!”

“Good luck!” Her friends chorus, and she thanks them, grateful for the support. She then turns to leave, making sure to subtly avoid Bagman’s attempts at grabbing her arm.

“Cassiopeia!” Bill calls out, and she turns to look at him. “You’ve got this! Just be you and they’ll love it!” There’s a sincerity in his eyes that takes her aback, and that same strange warmth blossoms in her chest.

“Thank you, William.” She says with a smile, and with the image of her friends in mind, she walks through the door.

CHIARA LOBOSCA

Chiara decided that agreeing to go to the Quidditch World Cup was one of the best decisions she’d ever made. During her short time in Britain, she’d met her boyfriend’s family, got to reunite with some old friends and got to experience something that only few people could boast about – being in the best seats in the arena. She’d also got to meet the boy-who-lived himself, and for a kid who’d saved almost all of Wizarding Britain, he really was a humble kid. Had she declined, like she’d originally planned to, then she would have been miserable in her house, all too aware of her growing symptoms of lycanthropey.

She was still aware here, don’t get her wrong. But here, she could at least focus on other things. Like how excited everyone around her was – even Percy was decked head to toe in Ireland merchandise. Or how short the Minister was in person.

A sharp bout of pain hits her, and she frowns, massaging her side. That was one of the annoyances with her condition. As the full moon approached, her body would start to react to the Wolfsbane Potion she had to drink. Which wasn’t surprising as its main ingredient was poisonous, but it was a necessity that she had to take. She had chronic pain from her condition anyway, but

“You okay?” Charlie, her boyfriend asks worriedly. Ever since she’d arrived at his family’s tent earlier, he’d been checking in on her to see how she was. It was something she deeply appreciated.

“I’m alright.” She confirms, and with a soft smile, he turns back to look at the crowd.

That was another reason why she was happy to be there – she could see firsthand just how excitable Charlie was when watching Quidditch. He’d played the sport when they’d been at Hogwarts, but as he and Tonks had been banned from sitting next to each other in the Quidditch stands, she’d never watched a match with him by her side before.

“I think it’s starting!” Hestia, her best friend shouts, motioning wildly to a nearby stand, where they could clearly see two figures taking their seats.

One was Ludovic Bagman, the head of the department of magical games and sports. She hadn’t had a proper conversation with him yet but based on how Percy Weasley’s face had darkened when he’d entered the Top Box, she assumed that he wasn’t someone she was going to particularly like.

(Though not as close to him as she was to Bill, Chiara found that Percy was just as introverted as she was, so if he found someone to be a bit much, then chances were that she’d feel the same way. At least that’s what she’d found during their days at Hogwarts.)

The second person was Cassiopeia Black, her best friend. She, Hestia and Cassiopeia had been friends for years, having befriended each other during her first year, and their second. And though she saw her friends as equals in her mind, she had to admit that she wasn’t sure where she’d be had it not been for Peia. The older witch had been the one to suggest she register as a medic in Romania in the first place, having noticed that their half-breed registry laws were much laxer due to an increasing Veela population. Peiaalso paid Penny Haywood, a potioneer who was one of their mutual friends, for her Wolfsbane Supply monthly, something that Chiara hadn’t asked for, but appreciated greatly. She’d appeared in the box wearing robes of pure gold, and though she thought that Peia looked beautiful, Chiara felt like they didn’t portray even half the person that Peia was.

“Ladies and gentlemen... Welcome!” Ludo Bagman’s voice rings out, and the crowd instantly goes silent. “Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup! The stadium is full, and the noise is deafening. We await the arrival of both team's mascots, who will put on a pre-match show. I can’t believe that it’s gone by so quickly, can you?”

“The last few weeks have gone by rather quickly.” Peia agrees, sounding not nearly as nervous as she had speaking to them not even ten minutes ago. “The Bulgarian Quidditch Manager, Nikifor Kostov, has given the go ahead, so without further ado, allow us to introduce the Bulgarian Team Mascots!”

“I wonder what they’ve brought,” Mr Weasley, Charlie’s father, says, leaning forward in his seat. “Ah!” He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes.

“Veela!” Mrs Weasley, Charlie’s mother, splutters, looking scandalised.

“What are veel - ?” Harry Potter starts to ask but cuts himself off.

Several Veela stride out onto the stadium below, and Chiara watches the surrounding reactions around her in amusem*nt. Most of the people look enamoured, and she noted that a few of them looked ready to run onto the pitch themselves. There are also quite a few people – mostly witches, who look murderous, but she isn’t sure whether they were angry at their male companions for looking, or the Veela for dancing.

Charlie isn’t affected by them, but she isn’t surprised. He’d never really been interested in anything but her, and even then, their relationship was far more emotional than physical. Bill didn’t seem too affected either, but she supposed resisting charm magic was one of the key aspects of his job. Hestia, however, was staring at them with far too much interest to not be affected by them. She makes a note to tease her about this later.

Ludo Bagman continues. "Yes, the Veela, absolutely beautiful, aren’t they? Looking around the stadium, it seems that many men have fallen prey to their charms. A few women too by the looks of it. Oh look! Avery Hawksworth of the English National Team has just tried to climb over his seat!”

“According to my notes,” Cassiopeia says, “the Veela have been a staple of Bulgarian culture since the 1500’s. There’s a rumour that every wizard in Bulgaria has at least one drop of Veela blood in them.They are also, as my colleague has already said, extremely enchanting to those who are attracted to women. I’m surprised you aren’t affected by them yourself Ludo.”

“Well, I’m finding that if I focus on your face instead, I can ignore their calls. Now, kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

For a moment, all she can see is green and gold. Leprechauns and rainbows appear in every which direction, dropping mounds of gold.

“Ah, the leprechauns!” Peia says. “They’ve resided in Ireland since Ancient times – since before wizards themselves. It seems only fitting that they’re representing the country today.”

“They’re throwing gold to the audience – something that is sure to do well with the crowd. Even the commentator’s box isn’t being spared.” Ludo Bagman looked to be puttingsome in his pocket.

“Yes, though please dokeep in mind that this is Leprechaun’s gold. It will disappear by tomorrow, so sadly it won’t make anyone a millionaire overnight.” There were a few dejected sighs from the crowd.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome,” Bagman introduces, “the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! And Krum!”

As soon as Viktor Krum’s name was mentioned, the crowd seemed to go feral. Charlie’s brother Ron seemed have an almost fanatical look in his eyes.

“And now, please cheer for the Irish National Quidditch Team!”Peia shouts. “Presenting Beaters Connolly, Quigley! Keeper Ryan! Chasers Troy, Mullet, Moran! And SeekerLynch!”

“And here, all the way from Egypt is our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!”

“Do you know him, Bill?” Charlie asks, and Bill rolls his eyes.

“No. Shockingly Charlie, I don’t know every wizard in Egypt.”

Mostafa, the referee, kicks open the crate containing all the balls, and with a sharp blast on his whistle, shoots into the air.

“And they’re off!” Bagman shouts.“And it’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!”

“Back to Moran, who passes it to Troy – he scores!”

“TROY SCORES!” Bagman roars, cutting off whatever Peia was going to say next. “Ten zero to Ireland!”

The match continues, and though she wasn’t the biggest fan of Quidditch, Chiara had to admit that this was one of the greatest things she’d ever seen. The players moved far faster than they did in Hogwarts, and she ended up having to use Charlie’s pair of omnioculars to actually be able to see what was going on. The way they played reminded her eerily of Skye Parkin, a Gryffindor who’d been in a different league to every other player in the school. It had been a huge surprise when Charlie had gotten the role of Quidditch Captain over her.

Ireland scores twice more in the next ten minutes. She and Hestia shriek and hug each other in celebration. Once Ireland’s lead hit thirty-zero, the match turned more brutal. And faster too, something that she didn’t think was possible.

Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and after a few attempts, were starting to successfully prevent them from scoring. Eventually, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks and score Bulgaria’s first goal.

“Fingers in your ears!” bellowed Mr. Weasley as the Veela started to dance in celebration. Charlie was still unaffected, but she noticed Bill focusing on the Commentator’s box very intensely. It was conveniently where Peia was, who had stopped commentating tolaugh at a wizard who’d tried to jump the stands to try and get to the Veela.

"Bulgaria back in control of the Quaffle.” Bagman says. “Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh I say!”

Krum and Lynch flew through the centre of the Chasers, faster than any of the other players had moved thus far. They both flew to try and catch the snitch, however when she squinted through the omnioculars, she couldn’t see it. She says as much to Charlie, who quickly looks for himself.

“I think it’s a Wronski feint!” He exclaims to her.

“They’re going to crash!” Hermione, a friend of Ron’s, screams.

At the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and flew away. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

“Fool!” moaned Mr. Weasley. “Krum was feinting!”

“It’s time-out!” yelled Bagman, “as trained medi-wizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!” It was a long time since she’d ever had to think about Quidditch-related injuries, but chances were from a height like that, he’d have a concussion at the very least.

“And that wizards and witches, was the infamous Wronski Feint.” Cassiopeia adds. “A favoured move of Viktor Krum’s, he’s used it approximately 5 times during this world cup alone.”

“He’ll be okay, he only got ploughed!” Charlie reassures his younger sister Ginny, whohung over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. “Which is what Krum was after, of course...”

Eventually, once the healing potions the medi-wizards administered had kicked in, Lynch got to his feet and kicked back off into the air. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a newfound fierceness that quickly proved to be bad luck for the Bulgarians.

“You really shouldn’t piss off the Irish.” Charlie notes. He says it quietly enough that Ginny doesn’t seem to hear him. He was entirely right - after fifteen minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten.

It wasn’t a surprise that with Ireland’s success, came a far more vengeful Bulgarian team. The team started to get fiercer in their attempts to prevent Ireland from scoring.This all came to a head when asMullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her and essentially tried to steal the Quaffle from her, elbowing her in the face as he did so. There was a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa was quick to call it as a foul.

“And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!” Bagman shouts, sounding annoyed himself. “Mostafa’s awarded a penalty to Ireland!”

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words “HA, HA, HA!” The Veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

“And Ireland scores – Oh, look at the referee!” Peia announces with a laugh.Sure enough, Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing Veela and was flexing his muscles at them.

“What a plonker!” Charlie says with a laugh.

“That’s just how every wizard looks when he tries to impress the person he likes.” Hestia says matter of factly.

The smile falls of her boyfriend’s face.

“I didn’t look like that when I asked you out, did I?” He asks her, and she giggles.

“Well, you were lacking the moustache.” She replies, deciding to not properly answer his question.

He pouts in response.

“Now, we can’t have that!” Ludo Bagman continues, sounding highly amused. “Somebody get him to come to his senses!”

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shin. Once he came to his senses, Mostafa started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

“And unless I’m much mistaken,” Bagman says. “Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots! Now there’s something I don’t think we’ve seen before, have we Cassiopeia? You’re our resident historian after all.”

“It’s happened only once before.” Peia responds. “At the 1797 world cup, where Russia brought forth a troop of Rusalki to be their mascots. Oh, this could turn nasty...”

The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, motioning towards the leprechauns, who had now formed the words “HEE, HEE, HEE.”

“Surely, they should just keep the team mascots out of sight after the opening sequence?” She says to Charlie, who nods. “It feels like all of those problems could have been avoided if they were just taken out of the spotlight.”

“They aren’t allowed to.” Percy interjects. “Not since the 1877 world cup, where an entire team and their mascots went missing.”

“Which team went missing?” Bill asks curiously.

“The Netherlands.” Percy answers.

Bill hums and looks back at the pitch, where Mostafa was clearly telling the Bulgarian beaters to get back on the field.

“How on earth do they remember this sh*t?” Charlie asks Chiara, who shrugs. They were his family, not hers. Besides, she never pretended to understand geniuses – things that people like Bill and Percy undoubtedly were.

Mostafa gives two blasts on his whistle and points at the Irish team.

“Two penalties for Ireland!” Bagman announces. The Bulgarian crowd booed with anger.

“Volkov and Vulchanov get back to their brooms.” Peia says. “And Troy gets handed the Quaffle.”

Both teams’ quidditch play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy and not for the first time, Chiara found herself glad that Charlie hadn’t pursued a career in Quidditch. It was bad enough that he worked with dragons for a living, but at least the dragons weren’t aiming to try and hurt their caretakes as much as possible.

Volkov and Vulchanov in particular didn’t seem to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. At one point, Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

“Foul!” roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

“Foul!” repeated Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice. He sounded angry, and it really didn’t take a wild guess to figure out what team he supported.“Dimitrov skins Moran -deliberately flying to collide there – and –”

Peia cuts him off. “Mostafa gives out another penalty for Ireland.”

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which gave the middle finger to the Veela. Mrs Weasley cries out, too shocked to cover Ginny’s eyes, who watches the scene gleefully.

At the gesture, the Veela lost the semblance of control they had before. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. They’d transformed into their winged states too, and the scene made Chiara make a mental note to not get on the bad side of a Veela.

“And that, boys,” yelled Mr. Weasley over the chaos of the crowd below, “is why you should never go for looks alone!”

“I wish I could conjure up fireballs.” Charlie said wistfully to her, ignoring his father. She pats him on the back in an attempt to console him.

“Levski - Dimitrov – Moran -Troy - Mullet -Ivanova -Moran again -Moran -MORAN SCORES!” Bagman roars, but she’s struggling to hear his voice over the chaos of the stadium below.

“Perhaps we should call a time out?” Cassiopeia suggests, but Mostafa doesn’t react. Instead, he was trying to put the fire on his broom out. One of the Veela had thrown a fireball at him.

Quigley, one of the Irish Beaters, swings a passing bludger, which hits Viktor Krum in the face. There was a deafening groan from the crowd. Looking through the omnioculars, she could tell from here that his nose was broken. Again,Hassan Mostafa didn’t blow his whistle. He had become distracted again, as another Veela had thrown fire at him.

“Time-out!” Ron screams at Mostafa, and Chiara jumps at his sudden loudness. “Ah, come on, he can’t play like that, look at him –”

“Look at Lynch!” Harry Potter yells suddenly, just as loud.

Sure enough, the Irish Seeker had gone into a sudden dive.

“He’s seen the Snitch!” Harry Potter continues to shout. “He’s seen it! Look at him go!” Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on, but Krum was close behind. Flecks of blood flew through the air behind the Bulgarian Seeker, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground for the second time that night.

“They’re going to crash!” shrieked Hermione Granger.

“They’re not!” roared Ron.

“Lynch is!” yelled Harry Potter.

Chiara got that it was a match, but they really didn’t need to be that loud. Harry Potter ended up being right – for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

“The Snitch, where’s the Snitch?” askedCharlie, his eyes scanning the pitch.

“He’s got it!” Harry shrieks. “Krum’s got it - It’s all over!”

Viktor Krum, his red robes shining with the blood from his nose, rosegently into the air, his fist held high, with a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard changed, and flashed:BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170.

The crowd didn’t seem to realise what had happened at first. Then, slowly at first, the Ireland Supporters went wild.

“IRELAND WINS!” Bagman shouts, who like the crowd, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. “KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WINS – good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

“We were!” The Weasley twins shriek in unison.

“We won the bet!” One of them cheers.

“What bet?!” Mrs Weasley asks, turning to look at them.

They don’t answer her, instead they choose to hug each other and celebrate. They and Mrs Weasley had been ignoring each other all day. She’d asked about it earlier, but Charlie wasn’t sure as to the reason why himself.

“Well, we fought bravely,” A voicesaid from the row behind them. It belonged to Boyan Marinov, the Minister for Magic of Bulgaria.

“You can speak English!” said Fudge, sounding outraged. “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!”

“Well, it was very funny,” said Marinov, shrugging.

Hestia cackles so hard that there were tears in her eyes.

The door to the Top Box opens. Ludo Bagman and Peia enter. As the witch’s cheeks were red instead of her usual white, Chiara assumed that they’d had to run to get to the box so quickly.

“And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!” Bagman says, his voice far louder than it had been before.

A blinding white light flashes as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Two panting wizards carry a vast golden cup into the box, where they hand it to Cornelius Fudge.

“Let’s have a round of support for the runner’s up – Bulgaria!” Peia says, and the crowd cheers. The Bulgarian team shuffle in, and she announces each of their names. She pauses when she gets to Viktor Krum’s name, and Chiara didn’t need to be a legilimens to guess why. With his black eyes and bloody nose, it was obvious that the man was injured. And Peia had always had a penchant for trying to help broken things.

“He needs a healer. Quietus.” Peia says and takes the wand away from her throat. She looks through the Box and eventually, her eyes land on her.

She doesn’t hear what the other witch says to Viktor Krum, but the two seemed to be debating. It isn’t until the Irish team got into the Top Box that Krum moves – and instead of standing with the rest of his team, he approaches her and the Weasleys.

Ron looks about ready to faint.

“Miss Black told me that you’re a healer.” He says to her, and she finds herself surprised by how young he sounded.

“Take a seat.” She instructs, getting out her wand. The crowd cheers around her as the Irish team enters the Top Box, but she stays focused on her new patient, making sure that once his nose was reset, there was no additional swelling. Once everything’s restored, and he goes back to looking like he did prior to the match, she lets him return to the team. He thanks her before she leaves, and to her surprise, gives a small bow.

“Quietus!” Bagman says, taking his wand away from his throat. “They’ll be talking about this one for years, a really unexpected twist, that... shame it couldn’t have lasted longer. Ah yes- yes, I owe you – how much?”

The Weasley twins stood in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. Mrs Weasley stares at them in horror and watching the scene, Chiara found herself not wanting to be in either twin’s shoes.

Another bout of pain hits her, and she has to hold onto her chair to stop herself from falling over. Charlie’s arms reach out in an instant, and he wraps his arms around her to support her. If anyone looked over, then they’d assume that the pair were just in a passionate embrace, celebrating their win. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She confirms. “I’ll be fine. It’s just one of my symptoms.”

For some reason, she felt someone’s eyes on her as they left the tent. It wasn’t until they left the stadium that she felt their presence finally vanish.

DAVID ROBERTS

Mr Roberts was having a very strange few weeks indeed. First, he’d been awoken by some strange men in nice suits, where they’d informed him that they were the ones responsible for fully booking his field for the next few weeks. Then, he’d had to check in all the people that they’d booked the field for. With people sporting hair that seemed to change colourto an old man that he was fairly sure was in a flowered women’s nightgown, they were some of the strangest people that David had ever met.

Even his wife, a beautiful woman called Patricia who was one of the nicest people he knew, had commented on their strangeness. She’d chosen to stay inside the house to spend time with the children, something that she never did whenever there was a fellow family on the field.

The worst part about all of this was for David though, was that ever since those strange men arrived, his head had been feeling awfully foggy. And he had no idea as to why. Alongside this fogginess, he found that whenever he thought of those strange people for too long, his head would start to hurt also. It was as if he was trying to remember something that simply wasn’t there.

It’s close to 9pm when he decides to call it a night. He’d marked everyone as arrived and as no one had gone up to him to ask any questions, he assumed that they wouldn’t need anything until the morning. Locking the door and pulling the shutters down, he puts away his leftover maps of the day before returning to his cottage, where his wife looks over.

“How was today love?” She asks, going over to give him a peck on the cheek.

“As strange as usual.” He answers, feeling a headache start to take form. “Why aren’t you watching the TV?”

Normally in the evenings, he’d find her sat on the sofa, watching re-run of Twin Peaks, a show that she’d been obsessed with since its release.

“It stopped working.” To show what she meant, Patricia tries to turn on the TV, that splutters and glitches until the screen just turns black.

“But it’s a brand-new TV?” He asks, baffled. He’d gone out with his eldest son, Brandon to get it a few weeks prior.

“I know. But it looks like we’ll need a new one already. And a new phone too.”

“A new phone?”

She walks over and picks up the phone, which makes an ominous cracking sound. “It’s busted too. With that and the lights, I think that’s all our electricals gone.” A day ago, their lights had sputtered out, so they’d had to use candlelit lamps instead.

Now David didn’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but he had an inkling that all these new arrivals over the last few days had something to do with all his electricity going. He’d checked the fuse box, and it was fine, so if the group was anything as shady as he felt they were, then they probably had something that interfered with any unwanted electronics. He says as much to his wife, who though she normally disagreed with him on matters like this, doesn’t argue about it. Instead, she tilts her head to the side, thinking about it.

“It is possible.” She admits, and if anything was going to convince him that the folks out there weren’t normal, then that was it.

A blur goes flying at him, and he instinctively catches it before it falls to the floor. His youngest son, Ryan grins up at him. At only 7, he was still at the age where he found anything reckless interesting and would go out of his way to perform all the dangerous stunts he could. It was a miracle that he hadn’t injured himself yet. “Dad!”

“Hey Kiddo! Why aren’t you in bed?” He asks, wrapping his arms around his son. Normally during the summer holidays, both his sons would help him out on the desk but of course, with the rise of odd individuals this year, he and Patricia didn’t think that it would be best to expose their children to them.

“I wanted to follow the lanterns.” He says with a pout. And what on earth was he on about?

“The lanterns?” David questions, and Patricia rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know – Ryan's been talking about them for hours, claiming that he hears a voice telling him to go outside. I think that he just had a bad dream.”

“Did not!” Ryan shouts, and moves to the window, pulling the curtains back. “See! There are lanterns in the woods there!”

He peers out of the window but couldn’t see anything there but trees. “There isn’t anything there Ryan. Why don’t we get to bed?”

“There is something there!” Ryan insists. “I really want to see it!”

“Why don’t we go to see it tomorrow?” Patricia suggests. “When it’s not so dark outside.”

With that compromise met, Ryan runs back to his room, announcing that he’ll wake up extra early in the morning to see them.

“Lanterns?” He asks, taking another look out of the window. He had no clue what his son was on about – there was nothing there.

“Well, it is Ryan.” Patricia says with a shrug. “You know what he’s like.” Their youngest son did have an overactive imagination – when he broke something, he tended to tell them that it broke because he’d made the object float, instead of just admitting that he’d pushed it over.

“True - has he said anything else odd tod-” A strange feeling washes over him, cutting him off. He suddenly felt at peace, as if everything was alright. Or rather, he got the sense that everything would be alright, so long as he got his family together and got them to grab the vase that was on the table.

“Boys!” Patricia calls. Her face reflected the peace that he felt. “Come into the dining room please!”

“What’s going on?” Their eldest, Brandon, asks, stepping into the room. Before either David or Patricia could say anything, he walks over to the table and grabs onto the vase. Though looking uncertain, Ryan does the same when he tells him to. Once all of them grab onto it, David’s entire world vanishes.

When it reappears again, he has to fight the urge to throw up. The rest of his family aren’t so lucky, and Ryan ends up throwing up over all of them.

He doesn’t notice the sick at first though.

Instead, he looks at the world around him, wondering where on earth he was. It looked like he was in a hotel lobby, but that was impossible. They’d have had to have teleported to get there that quickly.

“Welcome to the Rubyvale hotel. How can I help?” A voice says, and he looks over to see a blonde teenager sitting at the front desk. A desk that had no one there when he first looked around.

“I - I’m not sure.” For once, words seemed to have left him.

“Are you checking in?” She asks with barely contained annoyance.

“No?” He looks around, but his family all look equally as baffled. “I’m not sure how we got here?”

The teenager looks him over. “Are you Mr David Roberts by any chance?”

“Yes?”

She holds out a keycard. For some reason she was wearing gloves despite it being almost unbearably hot. “Your room is on the third floor, room 20.”

When he doesn’t make any move to grab it, she sighs. Moving faster than hethought possible, the teenager physically puts the keycard in his hands.

“But I haven’t paid for this?” He wonders aloud.

“You don’t have to. It’s already paid for.”

“But, who –”

“They’ll speak to you later.” She says, writing something down on a piece of paper. “Now, if you don’t mind, there’s a family due to arrive any second now, and I need to check them in.”

The room was gigantic, and the boys – who were far too awake for this time of night, have great fun jumping from bed to bed. Though it looked a bit rundown, he supposed that he couldn’t exactly be picky if he didn’t have to pay for anything. Though that did beg the question, who did? More importantly, why were they here and not in the cottage? He sits on his bed and waits, hoping that whoever they were would turn up soon.

Excerpt from the diary of Cassiopeia Black from August 18th, 1990

The absence of a pensieve continues to weigh heavily on my mind. The Room of Requirement had spoiled me with its convenient access to a pensieve, and now, without it, I feel a distinct void in my methods of information processing. Reviewing memories had become second nature, a crucial aspect of my analytical process. Now, I find myself yearning for the opportunity to delve into the intricacies of my thoughts, sorting and prioritizing the most potent information.

My attempts to compensate for this loss involve writing down the knowledge I acquire, but it falls short of the seamless review a pensieve offers. There's a vulnerability to it, an ever-present concern that someone may catch a glimpse over my shoulder, infringing upon the privacy of my reflections. This constant vigilance detracts from the immersive learning experience I once enjoyed.

In response, I've embraced a new strategy – coding my work. The intricacies of various languages now encapsulate my thoughts, creating a barrier that only a fellow polyglot could possibly breach. It adds a layer of protection to my musings, ensuring that the knowledge I gather remains not only secure but also accessible only to those with the linguistic prowess to decipher the cryptic labyrinth I've woven.

Yet, despite these adaptations, I can't shake the longing for the comforting embrace of a pensieve. Its absence is a palpable void in my intellectual pursuits, a reminder that even the most advanced coding and careful documentation cannot fully replicate the seamless and immersive review that the pensieve once effortlessly provided.

Peia

WILLIAM WEASLEY

“I’m disappointed that you were gambling.” Mum said as they all made their way slowly down the stairs. “But congratulations on winning.”

Everyone in the family looks at her in surprise. Out of all the reactions Bill had expected from her, it certainly hadn’t been that. Perhaps the festivities all around them was rubbing off on her.

“You aren’t confiscating it?” George asks.

“So long as you promise not to gamble again.”

“We promise!” The twins quickly say, and grin at each other.

“We’ve got big plans for this money!” Fred announces.

Though she frowns, their mother looks at them both with a fond look in her eyes. “It better not be for your pranks!”

“It isn’t” Fred reassures her.

It is, he mouths to everyone else once mum’s attention was elsewhere. All the younger kids – Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione, burst into laughter.

“Your family are interesting.” Hestia Jones notes from next to him. He’d forgotten that she was there. While he wouldn’t say they were the closest of friends, they’d found themselves drawn to each other for most of the day, having been the oldest two in the friend group that had assembled in the tent earlier. They’d gotten along just fine, but he’d constantly been on edge around her, worried that he’d say something wrong.

(It wasn’t anything to do with Hestia really, if anything it was his brain, but every time he had a conversation with her, he’d been extremely aware of the fact that she was Cassiopeia’s best friend. Chiara was too, but that was different – he'd like to think that she would speak about him in a positive light because of Charlie, but Hestia had no other ties to him, and he really didn’t want her to hate him.)

“They really are, aren’t they?” He says with a fond smile, looking over at them.

Ron and his friends were huddled over in conversation again. He can’t hear them, but he’d like to think that they wouldn’t still be discussing Sirius Black with thousands of wizards around them. Besides, Sirius Black could wait – it was a time for celebration.

Once they get out of the stadium, they get caught up in a huge crowd – one far bigger than he thought he’d ever seen. Everyone there seemed to Ireland supporters, and with their chanting and singing, it looked like tonight was going to be a very long night. He wanted to look behind him to see if Cass was anywhere nearby, but decides against it, getting the sense that the moment he turned his head around would be the moment he lost sight of anyone who was currently in front of him.

“It’s a shame Peia couldn’t join all of us earlier.” Hestia says, waltzing right into a topic Bill did not want to talk with her of all people. “I know that we all really wanted to see her.”

“I did say that to her.” He says, thinking that the rosette he was wearing was suddenly very interesting to look at. “But she didn’t want to go to the tent.”

“Why?”

He motions to Harry Potter, who was avidly describing something to Ron. From what little he could hear, he assumed that they were talking about Krum’s Wronski Feint.

“Because of Harry?” She questions and he nods.

A leprechaun flies in the air above them and drops several fake galleons. They move forward quickly to try and avoid the fight that breaks out between the crowd.

Hestia nods. “I suppose that sounds about right.”

“You suppose?”

“It’s Peia,” she says with a shrug. “If she doesn’t want to interact with someone then she avoids them at all costs.”

“Does she?” He hadn’t noticed that.

“Yeah. She does this to all of us constantly.” She gives him a look. “Well, everyone except you I suppose.”

He blushes and changes the topic, deciding to talk about the match instead. Neither of them had played for their House Quidditch teams in Hogwarts, but they had a mutual appreciation for the sport, and found themselves talking about the Quidditch League. He wasn’t surprised at the fact that she supported the Holyhead Harpies, being as her older sister was a beater on the team. He personally didn’t really support any team, but when she asked, he'd decided to answer with the Montrose Magpies, considering that team his safest option.

They reach the Weasley tent, and everyone says their goodbyes to Chiara and Hestia before going inside. Or rather, everyone but Charlie says goodbye to them, whowalks off with the pair.

“Oh, he’s walking her back to the tent!” Mum says excitedly, turning to Dad. “We’ve raised a gentleman, Arthur!”

“Is he coming back?” Ginny asks her brothers.

“He just walked off with his girlfriend to a tent that she’s alone in.” Ron says wryly. “You answer that Gin.”

She makes a face. “Ew.”

With matching grins, the twins open their mouths to say something. Knowing that it wasn’t anything good, he cuts them off.

“So, what a match, eh?” He did not want to be talking to his underage siblings about Charlie’s sex life. Especially within the vicinity of their parents.

“It really was!” Percy, who probably had similar thoughts to him, added. “That Wronski Feint was brilliant!”

“Perhaps we should turn in for the night?” Dad suggests, and immediately gets shut down by the majority of the tent.

His parents eventually decide that they could have all have a cup of hot chocolate before bed and discuss the match. It was less of a discussion and more of a re-enactment, but being as it was the most excited, he’d seen his siblings in a long while, he wasn’t complaining. Charlie joined them once they’d started sipping their drinks, and had promptly gotten into an argument with Dad about cobbing that had Percy and Mum laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

Bill finds himself talking about the match with Ginny, who had far more knowledge about flying than he expected.

“And then...” She trails off mid-sentence, her eyes falling shut. She slides off her seat, but he catches her before she hits the ground. Her mug isn’t so lucky, and it smashes on the ground, spilling hot chocolate everywhere.

“Oh dear.” Mum says, getting her wand out and repairing it. “I think that it’s time for bed, don’t you?”

He was in the middle room with Percy and Charlie, but after having shared a room with Charlie for the last few weeks, it really didn’t feel any different than normal. They get changed in relative silence. It isn’t until he’s gotten into bed that it’s broken.

“I wanted to stay the night with Chiara.” Charlie says with a sigh. Bill had no clue who he was talking to. “But she told me mum would freak, so I came back here.”

“I think the thought of grandkids would keep her at bay.” Percy says dryly.

“Grandkids?” There’s a pause and though he couldn’t see him, Bill knew that he was bright red. “No, we weren’t going to do anything! She’s just in pain so I wanted to keep her company.”

“She’s in pain?” He asks. From what he’d read about lycanthropey, there shouldn’t be any pain involved until the day of the person’s transformation itself.

“Yeah. The pain always starts a few days before she turns. If I had to guess, then it’s probably due to the Wolfsbane. There’s poison in that potion y’know? It’s awful.”

“Then why don’t you go to her?” He suggests. “Everyone’s going to be asleep in five minutes, and it’d only be us who knew where you were. I won’t tell anyone. Would you, Perce?”

“No. And in the morning, if anyone asks, we’ll say that you got up early to go see her.”

“You guys are the best.” There’s silence for a few minutes, before he hears Charlie shuffling around. Then the door opens and closes, leaving Bill and Percy alone.

They’d never actually shared a room before – something of which he found strange, being as they were really similar people personality-wise.

“He wasn’t going to shut up until we said he could go, was he?” Percy asks.

“Absolutely not.” He says and after a moment, they both chuckle.

“Night.” He says, rolling over and closing his eyes. For once, his mind was at ease, so he wanted to take advantage of it for as long as he could. He falls asleep to the sound of celebrations, the Irish having no doubt supplied their supporters with a lifetime supply of booze.

--

He’d always been a light sleeper. Years of the curse-breaking business had intensified this greatly. So, when someone bursts into the room a few hours later, he instinctively sat up with his wand raised at the target.

“Bill, it’s me! Charlie! Percy! Get up! Now!” His father says urgently, before leaving the room.

Screams rang out distantly around them, and Bill knew something was wrong.

“What?” Percy asks sleepily.

“Get dressed!” He hisses, his trousers already half on. He used the time it took to get his clothes on to think.

The screams weren’t close, so he could assume that they were from none of his immediate family, but if they were close enough that he could hear it, then it had to be coming from the field they were on. Where several people he knew were. Hestia, Chiara, Tonks – it could have belonged to any one of them.

It could have been Cassiopeia who screamed.

He finishes getting dressed and tries to pull the blanket off Charlie’s face, only to find a pillow. Oh, right. Charlie had gone to Chiara’s tent.

He realises with horror that his little brother was out amongst the screaming crowd.

Percy was dressed, so he shoves the door open and runs out the tent, wand in hand. Looking outside, he pales at the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, were marching across the field. Floating above them were about ten struggling figures. From their attire, the figures were clearly muggles. One of them looked younger than Ginny.

His family looked over, all wearing coats over their pyjamas.

“Where’s Charlie?” Dad asks frantically.

“With Chiara!” He figured that the dragonkeeper wouldn’t kill him for telling the truth given the situation.

Mum lets out a cry of horror. “Her tent’s on the other side of the field!”

He couldn’t see the other side from where he was, but it looked like the crowd was moving in their direction, so they’d probably started over there.

“Get the children to safety Molly.” Dad says, his face grim. “Percy, Bill and I will help the Ministry and getCharlie.”

Mum glares defiantly.

“Not Percy.” She says, resolute. “He’s a child.”

“I’m eighteen Mum!” Percy says, and before anyone can say anything else, runs towards the crowd.

Cursing, Bill chases after him. Now wasn't the time for Gryffindor bravado.

Around them, more and more wizards seemed to be joining the crowd, laughing and jeering at the muggles that they’d suspended in the air. Someone casts a severing charm at one of the women’s clothes and exposes her to the crowd. She covers herself, sobbing. It was horrific to watch.

Ministry officials unleashed a barrage of spells towards the crowd, vivid streaks of magic slicing through the air. Yet, a dark blue shield, unlike any he'd ever seen, intercepted the spells, absorbing their impact with an eerie resilience.

Percy joins them, and with a swift motion, he thrust his wand forward, sending a crackling bolt of lightning that clashed with the mysterious shield. The air crackledfor a moment as the two forces collided, and the unfamiliar spell held its ground for a fleeting secondbefore succumbing.

"It’s weak against lightning!" Percy shouted over the chaos, locking eyes with him. "Did you see that, Bill?"

Before he could respond, a fireball erupted from the crowd. Reacting instinctively, he pushed Percy behind him, raising his wand in a protective stance. "Contego!"

A surge of earth magic rippled from his wand, forming a shield that surrounded them. The fireball crashed against the shield, scattering sparks and heat, but the barrier held firm.

As the dust from the attack settled, the wizards in the crowd seemed undeterred. Instead, they closed in, their determination evident. The Ministry officials, now forced to retreat, fell back, distancing themselves from the oncoming threat. Among them, he noticed his father, standing resolute, a reflection of both concern and determination in his eyes.

"Fulgur!" Percy's incantation echoed through the chaos, unleashing a brighter bolt of lightning than before. "Aqua Eructo! Fulgur!" He repeats the spells five times in rapid succession, and a crack forms over the shield before it gets repaired.

A barrage of curses go flying towards them, and Bill has to apparate to avoid them. He instinctively pulls Percy with him, and they re-materialise behind a toppled tent, closer to the crowd but hidden from view. Which made them safe for now.

"Could you stop using that spell?" He asked, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of incoming curses. "It’s not working. We need to think of something else."

"We could both cast it?” Percy suggested, catching his breath. “Create an opening for someone to stun the crowd."

"I don’t know that spell, Perce," Bill replied, skepticism evident in his voice. Quick learner or not, mastering a new spell in the heat of battle seemed implausible.

Percy turns to him, baffled. “You don’t? But Cassiopeia invented it – Surely she would have shown you of all people how to use it.”

She invented it? Before Bill could respond, a familiar figure materialized nearby, and a wry smile played on his lips. "Speak of the devil."

Cassiopeia Black crouched next to a tent, her eyes locked on the unfolding scene. Wearing duelling robes instead of a dress, she looked vastly different to how she did not even an hour ago. A calculating expression graced her features, leaving Bill to wonder about the plans brewing in her mind.

She pointed her wand at the ground, murmuring a spell that, at first, seemed to have no effect. However, the air crackled with an undercurrent of magic. From her bag, she produced what looked like a mirror.

She seemed to be speaking to it, which wasn’t a good sign. A shiver ran down his spine; talking mirrors were almost always cursed.

"Serpensortia maxima!" she exclaimed, unleashing the spell with a flourish. Five snakes materialized, sinuous and deadly. The incantation echoed, and more snakes slithered into existence, until a sizable group surrounded her. The mirror hissed, communicating with the serpentine army, and they began to slither ominously towards the crowd.

"What on earth does she have planned?" he muttered aloud, eyeing her every move. In her hands, she held a large blanket, and he suspected her bag held some sort of expansion charm.

"Are those pythons?" Percy inquired, his eyes narrowing as he observed the approaching reptiles.

"Not with how fast they're moving," he replied, his gaze fixed on the agile creatures. He’d seen them before in a zoo in Cameroon."I think they're Black Mambas."

If memory served him correct, then they were one of the fastest snake species alive. They were also one of the most venomous. But Cass couldn’t be trying to kill the crowd, could she? At least not in front of so many Ministry wizards?

The wizards around them don’t seem to notice the snakes, far too focused on getting away from the crowd. As they neared the crowd's line of sight, the snakes swiftly burrowed into the ground, vanishing from view.

Cassiopeia waved her wand over the blanket, a brief blue light enveloping it before returning to its original colour. He stared in disbelief. A Portkey in the midst of chaos? Was she planning a hasty escape after poisoning the crowd? It seemed unusually dark, even for a member of the Black family.

Movement in the nearby woods caught his attention. A cloaked figure, identical to the wizards in the crowd, observed them. He watches them, trying to figure out their next move.

A scream pierced the air from the crowd, drawing his focus back.

He hears movement from the woods nearby and turns to see a figure watching them. It wouldn’t have been suspicious had they not been watching them instead of the crowd. They were also wearing the same garb as the crowd - the only thing they were missing was the death eater mask.

A scream rings out from the crowd, and he turns back around, watching the scene. Squinting, he discerned a Black Mamba weaving its way through the wizards' feet. The protective shield flickered, then vanished entirely.

"It's a paralytic," he realized. With a regular snake, the venom would take about thirty minutes, but with a magical Black Mamba, the effects could be instantaneous. Wizards began to crumple, the only sign of life being the rise and fall of their chests. The spell that kept the muggles afloat fails, and they start to descend.

Cassiopeia disapparates, and reappears above the crowd, just above where the falling muggles were. She throws the blanket down at them and sends a spell at it, doubling its size and making sure it could comfortably cover all ten muggles. The shield goes up again, but it didn’t matter. As soon as the blanket touches the last person, there’s a flash, and the muggles appear next to the Ministry Officials. The wizards quickly go to stand around them protectively, no doubt noticing the hungry eyes of the wizards around them.

Cass reappeared in heroriginal spot she’d been in before, with very windswept hair. It made her look slightly manic.

“Did you poison them?” Percy asks, raising his voice and making his way towards her.

Bill started to follow but paused, feeling someone's gaze on him. He turned to see the cloaked figure still watching them. When they notice that he’d caught on, they retreat into the trees.

That wasn’t a good sign. He moves toward the forest, realising the Ministry officials were all out in the field, leaving potentially hundreds of children undefended. His mother was likely inside, but even she couldn't protect everyone.

“Bill!” Charlie calls. He pulls him into a hug, stopping his movement.

“Charlie!” He says quickly. “I’m glad you’re alright. Though, please could you let go of me.”

“Likewise! And why?”

He motions to the woodland. “There’s someone there.”

“There are people everywhere?” Charlie questions. “Besides, we need to help the Ministry there – the crowds still massive!”

“The person in the forest was wearing the same cloak as them!” He points to the crowd.

“They’re wearing black cloaks. That’s the standard colour for a cloak Bill. Chances were that they were watching what was going on.” Percy says, rejoining them. “Perhaps we should focus on getting those muggles to safety?”

Their father started to make his way towards them, calling out their names.

“They weren’t watching the crowd.” He insists. “They were watching us.”

“Us?” Cassiopeia questions, stepping forward. He notices that there’s panic in her eyes, no doubt coming to the same conclusion that he had. “Where were they William?”

He points to the edge of the woodlands, and cursing, she sprints away.

“You guys help the Ministry,” he says. “I’m going after her for support.”

He chases after her, ignoring the calls from his brothers and father.

Cassiopeia isn’t too far away, and he catches up with her rather easily. There’s seemingly no set direction in her movement, and from the waves of magic moving from her wand, he assumed that she was casting a revealing charm every five seconds.

“Cass!” He calls, but she doesn’t seem to hear him, continuing on her way.

Eventually, she comes to a stop in a clearing. He stops near her, but again, she doesn’t notice. Instead, she paces around, muttering to herself.

“Where are they?!” She asks aloud, panic creeping into her tone. “Why isn’t this made clearer in the plot!”

He wonders what the hell she’s on about.

“Ostende Mihi Harry Potter!” She casts suddenly, waving her wand. Gold sparks leave her wand, but they move in no particular direction.

“Cass!” He calls again. This time she hears him, and she turns to look at him, surprised.

“William?”

“The one and only.” He says dryly. “Now what spell were you trying to cast?”

She frowns. “It was a location spell that I learnt from a book years ago. Unfortunately, it’s extremely temperamental, and the intended target must trust you for it to work.”

She starts to go through the woods again, but this time, she chooses to walk instead of run. He joins her.

“And why were you trying to find Harry? I thought that we were trying to find the cloaked figure?”

“Wherever Harry Potter is, is where they are – he's the person here that they’re most likely to hurt.” Her face turns grave. “To kill. Rid – You-Know-who's supporters all blame him for what happened. And if they’re drunk enough to pull a stunt like they did with the muggles. Then they’re drunk enough to try and kill him.”

“How do I cast the spell?” He asks, his mind flooded with images of his mother having to fight for her and the children’s lives. “I know the casting is Ostende Mihi. ”

She repeats the wand motion. And when he attempts it, she corrects him.

“Like this?” He asks, trying a second time.

She nods.

“Ostende Mihi Ronald Weasley!” He casts. He figured that being as Harry didn’t know him very well yet, Ron was his safest bet to target. A golden light streams from his wand, pointing in a direction slightly left of where they were currently headed. It lit up the surrounding area, letting them see their surroundings.

Without any further ado, he chases it, Cass firmly on his tail. They pass several different wizards on their way past – most of them looking no older than seventeen. They don’t say much to each other, instead focusing on getting to their target.

Eventually, noticing that something was amiss, he stops in what seemed to be a clearing.

“What is it?" Cass asks.

“Look.” The light from his spell pointed forward, however after the trees in front of him, it, alongside the spell itself,seemed to go out entirely. The darkness looked entirely unnatural.

“Specialis Revelio,” Cass casts, before frowning. “That’s Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It’s only temporary, which means...”

“It’s only just been cast.” He finishes.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and focuses on his magic core. It was one of the first exercises that he’d been taught in Egypt. He feels the familiar tug of his magic responding, ready to act. Focusing on it directly, he guides his magic to where his eyes were.When he opens his eyes, the world is suddenly bright, and he can see different shapes and colours all around him. These were all magic cores, and it was overwhelming to see this many wizard’s cores at once.

“Where is the powder?” He asks. The glowing figure next to him, who he assumed was Cass, raised an arm in front of her. She was glowing a beautiful shade of midnight blue.

He follows where she was pointing to and notices behind a faint fog lay five magic signatures. One of them was roughly the same size as his own, hinting that they were an adult. The other four were smaller, suggesting that they were teenagers.

“How long does it last for?” He asks, motioning to the powder.

“Around a minute?” She guesses.

Then he had to act now. Casting a disillusionment charm on himself, he steps through the powder and heads towards the scene. All of his years of curse-breaking comes back to him as he steps through, and he keeps looking around, his eyes picking up on anything that moved. He’s only about ten seconds away, but something told him that he needed to intervene as soon as possible.

“Hello?” The familiar voice of Harry Potter asks. “Who’s there?”

Ron was there. One of the adults raises their arm to the sky, no doubt to cast a spell.

He sends a silent cutting charm at their wand arm. His disillusionment spell wears off by the action, but he didn’t know who they were aiming at – it could have been Ron.

“Mos -” They start to say, but they cut themselves off with a cry of pain.

“Expecto Patronum!” Cass casts, and her patronus, a beautiful lioness, appears, lighting up the clearing and effectively making the Darkness Powder ineffective. Dropping his enhanced sight, he sends a few cutting charms at the trees nearby, and the figure across from them - a male wizard, has to jump back to avoid them from falling on him. The wizard's face was distorted, as if he'd cast a concealment charm on it alone.

He steps in front of the teenagers, casting a shield charm that covered all of them. Well, everyone other than Cass, but he couldn’t see her at the moment. She must have cast another disillusionment charm as soon as she cast her Patronus.

“Bill?” Ron asks.

“Where is everyone else?” He asks, his eyes not leaving the wizard. He had his wand out and was watching Bill, as if calculating the best course of action.

“We lost them.” Hermione says. “So, we were trying to find them. Then we were trying to find Harry’s wand.”

“You lost your wand, Potter?” Draco Malfoy, the fourth teenager there, asks. Why on earth was he there? “Merlin, you’re useless.”

“You know what Malfoy? Why don’t you go f*ck off and –” Ron starts.

“Could you all not fight please? There are bigger things to focus on. Where is mum?” Bill asks. Having recovered, the wizard sends a barrage of spells at them. His shield does hold, but there are a few cracks starting to form.

“Protego maxima!” Cass casts as soon as his shield falls, reappearing next to him. He casts the same spell, making the shield stronger than it was before.

“Peia?” Draco asks. She gives him a small, strainedsmile.

“She’s with Ginny and the twins!” Ron answers.

“It’s not going to last long.” Bill notes, quickly levitating part of one of the felled trees to intercept a curse that blasted it to smithereens. “Any ideas?”

She casts a spell at the wizard. He deflects the charm, and it hits the trees behind. Which causes several of them to come crashing down. The figure quickly moves out of the way to avoid it.

“Apparition?” The problem was, to apparate as many people that were there, they needed to concentrate. Something that this wizard wasn't letting them do.

“Well, we have to get him away from us.” She says, motioning to their enemy. “But we need to keep protecting the children. Serpensortia! ”

All five Black Mambas get disintegrated before they’d even begun to move forward.

“We aren’t children.” Ron and Draco mutter in unison.

“You get them to safety.” He decides, transforming a few trees into wooden bears, who run forward to attack. “I’ll hold them off.”

"Are you insane? Fianto Duri!" she exclaimed, casting strengthening charms at the bears to prolong their attacks. "We can't just split up. He could kill you!” Being as the darkness powder had worn away, her patronus joins them behind the shield. “Tell Hestia Jones where we are and guide them here.” She orders.

"Well, someone needs to get them to safety. And out of the two of us, I have more on-the-field experience," he retorted. A water dragon flies out of the wizard's wand and charges at them.

“Can we do anything to help?” Hermione asks, wand in hand.

"Just stay behind us for now love. You take them, and I'll hold them off. You're far better at defensive magic than I am. Bran Murum!" she insisted, conjuring a fiery wall to counter the water dragon. He responded by creating birds made of fire, sending them through the wall for a surprise attack.

"You're not staying behind. That is out of the question."

"But you staying behind wasn't?" she shot back, giving him an intense look. "I'm not leaving you, William. That is non-negotiable."

Suppressing the sudden urge to kiss her, he focused on the battle. "Runic Magic?" he suggested, sending a banishing charm at their attackers, knocking one of them back.

"It's illegal in the UK." Cracks were starting to form on their shield again.

"Offensive Runic Magic is," he corrected. "Protective Runic Magic isn't." They quickly recast the shield charm as their attacker launched another assault. To his horror, one of the spells went towards Ron, who’d been standing slightly off to the side. Cass pushes Ron aside, taking a hit and hissing in pain.

He raised his wand for a diagnostic charm, but she shook her head. "Cast the damn runes, William. The sooner we get this done, the better."

With trees on either side, he used his wand to carve the Algiz rune into a nearby tree. "Virkja!" he cast. The rune lit up and a shimmer enveloped their group.

"Ailadrodd!" she casts, pointing her wand at the rune, then at a tree on the other side. "Incollare!" The rune appeared on the second tree, and he activated it.

The protective rune created a barrier that repelled the next wave of attacks. Cass took charge of offensive spells, countering the attacker with precision. Bill stood firm, ready to defend and support, the magical runes providing a much-needed advantage. He defended the trees from any oncoming attacks and tries to block as many spells as he could before they hit the shield. Together, they managed to push the wizard onto the defensive, successfully breaking his shield charm three times.

After his shield breaks for the fourth time, the wizard quickly recasts the spell before pointing his wand in the air.

“MORSMODRE!” He casts. A dark green skull and serpent leaves his wand and flies up to the night sky, where it stays, a sign as to where they were. It was the dark mark – a spell that only the Death Eaters closest to You-Know-Who knew.

“What is that?” Harry asks. Bill doesn’t answer him, too busy staring up at the sign in horror. He’d only seen pictures in the Prophet of the Dark Mark, which didn’t do it justice in real life. The real thing was terrifying.

His job done, the wizard turns around and attempts to flee. For some reason, he drops his wand.

“Oh no you don’t!” Cassiopeia shrieks, looking far angrier than he’d seen her. To his horror, she runs out of the shield to go after them.

“Cass!” He called, but she doesn’t stop. He looks at Hermione, who was easily the smartest of the lot. “You lot stay behind the shield, you hear me?”

“But she’s my cousin!” Draco shouts, his wand drawn. “We have to help her.”

“And I’m going to help her. But I don’t need to be worrying about you guys as I do so. Now stay here.”

He doesn’t wait for a response and sprints to where he could see the flashes of spellfire. Just as he arrives at the scene, Cass gets flung into a nearby tree. She hits the ground hard, and before she can recover, with a wave of his arm, the wizard sends a fireball at her.

He gets to her in just the nick of time. “Contege!” With the strength of the flames, the shield wasn’t as secure as he would have liked, and though they were protected from the flames, they weren’t protected from the debris of the earth around them. He wraps his arms around her, taking the main brunt of the attack.

By the time the shield falls, their attacker was gone. They’d most likely disapparated away after they cast the spell.

“You okay?” He asks Cass.

“This wasn’t what happened in the plot.” She murmured, surveying the damage around them.

“The plot?” He questions. Why had she mentioned this twice now?

“The story.” She corrects absentmindedly. What on earth was she on about? The sound of footsteps nearby brings her back to reality, and he lets go of her to point his wand at the sound of the noise.

Hestia steps into view, closely followed by Arnold Peasegood and Talbott Winger, a boy who’d been in Charlie’s year at school. She didn’t look very threatening in a pink fluffy dressing gown, but he supposed that with a job like she had, appearances didn’t really matter in a situation like this.

“Peia?” She asks. “Bill? What is something that only both of you know about me?”

“We were having a conversation about the League earlier.” He answers immediately. “You mentioned that you’ve been to every match the Holyhead Harpies have had so far.”

“Your favourite colour is orange.” Cass answers. “But you won’t tell Gwenog because it’s her least favourite.

Hestia visibly relaxes. She gives a nod to Talbott, who goes further into the trees, no doubt looking out for any sign of their attackers.

“Alright then.” The Hit-Witch says. “Now Crouch is no doubt going to want a word with you. Mr Weasley has taken the teenagers away with him though, so they’re safe.”

Bill feels a sense of relief at that.

“You’re bleeding.” Cass notes.

He looks down at his arm, which was indeed bleeding quite profusely. “So I am. I’ll be alright though. Are you alright?”

“Ferula!” She casts, and a band wraps itself around his arm. “That should help. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure? Because it didn’t look like you hit the tree lightly.”

"My robes have cushioning charms sewn into them, so it could have been worse."

He opens his mouth to respond, but Hestia cuts them off. “I’ve found Ms Black and Mr Weasley sir.”

“Good!” Barty Crouch says, stepping forward. Surrounding him was around thirty wizards or so. Bill knew Amos Diggory the best, having grown up around the man, but he’d met the majority of people there through his father. “Now, before we go any further, can both of you surrender your wands?”

They both hand their wands over to Crouch, who gives them to Amos Diggory.

“Prior Incantato!” He casts on both of their wands. A bandage falls onto the ground, where it quickly gets covered by an earth shield. Their wands get handed back to them.

“And what happened here exactly?” Crouch asks. “We have already asked the teenagers here, but we need more information regarding your attackers.”

They begin with the events with the crowd, and he feels some relief at the confirmationthat Cass had indeed used magical black mambas to subdue them – they were a species who could only temporarily paralyse wizards, not kill them.

When they turn to him, Bill starts off by describing the figure who had been watching them and the crowd. He mentions that Cassiopeia suspected they were going after Harry, and she cuts in to give her reasons for her suspicions. She then takes over her explanation, and when asked to, does a demonstration of the spell that they’d used to find Harry and his friends. He then describes how he got past the powder and provides a memory to the ministry of the figure who cast the dark mark.

“You can cast a Patronus despite your alignment?” Crouch asks.

Cass scowls. “I’m not a dark witch.”

She continues on to describe the fight, entirely leaving out the conversations they’d had behind the shield. She tries to skim past the runic magic used, but Crouch’s entire face lit up the moment it was mentioned.

“And you used illegal runic magic?” Crouch questions her.

“I cast those runes, Mr Crouch.” He cuts in. “And defensive runic magic is entirely legal.”

“He’s right.” A ministry official he didn’t know says, skimming through a large book.

They finish up their version of events, with a description of the dark mark conjured by one of the figures. Both of them provided memories of the five figures, and by the time they’d finished, quite a few of the ministry wizards had left, deciding that the fight had clearly ended.

“Is that all?” Cass asks once they’d finished their story. “Are we alright to go back now?”

Crouch opens his mouth to say something else, but Amos cuts him off.

“Yes, that is all. You may go. Thank you both for your co-operation. And thank you for your actions – you may very well have saved a boy’s life.”

“I can escort you back to your tent?” Bagman offers, stepping forward and shooting Cass a wide grin.

“Her tent is on the way to my own, so I’m doing that already.” He interjects. He wasn’t actually sure where her tent was, but given the circ*mstances, he wasn’t sure if she was up for a conversation with Bagman just yet.

“And I’m escorting them back personally.” Hestia says. “Shall we get going?”

“Yes. Thank you for the offer though Mr Bagman.” Cass says quickly, and the three of them set off back to the field.

“Well then, that was a hell of a night.” Hestia says when they were of the ministry’s earshot. “Are you both okay?”

“Everything hurts.” Cass admits. “But I think that I’ll be okay. How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine now it’s all bandaged up. I wasn’t aware you knew any healing spells?”

“Chiara taught us a few basic charms.” She explained, a faraway look in her eyes. “And it’s a minor injury all things considered – nothing too serious.”

Several wizards stood at the edge of the field, presumably waiting for any news of what had happened. They don’t pester the trio, instead choosing to ask other ministry officials what happened instead. Bill suspected that with his bleeding arm, Cass’ vacant stare and Hestia’s dressing gown, they didn’t look like the most authoritative of figures.

It turned out that his tent was the closest to the woods, and when the trio arrives, they’re greeted to the sight of Charlie peeking his head out. As soon as he sees them, his face lights up. He steps out and runs over to them.

“Bill!” For the second time that night, he pulls him into a hug.

“I told mum the truth about where you were.” He blurts out. “Sorry.”

Charlie laughs. “It’s okay – the only thing she had to say about it really was that next time, Chiara just has to stay with us, so that she knew where I was if something like this happens again. Peia!” He raises his arms to hug Cass but seems to think better of it and lets them fall again. “Are you joining us?”

“I think it’s best I go back to my tent.” She says quietly, before walking away.

“I’ll go with her. Make sure she’s alright.” Hestia says, rushing after her.

“I think I’ll ask Chiara to pop by her tent.” Charlie murmurs. “She didn’t seem alright.”

“I think she may have a concussion.” Bill admitted.

They enter the tent, and he’s immediately enveloped into a hug by his mother.

“Willaim!” She sobs, holding onto him. “You’re okay!”

The rest of his family were sitting around the tiny kitchen table, all looking very shaken. Thankfully, none of them looked hurt, but he had a feeling it was due to a healer being present in the tent with them. Alongside his family were a few additions. He was unsurprised to see Draco Malfoy, having expected his father to take him alongside his brother and his friends. Likewise, he already knew Chiara would be there also.

“Where’s Peia?!” Draco demands, stepping forward. “Where is she?!”

“She went back to her tent.” Billanswers.

“How was she?” Percy asks. “Draco said that she was hit by something?”

“Hestia’s keeping an eye on her for now, but if Chiara could pop by her tent shortly, I think that’d be best.”

“I will.” Chiara promises.

“Arthur and the children told us what happened.” Mum explains. “Thank you, Bill! Had you not gotten there in time -” She cuts herself off with another sob.

“It’s not me that you need to thank.” He says firmly. It had been Cassiopeia who’d thought that they were going after Harry. If she hadn’t suggested it, then he wouldn’t have gone to find them, and Harry and his friends would have been killed. Ron would have been killed. Then the Dark Mark they’d found would have had an entirely different meaning. “How are the muggles?”

They hear chatter from outside the tent, and Charlie sticks his head outside to take a look. He then pulls the tent flap wide open, giving whoever was outside enough room to get in. Hestia and Cass step through, the latter looking surprisingly anxious.

“Peia!” Draco screeches, and rushes forward, pulling her into a hug. Though he’d heard numerous stories about how much of a spoiled brat Draco was, no one could deny that the kid cared about his cousin. “I was worried about you!”

“Draco.” Cass says, wrapping her arms around him. She was starting to sound a bit breathless. “I’m okay.” Breaking off from the hug, she gives him a playful look. “It’ll take a lot more than that to take me out, don’t worry.” When he lets go, she looks around the tent, pausing when she looks at Mum and Dad.

“Thank you for looking after my cousin.” She said cordially. “I’m sure that Narcissa will repeat my words in the morning, but I’m glad to know that he’s safe.”

“What happened to you going back to your tent?” Bill asks.

“My tent was one of the ones destroyed by the crowd.” She sighs. “I was just trying to figure out what to do when Hestia told me that Draco was here. So, I’ve come to take him back.”

“You aren’t going until I look you over.” Chiara says firmly, pulling Cass onto a seat and getting her wand out. “Did you get them? The person who conjured the Mark?”

“No,” Bill answered. “We didn’t even unmask him. Cassiopeia managed to get a few hits in, but then he cast the mark, which caught us off-guard. Then he disapparated. And we got questioned by the Ministry for a bit, but they just seemed to want to know what happened instead of whether it was one of us who cast it.”

“That’s because we’d already found the wand which cast the mark.” Dad says tiredly. “It was Harry’s.”

“What?!” Bill and Hestia ask in unison. He notices that Cass' expression doesn't change.

“We found Barty Crouch’s elf holding Harry’s wand.” His father explained further.

“The wizard did seem to lose his wand when he was escaping.” Bill murmured. He looked at Cass. “Did you disarm him?”

“No, I didn’t.” She looks at his father with an eyebrow raised. “You said that there was a house-elf there?”

“Yes.”

“Her name was Winky!” Hermione says passionately. “And she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

“Hermione,” Percy says, sounding annoyed. “We’ve already discussed this. A wizard in Mr Crouch’s position can’t afford a house-elf who’s going to run amok with a wand!”

“I wish we could give house-elves wands.” Cass says wistfully. “Then they wouldn’t have to rely on wizardkind, and we can end the pseudo-slavery we currently have them in.”

Everyone looks at her in surprise.

“She has a concussion.” Chiara explains, giving the witch a strange look. “It’s causing her to say things that she wouldn’t normally say aloud.”

“Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?” Ron asked impatiently. “It wasn’t hurting anyone – Why was it such a big deal?”

“I told you, it’s You-Know-Who’s symbol, Ron,” Hermione said, before anyone else could answer. “I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."

“And it hasn’t been seen for thirteen years,” Dad explains. “Of course, people panicked - It was like seeing You-Know-Who had risen again.”

“I don’t get it,” Ginny saidwith a frown. “I mean - It’s still only a shape in the sky, isn’t it?”

“Ginny, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,” Mum said, looking at each of her children fearfully. “The terror it inspired -you have no idea, love, you’re much too young, but just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, not knowing what you’re about to find inside.”

Dad winced and looked around the room with a haunted look in his eyes. “Everyone’s worst fear... the very worst.”

“They used it for celebrations too.” Cass says, looking at a spot on the wall. “When they’d successfully kill their targets. They’d make them all dance around the ceiling, wondering whose snake would last the longest.” She pauses, glancing to Draco. “Lucius used to always lose to your Aunt Bellatrix.”

They all looked at her in surprise. His parents gave her a wary glance. Bill had forgotten that she’d grown up surrounded by death eaters like Bellatrix Lestrange. She’d probably known Antonin Dolohov too, the man responsible for the murder of his uncles in August 1981.

“And mother?” Draco asks, seemingly forgetting that they had an audience. “Was she any good at the game?”

“Narcissa didn’t know how to cast the spell. She wasn’t a Death Eater. She used to take us upstairs so that we didn’t have to witness it.” She gives Draco a fond look. “It was during one of those parties that you said your first words.”

There was silence at her words.

“You know what Peia?” Hestia says, breaking the silence once it had gone on for a tad too long. “Excuse my French, but I forget sometimes how f*cked up your childhood was.”

“Language,” Mum chides, looking pained.

“Death Eater?” Harry asks. “What is a Death Eater?”

“It’s what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves.” Bill explained.

“I think we saw what’s left of them tonight.” Charlie mutters. “The ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway.”

“We can’t prove it was them, Charlie,” Dad pointed out. “Though it probably was,” he added hopelessly.

“Yeah, I bet it was!” Ron added enthusiastically. “Dad, we met Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!”

“I did not tell you that!” Draco hisses, looking angry. “I said that if he was, I wouldn’t tell you because that would be stupid!”

“But what were Voldemort’s supporters –” Harry began. Everybody in the room flinched. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “What were You-Know-Who’s supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?”

“The point?” Dad said with a bitter laugh. “Harry, that’s their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn’t resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them.”

“It used to be a sport. Muggle-Hunting.” Cass adds, ignoring Chiara’s whispers for her to stop talking. “In the early 1600’s. Wizards used to look in obscure places for muggles, and they’d try to catch them. And when they caught them... it wasn’t very pleasant. It was one of the main reasons why the statute of secrecy was set up, to avoid any more bloodshed.”

“You’re concussed.” Charlie says in disbelief. “How on earth do you remember that?”

“It’s history.” She said as if that explained everything. “I remember it because it’d be a crime to forget. You know, those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

“That’s Winston Churchill!” Hermione gasps, looking impressed.

“Bloody geniuses.” Charlie mutters, rolling his eyes.

"It is." Cass says. "Really good speechmaker, but a horrible person."

“But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?” Ron asked, cutting Hermione off when she opened her mouth to answer Cass. “They’d have been pleased to see it, wouldn’t they?”

“Use your brains, Ron,” Bill says with a sigh. “If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and would have told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they’d be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they’d ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives – I don’t reckon he’d be over-pleased with them, do you?”

“So, whoever conjured the Dark Mark...” Hermione asked slowly. “Were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?”

“If I had to guess, it was to draw attention to where we were.” He theorises. “To distract everyone so that they could escape.”

“Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione, Bill” Dad says. “But I’ll tell you this – It was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I’d be very surprised if the person who did it hadn’t been a Death Eater once, even if they’re not now.”

“What’s important is that they’re long gone now.” Mum adds. “And that we’re safe.”

But were they really? Those people had tried to kill Harry once already, after all. And it wasn’t a stretch to assume that they’d try again.

He stands up. “I think I’m going to cast a few protective charms around the place.” He decides. “Just so that we’re as safe as can be.”

“I think I’m going to head back now.” Hestia says. “See all of you soon.”

“Thank you, Bill.” Mum says, giving him a grateful smile. “And thank you Hestia for getting my son here safely.”

Stepping out of the tent, he says goodbye to Hestia, who strolls away. Then, he casts almost all of the protective charms he knew around both tents. To some it may have looked like overkill, but he wanted to be as thorough as he could be. He steps back inside, to see the room watching Chiara and Cass with varying degrees of amusem*nt.

“What happened?” He asks.

“I snapped her mind back into place.” Chiara says.

“Which hurt.” Cass mutters, shooting her friend a glare that had no real heat. She stands and winces. “Anyway, Draco and I must get going.”

“But your tent is damaged?” He asks.

“The Tonkses isn’t.” She retorts.

“Who are the Tonkses?” Draco asks, confused.

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Bill suggests, stepping forward. “It’s the least that we could do, what with you saving Harry, Ron and Hermione’s lives.”

“I hardly did that.” She said with a frown. “All I did was suggest that they were going to target them. You’re the one who found them.”

“Yes - using a spell you created. And if we’d gotten there even a minute later, one of them would have died.” He said, completely serious. “Draco can room with Percy and Charlie. I’ll take the sofa. You can share with the girls.” He turned to his mother. “I assume that there’s another bed there.”

“I don’t want to stay here.” Draco mutters, but everyone ignored him.

“Not with Chiara there also.” Mum says, looking at Cass with a questioning look. "But we do have a sofa that she could sleep on?"

“I’ll take the sofa.” She decides, then she glances at him. “The other sofa I guess.”

“Chiara and I can just share a bed mum.” Charlie says. “We do in Romania anyway.”

“Absolutely not.” Mum refuses. “As much as I would love grandkids, I would prefer this night to not be the night of their conception.”

Chiara chokes on thin air. Charlie, meanwhile, went as red as his hair. Everyone in the room laughs, and just like that, the easy air that had been about prior to the riot came back, albeit somewhat.

With those final words, everyone makes their way to bed. Draco Malfoy glares at the clothes he’d been given to change into – they were a pair of Ron’s, and storms into his room, muttering away about hand-me-down robes.

“How come Bill and Peia can share a room, but me and Chiara can’t?” Charlie asks their mother.

“They aren’t a couple.” Mum says simply, completely unaware of his feelings for the witch. “You two are.”

Eventually, it’s just the two of them left. They exchange a brief look before both turned their gaze away, uncertain of what to say. For a moment it was like he was sixteen again, too awkward and shy to say a damn word.

Cass broke the silence, her eyes fixed on the girls' tent. "She does know that Charlie isn't interested in sex whatsoever, right?" She taps her robes with her wand and they're replaced with a pair of black silk pyjamas. It was a sight that reminded him of when he'd seen her in muggle clothing for the first time - the first Hogsmeade weekend of 1986.

"I think she did, but the announcement that he'd had a girlfriend for years and not told anyone has thrown her off a little," he explained. Assuming that it'd be awkward if he slept shirtless like he normally did, he uses a switching spell to change into an old jumper of his and a very old pair of trousers. Once that was done, he stretches out on the smaller sofa and unwrapped the blanket there. Though the sofa was a bit snug, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable.

"Why are you on the smaller sofa?" Cass inquired, moving to stand in front of him.

"So that you can have more space," he replied.

"But I'm shorter than you. Why don't you take the bigger one?"

"I'm good," he murmured, turning around.

In response, something soft hit him, and he turned back to see Cass standing in front of him holding a pillow. "Did you just hit me with a pillow?" he asked in disbelief. Cassiopeia Black engaging in such mundane actions, like hitting someone with a pillow, was a sight he never imagined witnessing. It added another item to the growing list of baffling things about her.

"Yes. Get into the bigger sofa," she declared.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a playful roll of his eyes. Amusem*nt flickered in his eyes as he noticed her face turning red at the term. He chuckles on his way over to the larger sofa, the amusem*nt being a welcome relief to the terror he felt earlier.

“Cass.” He says, once he’d got himself comfortable.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for what you did. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. And I didn’t do anything either. Crou - That wizard is still free.” She mutters. This was another baffling thing about her – she did things like saving his brother, or starting up a shop, but never seemed to want any credit for it, instead seemingly focusing on an issue that she hadn’t managed to solve yet.

“You saved my brother’s life.” He insists. “I do owe you for that, whether you like it or not.”

“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” She asks amusedly. Her words slur slightly, a clear sign of her fatigue.

“No, I won’t.”

“Then fine, you owe me. But I get to choose how you can repay me.”

A playful grin played on his lips, and he turns to look at her. "Alright, then how can I repay you, Cassiopeia Black?"

She feigned contemplation, her eyes locking onto his. "Well, Mr. Weasley, I've always wanted someone to make me a cup of hot chocolatefirst thing in the morning."

"Really?" he chuckled. "That's the grand favour you're requesting? And hot chocolate? Not coffee?"

She hums. "It's a crucial task, and not everyone can master it. And I’ve always preferred hot chocolate over coffee drinks-wise, it just tastes nicer."

"Consider it done. Tomorrow morning, a cup of hot chocolate tailored to your liking will be waiting for you."

Cass raised an eyebrow, a glint he couldn’t identify shone in her eyes. "Let's see if you can live up to that promise."

“Though I’m not just making a cup of hot chocolate to make it even.”

“But that’s all I want,” She sighs. “Alright, what else do you suggest William?”

His next words slipped out without much thought. “A drink.”

“A drink? But you’re already making me hot chocolate.”

“Yes. Another drink in addition to the hot chocolate. How about you let me take you out for a drink sometime?” He looks over at her, to find her face unreadable. “I owe you for saving my brother, after all.” Though his words were smooth, his head was anything but, and he quickly wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.

Eventually, after a tense pause, a playful smile graced Cass’ lips. “A drink, William?You're adding quite the twist to your repayment plan. But I suppose that could be arranged."

"Great," he said, hoping that she couldn’t hear the relief in his voice. "Consider it a promise, then. Tomorrow morning, hot chocolate, and sometime soon, that drink. Good night, Cass."

“Night Bill.” She says, closing her eyes. He smiles to no one in particular. That was the first time she’d ever called him Bill.

He stays awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking on the day's events. His mind flits to Cassiopeia and her odd phrases throughout the day. Just what did she mean by plot? He trusted her, but he couldn't help but think about it.Eventually, sleep does overtake him, and he finds himself drifting into an unusual dream revolving around the Black siblings and Percy’s old rat Scabbers. The dream left him with more questions than answers, but he found he couldn’t wake up to ask them.

Chapter 5: Calm After The Storm

Chapter Text

Calm After The Storm.

Excerpt from the diary of Arcturus Black, dated between November 12th, 1979 – December 1st, 1979.

November 12th

Journal,

It is with a hand unsteady, a hand accustomed to the weight of responsibility and legacy, that I reluctantly pen down the grievous announcement of my son and heir's passing—Orion Arcturus Black. The sombre news reached me through my daughter-in-law, Walburga, the evening following the conclusion of festivities for my granddaughter's birthday.

Upon my swift arrival, the gravity of the situation unfurled with an unsettling rapidity. Orion's condition, already precarious, took a turn for the worse. A mere hour in my presence, and he was pronounced lifeless. The cause of his untimely demise remains shrouded in mystery, a puzzle that St Mungo's Chief Pathologist, Eustace Burke, assures me will be meticulously unravelled through the solemn ritual of autopsy.

Orion’s youngest, Cassiopeia, is understandably devastated, and burst into tears at the hospital. It was a display of emotion unbecoming of a Black, but given the circ*mstances alongside her young age, I told Walburga to let her actions slide. In this moment of mourning, I find solace in the enduring strength of the Black legacy, hoping that Regulus, despite his grief, will be the torchbearer of our family's indomitable spirit.

--

November 19th

Journal,

The findings of my son's autopsy have been unveiled, revealing a sombre truth that taints the very essence of our bloodline. Orion Arcturus Black fell victim to a blood malediction, a silent assailant born of a purification curse cast upon him years ago—a curse he recklessly chose to leave unhealed. Such negligence allowed the curse to fester and mutate, evolving to assail his own blood, sapping its strength with a relentless grip.

This insidious curse ravaged his immune system, leaving him vulnerable to the unrelenting grasp of Winter Fever, a seasonal malady that struck our country prematurely. In the face of weakened defences, Orion succumbed to the ailment, his formidable constitution succumbing to the unseen forces that conspired against him.

I shared this grim revelation with both Walburga and Regulus. We as a trio agreed to keep it amongst ourselves for now. Regulus, seemingly ensnared in his own thoughts, likely entangled in the machinations of his dark pursuits. Walburga, pragmatic as ever, proposed that we extend an invitation to Sirius for his father's funeral—a suggestion to which I acquiesced. The years of Sirius' isolation may have moulded him into the heir our family requires—a stalwart figure I fear Regulus may not become.

For the foreseeable future, I have chosen to reside within the confines of Grimmauld Place. The hallowed halls of this ancestral home shall serve as a bastion of support for my grieving family in these trying times. The decision to lay Orion to rest within the garden of Grimmauld Place, rather than the austere Black cemetery in Whitby, is a tribute to his enduring love for this abode. It is fitting that he finds eternal repose amidst the walls he called home.

As the patriarch of House Black, I navigate these turbulent waters with a resolute demeanour, mindful of the delicate balance between tradition and the inexorable march of time. In the shadows of mourning, I strive to ensure that the legacy of House Black endures, casting its indomitable shadow over the corridors of time.

--

November 25th

Journal,

Today marked the solemn procession of my son's funeral, a day cloaked in dismal weather, mirroring the collective grief that shrouds our family. In a surprising turn, my daughter Lucretia graced the occasion, accompanied by her husband and his nephews. Despite the tempestuous relationship that binds our family, I always anticipated her presence. Orion was, after all, her younger brother and a longtime companion of Hadrian Prewett, brother to Ignatius. Both Fabian and Gideon gave their consolations, and with the political climate being what it was, I was surprised to note that they sounded genuine.All three Prewetts left after the ceremony, no doubt as a result of Bellatrix, who continued to make jabs at them throughout it, but Lucretia stayed.

She seemed to take a liking to young Cassiopeia and spoke to her up until the girl had to retire for bed. When I questioned her about it, Lucretia responded that young Cassiopeia reminded her of the best parts of Orion. Regulus spoke up and reminded her that Cassiopeia was very much her own person, before excusing himself from the room. Walburga apologised for his rudeness and explained that he had been very protective of his sister since Sirius had left. Speaking of the supposed heir, Sirius did not attend the funeral, much to his mother’s dismay. The time may have come to declare this shift, allowing the torch to transition to a new bearer, Regulus.

--

December 1st

Journal,

In the wake of the funeral, Lucretia has become a frequent visitor, a gesture I find deeply appreciable. Her periodic check-ins offer a semblance of solace amid the quiet corridors of my grief-stricken abode. More notably, she has extended her companionship to young Cassiopeia, who has found solace beside her father's gravestone, immersed in the solace of a good read. It is a peculiar ritual, one that eludes my complete comprehension.

Observing the young one, her emotions laid bare, I am reminded of her cousin, Narcissa—a parallel that is not lost on me. Walburga, in her astute observation during the funeral, proposed a theory that sheds light on this enigma. She posited that Cassiopeia, aside from Orion, bears a striking resemblance to Lucretia. In this kinship of appearance, Walburga suggested that Lucretia may be assuming a maternal role, fulfilling an unspoken desire for a daughter of her own. A theory gaining credibility with each passing visit.

OLIVIA GREEN

Liv had to say that she’d never seen the Department of Mysteries so quiet. Even though the department wasn’t necessarily known as being a particularly loud one, the number of people working there had more than halved in the last 24 hours. The majority of the Ministry had been called out to help support the Quidditch World Cup, and sadly, her department hadn’t been spared. The only reason why she was still there was because she’d been given strict orders of bedrest from her healer, and thus couldn’t chase after the wizards who decided that the statute just didn’t apply to them. Though the quietness was strange, Liv had to admit that she didn’t mind it. If anything, it made the research she was doing much easier to carry out when there wasn’t someone breathing down her ear in the library.

At the moment, she was conducting some book-based research for the project her entire department was currently embroiled in. It was titled ‘the thought-scape codification project,’ and they sought to understand and codify the intricate patterns and dynamics of human thoughts, emotions, and memories within the metaphysical realm of the thought-scape itself. It was something that had been looked at about a million times by her department already, but with the steadily rising number of wizards admitted to St Mungo’s due to successful legilimency attacks, the Minister had asked if it was possible for them to try and find a way to help strengthen the average wizard’s occlumency shields. At the moment they were in the testing phase, where workers in the department would use various different occlumency methods labelled in different journals from around the world and see how effective they were at holding off a strong legilimens. She’d been one of the five selected to be tested on next week, so she hoped that the bookcase method she was reading about would prove to be a particularly strong one. She is half-way through her reading and is just about to envision a bookcase in her mind, where a loud clanging from the office next door rings out, making her jump.

She tries to go back to her book, assuming that it was an experiment gone wrong, but the noise continues. It sounded like it was coming from her co-worker Broderick Bode’s office. But that shouldn’t have been possible, as he was currently at the World Cup. Perhaps he finished early? Putting the book down, she made her way to his office.

The door was wide open.

“Bode?” She questions, stepping inside. He is crouched down, seemingly looking for something, but after a moment’s pause, he turns.

“Yes?” Bode asked. He looked annoyed, but Liv pays no mind to it – after all, that's how he always appeared. It's nothing out of the ordinary for Bode.

“You’re back early.” She notes. “Was the World Cup not as eventful as the Minister was expecting?”

“The Minister gave up on the Statute at a certain point.” Bode says. He stands. “He figured that it would be easier to just obliviate the nearby muggles than it would be to keep a hundred thousand muggles from using magic. So, he let some of us go back early.” In his arm was a file on immortality - a project he'd wrapped up not too long ago. He also had a bag on, which seemed filled to the brim with items.

She chuckles. “Yes. You’ve always preferred the office to your house. Did anything interesting happen there at least?”

“Not really. At least not for me – I only had to deal with a few cases personally, and each of them revolved around children who’d stolen their parent’s wand. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh. Of course!” Giving him a wide smile, she moves out the way of the door, holding it open for him.

He smiles back. Alarm bells ring in her head, an instinctive reaction to something feeling off.

(You see, there were a few well known facts about Broderick Bode. The first was that he was one of the few Unspeakables who’d worked in each department. The second was that he and his colleague Saul Croaker were in a relationship that the entire department knew about, however they thought it was well-hidden. And the third fact was that ever since he’d been hit in the face with a vial of Greek Fire, he’d lost the ability to show any emotion.)

As soon as his back is to her, she reaches for her wand. As soon as she raises it however, she is disarmed.Without wasting a moment, Bode turns around and deftly snatches it from the air, leaving Liv momentarily stunned.

“I realised my mistake as soon as I made it.” He says with a sigh. The imposter didn’t sound like Bode anymore. If anything, they almost sounded female. With a wave of a wand, ropes wrap themselves around Liv, preventing her from moving. She hits the floor with a thud.

“Who are you?” She rasps out. The ropes grow tighter and tighter, as if its goal was to stop her from breathing altogether. “How did you get into the department?”

“It’s a shame that I’m not allowed to kill you.” The imposter says, ignoring her entirely. “You are frightfully annoying. But alas, we can’t afford to draw any attention away from the world cup.” They move towards her, and though her glasses fell off when she hit the floor, Liv can make out a pair of blurry heeled boots. Desperation kicks in as Liv attempts to lift her gaze, yearning for even a glimpse of the mysterious figure intent on her demise. All she can see is a wand that had begun to light up. “Obliviate!”

With a sigh, Liv puts down her book, getting frustrated at her lack of progress. She’d forgotten what page she was on. It looked like she was going to have to start over again. Taking a sip of her water, she reopens the book, starting from page one. A throbbing headache accompanies her efforts, likely a side effect of the challenging occlumency. Yet, she remains determined. She just hoped that the bookcase method she was reading about would prove to be a particularly strong one.

Letter from Skye Parkin to Benjamin Copper, dated August 10th, 1994

Hey Ben,

I just wanted to reiterate what I mentioned when we caught up yesterday. I'm truly sorry for your loss – Rowan was, and always will be, one of the most incredible wizards I've ever known. They'll forever hold the title of my best friend. I get it, a best friend might not compare to a romantic partner, but please know that my love for them runs deep too. It's out of this love, for both them and you as my other best friend, that I'm reaching out.

Ben, Rowan is gone. I know it's a harsh reality, one you probably wish you didn't have to face, and trust me, I wish we didn't either. But it's the undeniable truth. Rowan is gone, and if they could speak to us now, I'm pretty sure they'd want us to move on and accept that. They wouldn't want us seeking revenge or causing harm in their name. That's not who Rowan was, and it's certainly not who you are either. I hope you've already grasped this, but I'm urging you, please don't make any hasty decisions, Ben. Rowan wouldn't want it, and I'm not sure if Tonks could keep you from landing in hot water.

See you at the funeral,

Skye

P.S. Murphy says hi also. He will also be present at the funeral. He reckons that with you, him, Charlie, Wilf, Thorin and Jae all in attendance, it’ll feel more like a reunion than a funeral.

CASSIOPEIA BLACK

The first rays of the morning sun painted the interior of the tent in a warm, golden glow. Cassiopeia awoke early, and though she lay on a sofa in a second-hand tent, found that she was more comfortable than she’d ever thought she’d be. She looks around the tent, noting all its differences to the ones that she was used to. Movement catches her eye, and she looks over towards the other sofa, where Bill lay. She noticed how his features softened in the embrace of sleep, and an involuntary smile tugged at her lips. He looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos they were all entangled in. She watches him for a few more seconds, before deciding that there were better things for her to spend her time doing. Like getting ready for the day.

With more reluctance than she anticipated, she makes her way to the bathroom, careful to make as little noise as possible, lest she woke anyone else (mainly Bill) up. Once she closes the door, she casts a silencing charm on the door and gets ready for the day, using her emergency supplies from her bag. She’d always made sure to pack things like toiletries and spare changes of clothes for events like these, where she was in a new place. She imagined a warm shower would help with the ache that she was currently feeling, no doubt due to her body not being used to what she did yesterday.

It wasn’t until she was in the shower, and the hot water had first made contact with her hair, that she begun to think. Just what on earth had happened yesterday? It had all been going to plan - she'd managed to get all the muggles to safety. Yet, the crowd had still found some humans to torture. Worse yet, they managed to find more muggles than they had in the original plot. This shouldn't have been a fixed thing to happen, with removing the very people they were going to torture out of the picture, that should have been it. Yet, it wasn't. Had Crouch been watching over the Ministry in canon? That was a question she didn't know the answer to. All she did know was that by going after Crouch herself, she'd started a fight. Something that again, hadn't happened in the original plot.

(From her notes on the Quidditch Final, what was supposed to happen was that Barty Crouch Junior cast the Dark Mark in the same area at the Golden Trio. Yet that happened later than it was meant to. There was no grand fight beforehand. It had just been the Dark Mark, plan and simply. Now, that wasn’t the case.)

Now, she was aware that part of this was her own fault. Had she not gone after Crouch, then Bill wouldn't have followed her. And Crouch would have cast the Dark Mark and left. Now, by fighting him, she'd brought herself into the limelight and to the attention of not only Crouch, but Tom Riddle himself. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but she knew that as soon as Voldemort focused on her, he'd discover her plans to stop him. For now, she had to stay in the shadows - she couldn't be public enemy number one when Voldemort returned. As she wouldn't have the support of Dumbledore, she knew that she'd almost automatically be a goner. Perhaps he already knew of her plans, and there was no saving her.

Her mind briefly flits to the box of Horcruxes she had inside the Black vault. Was it possible that Riddle knew about them and had taken advantage of the chaos to get them back? She wouldn’t have noticed if anyone had stolen the key from her when she was busy fighting for her life. She wraps one of the numerous towels around her to get to her bag. Getting out a spare change of clothes – a black muggle dress that Andromeda had bought her as a test a few years prior, she also pulls out her handheld portrait. Ominis looks up unimpressed at her.

“Yes?” He asks. “Do you want me to speak to more snakes?” He had never liked using parseltongue. According to him, it reminded him too much of his dark-leaning family, but Peia suspected it was also in part due to the fact that the language was too closely affiliated with Salazar Slytherin himself, a manwho Ominis despised.

“No, I just wanted to ask – could you get Regulus to please go to the Black Vault and check if my items are still there?”

In an ideal situation she would send Kreacher, but House-elves hadn’t been allowed inside Gringotts since 1891. That law had come into place as one of terms of the goblin's surrender. They really didn't like house-elves

“Oh. Of course. I’ll go get him now. Will you be alright by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself.” She reminds him. “I’m in a tent surrounded by other wizards. Competent ones at that.”

“Other wizards.” Ominis gives her a grin. “Like your friend? What was his name again, Wilfred? Billy?”

“William.” She corrects automatically, before her face turns into a scowl. “And that doesn’t matter. Please just check the Vault – it's important.”

“Alright, fine. But you two kids better not be getting up to any funny business, you got me?”

“Ominis!” She hisses, and with a laugh, he disappears from the portrait.

She gets dressed, and with great effort, pulls her hair into a ponytail. Unfortunately, she’d left her bottle of Sleekeazy’s at home. Stepping out of the bathroom, she makes her way to the kitchen. Looking into the living room as she passed it, she was pleased to note that Bill was still asleep. The kitchen was a tiny thing, but it looked well-loved – it reminded her of the one that she grew up in during her first life, when she didn’t have mounds of money at her disposal. She places a silencing charm onto the kitchen door, not wanting to wake anyone (again, mainly Bill) up.

Deciding to make some breakfast for everyone, she looks through the cupboards, trying to figure out what food the Weasleys had. Opening the smallest cupboard on the right, she was pleasantly surprised to find eggs, sausages and bread inside. They were all placed under stasis charms, and counting through them, she had enough there to make breakfast for everyone. Getting out the right pans, she gets to work, finding the task comforting. She’d always enjoyed cooking in this life, finding that it was one of the few ways that she could incorporate elements of her first life without it seeming odd. The only thing that she struggled with was magical cooking, but it didn’t hurt to make things the non-magical way. Not when she’d been raised in a staunchly anti-muggle household for the majority of her life anyway.

She had just put the sausages on to cook when she hears the kitchen door open behind her.

“Morning Cass.” Bill greets. “What are you making?”

“Sausages, egg and toast. Just what I could find really. How long have you been awake?” She turns to look at him and pauses, almost dropping the pair of tongs she was using.

Bill Weasley was handsome. It wasn't a revelation; Peia had been aware of his attractiveness for years. Yet, standing in close proximity, observing him with his hair down, something shifted. Her mind experienced a momentary short circuit, rendering her incapable of focusing on anything but him. A tingling sensation camefrom her stomach, and in that electrifying moment, Peia had a startling realization – she was attracted to him.

“Not long.” He says, completely oblivious. “Probably about ten, fifteen minutes? Long enough for me to get ready at least.” Noticing her, he frowns. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asks quickly, turning back around to focus on the sausages instead of him, otherwise she was going to do something stupid.

After a pause, she sighs. “I’ve notseen you with your hair down inyears, that’s all.” The last time she’d seen him with his hair down, it had been in Hogwarts, where he hadn’t induced such a reaction from her.

“Oh,” he chuckles. “I must look strange then. Sorry, I normally keep it down until it dries.”

“You didn’t look strange!” She says hastily, turning back around and trying to think about things other than him. “If anything, you look great! Really good.” Her face heats up as understanding flickers across his face. “It suits you.” She finishes lamely, fidgeting with the tongs in her hands.

“I’m glad you like it.” He says with a smile. He was looking at her with that same unreadable expression he’d had in the Quidditch final. “Would you like any help?”

She motions to the food next to her. “The bread needs slicing.”

He reaches over her to grab the bread knife and gets to work. When the sausages looked near done, she gets started on the eggs. They work in silence, but it isn’t an uncomfortable one. If anything, it felt nice.

“Did you know toast was considered a delicacy by the Ancient Egyptians?” He says once he’d placed the slices of bread into the oven. “Ramesses the Great even hired Amenhotep the Clever to make bread for him and the rest of the royal court.”

"Toast as a delicacy? Ancient Egyptians had a taste for the finer things, it seems," she replied, looking up from cracking eggs. "I bet Ramesses' court must have had some extravagant breakfasts."

Bill's eyes twinkled with amusem*nt as he met her gaze. "They adored them. Legend has it his bread had a magical touch that could transport you to far-off lands with just one bite. A taste of enchantment, they called it."

She giggles, the sound sounding foreign to her own ears. “That sounds false.”

He grins. “It absolutely is. I don’t know how the court felt about their breakfasts – the history books decided to focus on other things. Like wars. Or Kings.” He grabs a few plates from a different cupboard and starts placing them on the table, using magic to make sure that there was enough for everyone. “So, I've shared a delicacy fact, what's your favourite piece offood trivia?"

“Magical food or food in general?” She realises by the time she’d gotten to the fifth fried egg that she’d underestimated just how long the whole thing would take.

“Either. Or any. Or none. It’s up to you.”

Peia stops to think about it for a moment. Well, if she had to pick any ingredient -"Well, did you know that bubotuber pus is a one of the best ingredients to use for flavour enhancement? Quite the unconventional use for something so slimy, don't you think?"

Bill raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Bubotuber pus? Now that's a magical ingredient I never thought could be useful outside of potions. You're full of surprises, Cass."

She shrugged, unable to keep thegrin offher face. "What can I say? I've always had a knack for the unusual. Keeps things interesting."

"Then it’s a good thing I like interesting." He says with a wide smile and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was flirting. She looks over at him, unsure of what to say next.

(He’s going to fall in love with Fleur Delacour, she reminds herself. It didn’t matter how he felt about her now – by this time next year, they’d be fighting a war. And Bill Weasley would have started dating Fleur Delacour.)

Thankfully she is saved by the arrival of Mrs Weasley, who walks through the kitchen door as if she was a woman on a mission, wearing a deep purple dressing gown. She pauses when she sees them.

“Morning mum.” Bill says casually, pulling a chair out. “We’ve made breakfast. You should take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Mrs Weasley shoots them both a grateful smile and takes a seat. Her gaze lingers on Peia, an unreadable expression on her face.

“I would love one Bill – thank you dear.” Mrs Weasley says. “You didn’t have to make breakfast; I was planning on making it as soon as I got up.”

The oven beeps and Bill opens it, levitating the pieces of toast onto the laid-out plates. She follows with the rest of the food, and Mrs Weasley places each plate under a stasis charm, making sure that it would stay warm until everyone else sat down to eat.

“It was the least I could do,” Peia says, deciding to be honest. “What with you letting Draco and I stay the night. I really must thank you for keeping him safe, despite the... relationship he has with Harry, Hermione and Ron.”

Mrs Weasley waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. It was nothing compared to what you did for us. You did save my son!” The matriarch smiles at Bill when he places her tea down in front of her. She then stands. “Speaking of sons, I’m going to wake up the rest of them now – the stasis charm only lasts for 15 minutes, and they’ll complain if the food is cold.”

With that, she leaves the room.

“She likes you.” Bill notes, a strange fondness in his voice. Peia was unsure of how true his words were so she nods stiffly, unsure of what else to say.

One by one, the other inhabitants of the tent trickle in, taking a seat at the now rather large table. Draco, to his displeasure, sits down in-between Charlie and Hermione, the latter of whom was giving him dirty looks.

She and Bill make warm drinks for everyone, and she ends up levitating them across the room, too scared to carry them and spill them everywhere. All the Hogwarts students seem to love this, and she finds herself uncomfortable by the look of sheer awe that was in both Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger’s eyes. By the end of it, she’s knackered, and takes a seat at one of the two empty seats remaining. Conveniently, those seats were next to each other. Which meant that she’d have to sit next to Bill, but she found she didn’t mind.Everyone was embroiled in conversation, but as soon as she sat down, they went silent.

“Hello?” She says, her words sounding more like a question than anything else. When no one says anything, she turns to Chiara. “Sleep well?”

“Surprisingly so.” Chiara lets out a weary sigh. “Though I am mourning my tent – I'd had that one since Hogwarts. I’ll need to find a new one now...”

“Once you do, let me know the price and I’ll pay for it.” She decides. She knew that with the price of international portkeys, Chiara didn’t have the money for a tent. Besides, it would be a late birthday present for the witch, as when her birthday had come about, Peia had still been recovering from Azkaban. She mentions these points out loud – she leaves out the part about Azkaban though, figuring that it wasn’t the best thing to mention when she was trying to gain the Weasleys’ trust.

Chiara frowns, still looking doubtful. “But you do a lot for me already Peia. You still pay for my monthly...” She looks around at the other occupants of the room. “...potions. I’ll save up for it, it’s fine.”

“But then you won’t have enough for a Portkey.” Peia points out. “I have more than enough money for a tent, it’s fine. And we’ve been friends since I was twelve Chiara, the potions money is nothing.”

“I don’t believe I have much holiday left to take anyway.” Chiara retorts. “Don’t worry about it Peia, really.”

“If you say so.” She says with a sigh, deciding not to push any further. The conversations around them had resumed at least, so that was something. Mr Weasley and Percy were talking about something Ministry-related, whilst the twins and Ginny seemed to be talking about Quidditch. Charlie and Chiara whispered to each other. The Golden Trio were talking about something quietly, and she noticed that Draco was staring into space, looking entirely disinterested in the conversations around him.

“Are you trying to pay for your friends' things again?” Bill asks, sliding into the seat next to her. He places a steaming mug in front of her.

“She is.” Percy says from the end of the table.

“What is this?” She asks him, shooting Percy a mock glare.

“Hot Chocolate. I know you prefer it to coffee.” He says with a knowing grin. “And why am I not surprised – I feel like you’d buy someone a house if they asked Cass. Your spending problem’s getting out of hand.”

“I haven’t done that yet.” She murmurs with a smile, deciding to take a sip of her drink. The hot chocolate was perfect – made just how she liked it, with two teaspoonfuls of caramel alongside a plentiful dash of milk. She was surprised he remembered, what with it being over five years since he’d last seen her make a cup for herself.

“When are we going home?” Draco asks.

Mentally, Peia swore. She knew she was forgetting something.Swiftly, she retrieves her wand and summons her patronus, a golden lioness gracefully materializing by her side. Meanwhile, the golden trio huddled together, engaged in a whispered conversation.

“Tell Narcissa Malfoy that Draco is with me and we’re inside the Weasley tent.” She commands it, and it flies off. She turns to Mr Weasley. “How long were you planning on staying here for?”

“Well. Being as we’re all here, I don’t really see any reason to be in a hurry. Do you Molly?”

“I don’t see any reason either.” Mrs Weasley agrees. “Especially as if we go now, then we’ll only be part of the crowd no doubt trying to get here as soon as they possible can. We’re better to wait it out.”

“So how do you get your patronus to send a message?” Harry Potter asks from his place across the table. “Is it a special variation of the patronus charm that you have to cast?”

“Nope, it’s just the patronus spell.” She answers, hoping that she didn’t sound too caught off-guard that the boy-who-lived was actually speaking to her. “You cast it, and then ask it to deliver a message for you.” Remembering that she’d just sent her patronus away, she turned to Bill, who’d finally tied his hair back. “Would you be alright with casting your patronus? To give an example.”

Being as he’d won the Barnabus Finkly Prize for Exceptional Spell Casting in his last year of Hogwarts, she assumed that he’d know the charm.

“Alright. Expecto Patronum.” Proving her line of thought correct, hewaved his wand, and a majestic blue animal leapt out of it. It was an Occamy – a purely magical animal. It flitted around the room, half flying, half slithering.

“Tell Cassiopeia Black – I hope you like your hot chocolate.” He asks it. It flew over to her and repeated the message, it’s voice an exact replica of Bill’s.

“Wicked.” Harry and Draco say in unison. They then shoot each other a glare.

“You sounded just like a teacher there.” Charlie says, amused. “Told you that was going to happen to you when you decided to take history as a mastery.”

“And I told you that at least history is a mastery recognised worldwide. Unlike what you chose.” She retorts.

“Hey! Dragonology is a recognised qualification in fifty countries!”

“You like dragons?” Draco asks, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

“Who doesn’t?” Charlie asks. The pair then get into a very in-depth conversation about dragons, one that has everyone looking over impressed. She’d forgotten that Draco had been obsessed with the species prior to him starting Hogwarts.

“I do like the hot chocolate by the way.” She says, giving a small smile to Bill, who returns it.

“Good!” He exclaims. “I couldn’t remember whether I got the measurements right.”

“You did.” She reassures. “It was perfect.”

“So, I do have to ask,” Mrs Weasley interjects, looking between the two of them. “Were you friends at Hogwarts then with Chiara, Percy, Bill and Charlie? You all seem rather close.”

“Chiara and I have been best friends since my second year.” She says, after taking another sip of her drink. “Bill and I used to patrol together as prefects during my fifth and sixth years, then I patrolled with Charlie during my seventh. I used to study in the library with Percy during my seventh year too.”

Mrs Weasley nods at that, her expression calculating. She gets drawn into a conversation about Quidditch with the Weasley twins, and to her surprise, she finds that one of them (George) was entertaining a background career in becoming a Beater for the Montrose Magpies, if they had a position available that was. As the conversation continues, she finds it harder to smile and nod along, too caught up in images of their impending fates.

“What position did you play in Hogwarts, Cassiopeia?” Ginny asks. Around her neck was the choker that Peia had sent Bill what felt like eons ago. “Charlie said that you were Quidditch Captain?”

“Chaser.”

“Chaser?” George asks in surprise. “With your build, I thought that you’d say Seeker.”

Charlie snorts.

“No, no.” She says, ignoring Charlie entirely. “That was more my brother’s forte, not mine.”

Everyone on the table goes quiet and looks in her direction. She realises what she said, and takes another sip of her drink, silently hoping that Narcissa or one of the house-elves would appear soon.

“Is your brother Sirius Black?” Ron asks eagerly. He yelps when Hermione steps on his foot.

“Yes.” She answers. “Sirius was the eldest out of us.”

“And he was a Seeker?” Harry asks, leaning forward excitedly. They really weren’t subtle.

“No,” She corrects. “He was a Beater. Alongside a woman called Marlene McKinnon if memory serves me correct. My other brother, Regulus, was a Seeker. A good one too.”

“I wasn’t aware that Sirius Black had siblings.” Ginny said, looking at her curiously. “What is it like having him as a brother?”

“Ginny!” Mrs Weasley hisses. “Sorry dear for the question.”

“You don’t have to answer that.” Bill says quickly, his eyes flitting between Ron, Harry and Hermione, who leaned forward in their seats in anticipation.

“It’s fine.” She said mildly. “I can’t really give you an answer Ginny – He left the house when I was four. According to Regulus, my other brother, he was an alright brother? I’m really not sure though.”

That was a lie. The truth was, she remembered Sirius in clear detail and all things considered, he’d been a pretty good bad big brother. He’d been too focused on the Marauders to actually focus on her.He’s had his moments though. He was a bit dramatic, but it wasn’t surprising – not when the entire House was also. Sure, Regulus had been the better older brother out of the two, but Sirius had had his moments too. He used to help her decorate the cards she would have to make for Yule, and more often than not, those days would end up with paint splattered over the both of them also. She remembered his face when he left too – and didn’t think she’d ever forget the conflict on his face as he gave her one last look. She couldn’t say any of this out loud though – not when everyone still thought that he was a monster.

“Mother doesn’t mention Regulus much.” Draco notes, looking just as interested in the conversation as the Golden Trio were. “Neither do you Peia.”

“That’s because he’s dead.” She murmured. “Has been for 15 years.” The problem with Regulus being a death eater was that she couldn’t give her thoughts on the matter whatsoever. The only person outside of her family that she’d properly grieved with had been Felix Rosier, whose older brother, Evan, had also been a death eater. Rumour was that he’d been killed by Mad Eye Moody himself.

“I have to say,” Bill says, speaking up. “Peia was brilliant as a Chaser – and even better as Quidditch Captain. How many times did you win the cup again?”

“I only won two out of my three years. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a Seeker in my final year, so I had to be it.” Charlie starts cackling, and she mock glares at him. “Someone may have wiped the floor with me when we inevitably went against Gryffindor.”

“We won that year.” Charlie said proudly. “I think Oliver Wood wept like a baby when we got the cup.”

“That isn’t surprising.” Percy mutters. “We all know how much of a fanatic he is. He used to have a shrine that he’d pray to before every Quidditch match.”

“I forget that you shared a dorm with him.” Harry says.

“Can you imagine sharing a dorm room with Percy and Oliver?” Fred asks. “I think I’d kill myself, wouldn’t you?”

Percy’s face goes red.

“Fred!” Mrs Weasley hisses. With everyone having finished their breakfasts, the Weasley matriarch raises her wand and sends the plates to the sink, where an invisible spell washes and dries them.

There’s a knock on the tent flap.

“Are your protection spells still active?” Mr Weasley asks Bill.

“Yes.”

The Weasley patriarch strides towards the entrance, engaging in a brief exchange of words.

"Your mother's here to collect you, Draco," Mr. Weasley announces, eyeing the tent flap with a hint of wariness.

The flap swings open, and Narcissa steps through. She looked far healthier than she had been in recent days, but Peia contributed this to the makeup that she was wearing, which was heavier than normal.

"Draco!" she exclaims, embracing her son. "Are you injured?"

"Mother, you're embarrassing me!" he protests, his face flushing. "Where's Father?"

"He's in the Guest Wing of the Manor. Your father and I... had a minor disagreement," she discloses, scanning the room until her gaze lands on Cassiopeia. "Cassiopeia!"

"Narcissa," Peia replies, rising to her feet. She attempts to conceal her wince at the action, but Narcissa pulls her into a hug.

"I'm glad you're alright. Thank you for looking after Draco. And..." Narcissa trails off, releasing her and focusing directly on Cassiopeia. "You're injured."

"I was yesterday," Peia admits. "But Chiara healed me last night. I'm just a bit sore."

"You shouldn't be," Chiara remarks, a frown creasing her brow. "I healed all physical damage to you last night, including any damaged muscles. You shouldn't be feeling any pain."

"Laena Masah," Bill suddenly casts, and Peia blinks at the warm magic enveloping her. She hadn't even noticed him stand. He gazes at her with a serious expression. "You're cursed."

"With what?" she questions, stepping away from Narcissa. The only time she’d been hit by a curse had been when she’d thrown herself in front of Ron, but she had been wearing her gloves last night, so they should have protected her against spellfire.

"I don't know yet," Bill replies, reaching out but hesitating. "May I?"

Willing her magic to her palm, she raises her hand, noting with satisfaction that her magic remains the same shade as usual – midnight blue. He places his palm on top of hers for a moment, and she feels a small jolt before he pulls away.

"It'll be easy to get rid of," he reassures her. "It may be a tad uncomfortable, though."

“That’s fine,” she murmurs, feeling slightly unsettled by the worried looks on the faces of those around her.

He places his palm on top of hers once moreand focuses. She watches his brow furrow in concentration. His magic feels strange, and as it picks at her own, she has to fight the urge to shut him out entirely. Eventually, after what felt like eternity, he pulls his hand away. A golden glow enveloped his palm, and floating atop it was an unstable looking black orb. The ache that she’d been feeling had ebbed away, and finally she could move without wincing.

“Whatwas it?” She asked again, staring at the orb. Despite knowing that it was extremely dark magic, she had to admit that it looked quite beautiful.

“A blood purity curse.” Bill answers. “Dissipare.” With a wave of his wand, the orb turnt the same golden colour as his palm before shattering. The shards float away, disappearing in the air. “That’s probably why you were sore – when it couldn’t find any muggle blood initially, the curse just burrowed deeper.”

“Thank you for looking after my son and cousin.” Narcissa says, standing straight. Even with the regality she held as Lady Malfoy, her relief was still obvious. “The House of Malfoy is immensely grateful.”

“It was no problem.” Mr Weasley answers, moving back to his seat. “We’re more than happy to protect any child.” Regardless of blood was left unsaid.

Narcissa nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she gives another smile – and Peia had to give her credit, it only looked somewhat strained.

“Again, though, I must thank you. Now Draco, I believe it’s time for us to leave. Peia, will you be joining us?”

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” Draco says, looking at everywhere but the Golden Trio.

“I don’t think I could go back to the Manor today.” Peia admits, feeling the familiar sense of dread take root. She didn’t know who Lucius had been in that crowd – he could have been completely unaffected by her actions. Or, he could have one of the wizards who’d been temporarily paralysed by her Black Mambas. Either way, he would have seen her save those muggles, and knowing him, he’d have a few choice words to say on the matter. “Sorry Narcissa.”

“Don’t apologise Peia.” Cissa says firmly. “I understand. I will be visiting your flat before the end of the week though. And I will be writing. Make sure that you respond.”

“I will!” She promises. She wasn’t sure if it was a promise that she could keep though – there were a lot of things that she needed to get done.

“You better!” With those final words, Cissa leaves, Draco in tow.

Which left Peia with the Weasley clan. Great.

“That was a strange choice for a curse.” She notes. Especially with Ron Weasley being the target of all people. Perhaps they assumed Bill would deflect the curse into either Harry or Hermione? “I think it’s time for me to make my exit though.” She began to gather her things and places her cup in the sink to be washed. The Weasleys exchanged glances with each other. Bill, who was still standing, spoke up.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked. His voice was level, but his eyes showed concern.

Peia nodded, looking away. "Yeah, I've got a few things to take care of. Thanks for everything, though. I really appreciate it."

Mrs. Weasley, bustling about with the breakfast dishes, chimed in. "It was no problem, dear. Please don't be a stranger – any friend of my children is a friend of ours."

With a surprising amount ofwarmth in their expressions, the Weasleys plus Harry and Hermioneoffered their goodbyes, each extending an invitation to return. Even Mr Weasley, who hadn’t said much to her, flashed her a friendly smile. It threw her off-guard, receiving this amount of warmth from people that she’d prefer to avoid. She pulled Chiara into a hug, promising to see her again in October, for Penny Haywood’s wedding.

Stepping into the familiar chill of the morning air outside, she takes a moment to collect herself before crossing the field. On her way, she passes the cottage, where Mr. Roberts looks somewhat dazed yet healthy, a reassuring sight.It seemed that Penelope Clearwater had obliviated him and sent him back, like she’d asked her to. Once she’d checked if he was okay, she stepped into the shadows and apparated back to her flat.

Kreacher, Regulus and Ominis, who’d been in mid-conversation with each other, stop what they were saying to look over.

“Are you alright?” Regulus asks, his tone panicked instead of calm. “Ominis said that you were still in pain?”

“Not anymore.” She answers, placing her coat onto the coat rack. “It turns out that I got cursed last night, so Bill removed it. How is the vault?”

“All of the horcruxes are still there. Were you wearing father’sgloves?” He asked, his voice taking the same reproachful sound that their mother’s had whenever she was upset.

“Yes. The curse seemed to have bypassed them. But it was only a blood purity curse – so nothing that I really needed to worry about.”

“It was a what?”

“A blood purity curse.” She repeats. “As soon as it realised that I had no muggle blood whatsoever, then it would have dissipated – so it was only a minor issue, all things considered.” She was still a bit confused that the spell had been aimed at Ron Weasley of all people, when his family were also purebloods, but she tried to not dwell on it. Maybe they assumed that Bill would deflect it into Hermione or something.

“And Barty cast it?” Regulus now sounded angry. She wasn’t sure what he could do, only being a portrait and all.

She thought about the fight, and about the sheer amount of spells Crouch had sent her way. He hadn't cared that she was the younger sister of his former best friend, to him she was an enemy. “Yes.” She claps her hands together. “But that isn’t important. What is, is what we are going to do next. Kreacher!”

“Yes, Young Mistress!”

“Please inform all the house elves that I will be visiting them within the next week to discuss my next plan of action. Regulus!”

“Yes Peia?”

“I need you to speak to mother and the rest of House Black’s portraits. I need to know what they know – what spells they use, what happened in their lifetimes. And if any of them cast fiendfyre. This is important.”

The room fell into a momentary silence as the weight of Peia's revelations settled on the trio. Regulus, visibly tense, nodded solemnly at his sister's instructions. "I'll do my best to gather information from Mother and the others," he affirmed, determination etched across his features.

Kreacher bowed deeply. "Kreacher will relay the message to the house elves. They'll be waiting for Young Mistress's guidance."

Peia turned to Ominis, her expression resolute. "And Ominis, I need to learn that sensory spell of yours. It might be the key to navigating through whatever challenges lie ahead."

The wizard grinned. "Ah, Mage Sight? I’m surprised you hadn’t asked sooner. I shall teach you, but I need to go to the Undercroft – see if any of the other portraits have any tips. Remember though, its mastery requires patience and focus. So, you can’t get annoyed when it doesn’t work the first time around."

Her cheeks turn red in embarrassment. “I won’t.”

With their tasks assigned, the trio dispersed, each set on their respective missions. As the room emptied, Peia took a moment to reflect. Yesterday hadn’t gone as planned – and now Riddle was potentially aware of her, which meant that if she wanted to get the upper hand, she needed to act now. Time was of the essence, and she didn’t want to merely survive the upcoming conflict, she wanted to win.

Excerpt from the diary of Arcturus Black, dated December 5th – December 26th, 1979

December 5th

Journal,

Walburga's apprehension regarding Regulus continues to escalate, as he withdraws further into the confines of his room. It pains me to acknowledge that her concerns are not without merit. Regulus, who once graced the household with his presence, now lingers in solitude, distancing himself from the very fabric of familial bonds. Even young Cassiopeia, whom he was supposed to hold in affection, bears the brunt of his emotional retreat.

Respecting his need for space, I chose not to press the matter, understanding the weight of his recent loss—barely a month since his father's passing. It is a sombre realisation that the magnitude of the situation may have finally cast its shadow upon him. Regulus, who seemed unreactive to his father's demise initially, now grapples with the gravity of a void left in the wake of his father's departure. I will continue to observe him, but I will not invade his privacy when there is no need to.

--

December 10th

Journal,

Regulus is missing. Walburga went up to his room to speak to him two days prior, to find him gone. We have asked everyone that he knew – including some friends he’d made during Hogwarts, but no one seems to have known where he has gone. I fear that we won’t find him again.

--

December 12th

Journal,

The Black Tapestry has updated to announce that the date of Regulus Black’s death is December twelfth, nineteen seventy-nine. Walburga is inconsolable.

--

December 14th

Journal,

I have decided to still host a funeral for Regulus, despite not having a body to cremate. A tombstone will be engraved in the standard Black cemetery in Whitby, next to Lady Druella Black’s - the mother of Narcissa, Andromeda and Bellatrix. I am told by Bellatrix that Regulus went missing after being assigned a mission by his Dark Lord, where he was ambushed by Dumbledore’s Army. I am not sure how much of it I believe. The funeral will happen on December 26, a few days after Yule.

--

December 16th

Journal,

Today, I discovered young Cassiopeia in the midst of attempting to dispatch a funeral invitation to Sirius. Her reasoning, when questioned, struck a chord—the reminder that he, too, was Regulus' brother and deserved acknowledgement. I acquiesced to her gesture, though harbouring doubts about Sirius' willingness to attend. The current state of affairs deems him the heir, a role I find increasingly precarious.

Concerns weigh on my mind, a persistent worry that the line of succession may falter if Sirius, the current heir, meets an unfortunate fate before securing his own successor. The absence of a reliable spare compounds the vulnerability of the Black lineage. Lucretia, despite her years still ahead, harbours a belief that motherhood eludes her. Bellatrix and Narcissa, too, have faced challenges in producing heirs, let alone the much-needed spare for the family legacy.

My hopes for the continuity of the Black name now rest on the slender shoulders of young Cassiopeia. While promising prospects with Felix Rosier, a Hogwarts attendee, linger on the horizon, the realisation dawns that such alliances are years away. Years that, regrettably, may outpace my own mortality.

--

December 20th

Journal,

With every passing day, Walburga’s mental health seems to deteriorate further. I had to have Kreacher confine her to her rooms earlier, as she had seemed quite ready to march down to the Potters and demand their portraits to tell her Sirius’ whereabouts. It seems that with Regulus’ passing, she wants to keep her children as close to her as possible. Lucretia suggested that she take Cassiopeia with her to the Prewett Manor for Yule, but I declined the offer, as Walburga would not take that well.

Yule, typically a season of merriment, promises to be a sombre affair this year. The spectre of two unexpected losses within the immediate family casts a shadow over our festivities. In the face of these sorrows, I can only hope that the guests who grace our halls will bring with them a measure of empathy and understanding.

--

December 24th

Journal,

To my surprise, Yule was as perfect as ever. If not even more so. Everything needed was present, and the Yule log chosen was bigger than ever. There was also a Bûche de Noël present, a delicious chocolate cake that I had to admit I hadn’t tried before. When I questioned her about this, Walburga had explained that it wasn’t her who had arranged for these things, it had been Cassiopeia herself, with some help from Narcissa. I thanked them both for the aid and found myself drawn into a conversation with young Cassiopeia regarding the origins of Yule itself. It was a conversation that I hadn’t expected having, but I was pleasantly surprised by it. The youngest child of Orion seems to be intelligent, and I could finally understand why Lucretia seemed to be so enamoured by her. It is a shame that she hadn’t been born male, as she would have been a worthy spare indeed.

Yet, beneath the veneer of our festive unity, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that our family's harmony was a fragile illusion. In the warmth of Yule's glow, there lingered an unspoken tension, like a storm brewing on the horizon. I observed Sirius' absence, a void amidst the celebration, and glimpses of strained interactions that hinted at deeper conflicts.

--

December 26th

Journal,

I’m writing this before I retire for bed, as I feel that if I don’t vent out my frustrations, I will not be able to sleep. Today was the day of Regulus’ funeral, and the day was far more disastrous than I expected. When I arrived at the Whitby manor, all had been well, and I’d spoken more with both Pollux and the elder Cassiopeia, who didn’t have anything particularly interesting with their lives, but made for good company. Lucretia hadn’t attended, but it wasn’t too much of a surprise, as she had never been as close with Regulus as she had with his younger sister. Then, just as the ceremony was due to begin, Bellatrix had arrived alongside several dozens of wizards, all supposedly mourning Regulus. Amongst them was the dark lord himself. He’s taken to calling himself Lord Voldemort these days, and I must admit, I don’t know what name he had prior to that. He was polite enough and had given his consolations to both Walburga and the younger Cassiopeia, who’d both thanked him. I couldn’t help but feel annoyed at him however when he gave an unauthorised speech at the ceremony, condemning Dumbledore and his Army for taking the life of someone with so much potential. He then turned his speech into a rallying cry, where he encouraged the people present alongside his entourage to rally against the Hogwarts headmaster.

And then if this interruption wasn’t bad enough, the ceremony got disrupted even further. Just after we placed the tombstone in the ground, we were attacked by Dumbledore and his supporters. Or rather Lord Voldemort was attacked, and we were seen as collateral damage. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how Dumbledore knew of the funeral – Sirius was fighting alongside the aged wizard, much to Walburga’s horror. I’d ended up having to apparate away with her, as she was too busy screaming at her son, to notice the curse flying in her direction. All of House Black had gotten out of the skirmish alive, however quite a few ended up with injuries. Cygnus, Pollux and Bellatrix had even had to go to St Mungo’s for treatment. Thankfully, not everyone in Dumbledore’s group lacked a heart, and Fabian Prewett, had apparated away with young Cassiopeia just as the skirmish began. He’d taken her to the Prewett Manor, and Lucretia had immediately taken her back to Grimmauld Place.

This attack left many in the family enraged, and I had to forbidthe elder Cassiopeia to retaliate against Dumbledore directly. We made a collective decision to disown him from the family. Walburga struck him from the tree herself. She also struck Alphard off the tree too, for the gold that he’d left Sirius after his passing. Now the real issue I have is to find an heir.

WILLIAM WEASLEY

“What a day!” Charlie exclaims to the group once they get back to the house.

Most of the group doesn’t respond to him, too tired to say anything. They’d had to hike back to the Burrow from Stoatshead Hill, and it wasn’t an easy trek. He was sure that most of the family were relieved that they were going down the hill instead of up it. Charlie was the one least affected but being as he worked with dragons for a living, it wasn’t surprising. Bill himself felt fine, but he couldn’t say the same for their mother, who’d ended up apparating back to the house with Percy when she’d tripped on a rock.

“I think you meant what a night.” George corrects.

“What?”

“He said, he thinks you meant to say, ‘what a night.’” Ginny says, rubbing a stitch on her side. “Because everything happened last night, not this morning.”

“If I meant to say what a night, then I would have said that.” Charlie mutters, scowling. “Besides, not everything happened last night – Narcissa Malfoy didn’t turn up to our tent til at least nine AM.”

“She didn’t seem as stuck up as she was at the match yesterday.” Harry notes.

“It’s harder for her to act so uptight when we saved her son.” Ron points out. “Did you see the relief on her face? She probably assumed that we were holding him captive.”

“Or starved him.” Fred says with a laugh.

"I liked Cassiopeia Black." Hermione said.

"She seemed cool." Ginny agreed.

Bill held the door open for all of them, and he hoped they didn't notice just how pleased he was by the girls' words.

Mum looks up from her seat at the table when they enter. There was a bandage wrapped around her ankle. “You’re back!” She says with a smile. “The mail’s already arrived – It’s on the table by there.” Percy reappears, placing a cup of tea in front of her. Charlie goes to make himself one.

“It doesn’t look very good Dad.” Percy says, motioning to the paper.

“Could you pass me it please Bill?” Dad asks. “Now I need to see what it says.”

“I knew it,” His father hisses, scanning through the pages. “Ministry blunders.” He read aloud. “Culprits not apprehended - Lax security! Dark wizards running unchecked, I call it a national disgrace! Who wrote this? Ah, of course – Rita Skeeter.”

Rita Skeeter was one of the Prophet’s main journalists, who had a nasty habit of writing articles that were more fiction than fact. She’d written an article about Gringotts's Curse-breaking division in Egypt in 1990 and had described him as a ‘long-haired pillock’ when she’d failed to understand the basics of charm breaking. He hadn’t liked her much since.

“That woman’s got it in for the Ministry!” Percy adds passionately. “Last week she was saying we’re wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn’t specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans that Creature Hunting is prohibited.”

“Now is not the time, Perce,” Bill said, trying to stop Percy from boring the rest of the house.

“But -”

“Shut it.” He was beginning to get a headache.

Percy glares at him but thankfully doesn’t say anything else.

“I’m mentioned,” Dad murmurs in surprise.

“Where?” Mum asks.

“Not by name. Listen to this: ‘If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.’ Oh really,”He handed the newspaper to Percy. “Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods – well, there certainly will be rumours now she’s printed that.” His father gave a sigh. “Molly, I’m going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over.”

“I’ll come with you, Father,” Percy says quickly, grabbing his coat. “Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person.”

“I don’t think Crouch would want a cauldron report right now, Perce.” Bill points out, but despite being within earshot, Percy acts like he hadn’t heard him.

“Holy sh*t!” Charlie shouts anda clanging sound rings out. Everyone turned to see him staring at a letter with wide eyes. His mug of tea was on the floor.

“You okay Charlie?” He asks.

“Rowan is dead.” Charlie says in disbelief.

“Rowan?” Percy asks.

“Rowan is dead.” The dragonkeeper repeats. “Rowan Khanna? Rowan is dead.”

“She was a Ravenclaw, wasn’t she?” He murmurs, faint memories playing in his head. “In your year. Who was friends with Skye and Ben –Used to always sit at the Gryffindor table?”

“They did. Rowan was more than friends with Ben too – they started dating a couple of years ago.” There’s a faraway look in Charlie’s eyes. “I wonder how Ben’s doing...”

“Perhaps we should go to our room?” He suggests, stepping forward, and grabbing Charlie by the arm, who doesn’t complain. They make their way to their room, and as soon as the door closes, Charlie sits down on his bed, looking lost.

“Sorry, I’ve never dealt with the deathof a friend before.” Charlie admits, his eyes looking very misty. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s fine.” Bill responds. “There’s no need to apologise – it’s understandable that you’re feeling lost and more than a little upset.”

“Did you know that they died on the 12th? I’ve only just found out.” His brother chuckles bitterly, and the tears begin to fall. “Some friend I am.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up on that. You aren’t in the same country as them.” He points out. “And they’ve only just written to you now – there was no way of you knowing, okay?” He pulls him into a hug. “You were a friend to Rowan,” he reassures, “you just drifted apart slightly, like most friends do. But no one is going to be upset with you for that, it’s just something that happens with life, especially when you’re young.”

For a few minutes Charlie cries, and Bill comforts him, reassuring him. After some encouragement, the dragonkeeper starts to share what he knew about Rowan, and though he choked through some of his recollections, eventually he was able to regain his composure.

“Sorry.” Charlie murmurs when he’d finished crying.

“Don’t apologise. I’ve already said it’s fine. Besides, it’s good to let it out.”

“They were just so young y’know. And so full of life whenever I spoke to them – it makes you wonder just how fragile life truly is. I wonder how Ben is...”

“Losing someone close to you is never easy.” He agrees. “Perhaps write a letter to Ben, offering your condolences? Just make sure to let him know that you’re there for him. And that if he needs anything, you’ll be there. Sometimes, that’s all someone who’s grieving needs to hear – that they have a support network they could turn to if they really need it.”

“I’ll get started on the letter.” Charlie decides, and turns around to look for a piece of parchment and a quill. “Though could you help me draft it? You’ve always had a way with words.”

About half an hour later, he heads back downstairs to find the living roomsignificantly emptier.

“Your father and brother went to the Ministry to help them out.” Mum explains as soon as he walks through the door. Sure enough, that was where both of their clock hands were pointing.

“I see – and where’s Ron and his friends?”

“In Ron’s room.” Ginny says.

Great. That meant that they were probably talking about Sirius Black again. He really needed to talk to them about that – but that could wait. For now, he felt a tad exhausted, so he made himselfa tea.

“Who wants to play Quidditch with me and Harry?” Ron asks, stepping into the room, Harry trailing behind him.

“I do!” The twins say immediately, both perking up.

“How about the girls play with you guys also?” He asks as Hermione joins them in the room.

She scrunches her nose. “I’m good – in fact, I think I’m going to go upstairs. Ginny? Are you coming with?”

“Sure!” Ginny says, getting up. He thinks he’s the only who notices her look at the fields outside longingly.

“So, it’s two v two?” Fred asks. Him and George grin at each other. “Wicked.”

Ron gives Bill a pleading look.

“Make it three v two.” Hedecides with a sigh. He didn’t hate Quidditch – if anything he was rather good at the sport. But it had always been Charlie’s thing, not his, and so he was more than a little rusty. He smiles at Harry and Ron. “It makessense to at least give you guys a chance.”

--

A few hours later, when everyone had sat down for dinner, Bill had to admit that the afternoon he’d had was one well spent. He, Ron and Harry had ended up winning until Charlie had started helping out the twins. Then, their team had won 30-10. Percy and Dad had come back too, so they had to eat outside in the garden again, but if he had to be honest, then he preferred eating in the garden anyway. Harry, Ron and Hermione were whispering away again, but this time he was too far away to hear what they were saying. It frustrated him, but he tried to not let it show as he talked to his parents about the school supplies his siblings would need for that year.

“And dress robes!” Mum says wearily. “Where are we going to find dress robes?”

“Why on earth do we need dress robes?” Fred asks.

“For an event of course.” She retorts sharply. “But that’s three – maybe even four sets of robes that we’ll need to pay for.”

“They aren’t cheap...” Dad sighs.

“Perhaps Charlie and I could get dress robes for the twins and Ron?” He suggests. “Have it be an early Yule present?”

“They’re much too expensive.” Mum refuses. “Besides, as it’s part of the uniform, they have to be in the boys’ trunks when they go off to Hogwarts.”

“Then at least let us pay for some of the costs for their robes.” Charlie insists. “Bill, don’t you have some old dress robes somewhere that Ron could borrow? He’s roughly the same height you were back then.”

He laughs nervously. “I damaged them ages ago.” Years ago, when he used to get sent to the Prewett Manor by his mother to drop off her presents for Ignatius and Lucretia Prewett, he’d decided to play a Quidditch match with Cassiopeia, who’d had to spend the holidays in their manor. Once the match had finished and he’d gotten home, his robes were ripped to shreds and he’d realised his mistake.

“Then it’s three sets of dress robes we need.” Charlie continues, undeterred. “Which isn’t a lot – Bill and I will sort it mum. Don’t worry.”

“Alright then,” Mum says, relenting. “Thank you, boys. It really means a lot to your father and I.”

“It’s fine mum – It gets the Yule presents out the way at least.”

--

Hours later, Harry, Ron and Hermione break away from the rest of family. Deciding that now was as good of an opportunity than ever, Bill decides to follow them upstairs.

He knocks on the door, and the conversation that the trio had been having stops. Because that wasn’t suspicious.

The door opens a crack, and Ron peers through. “Yes?”

“Can I talk toyou?” He asks.

“Sure.” Ron goes to step out of the room, but he raises a hand to stop him.

“All three of you.” He clarifies.

Ron opens the door wider, and he steps inside, smiling at both Harry and Hermione. He didn’t want them to be alarmed – all he wanted to do was figure out what was going on. The room was covered in various shades on orange, and there were several posters of Ron’s favourite team, the Chudley Cannons, plastered on the walls.

“What’s up Bill?” Ron asks, taking a seat next to Hermione.

He takes a seat on one of the opposing beds. “Well, first of all, I wanted to check how each of you were feeling? Last night was especially horrific for the three of you.”

“We’re fine.” Harry says, after a pause.

“Yeah, we just seem to have really bad luck.” Ron adds. “What with our track record.”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed.

“Track record?” He queries.

The trio look at each other.

“Did Charlie tell you about the dragon?” Ron asks tentatively.

“No. You found a dragon?”

“We didn’t.” Harry defends. “Hagrid did.”

The three of them then described their first year at Hogwarts, and Bill fought hard to maintain a calm expression. Every time he thought that it couldn’t get any worse, it did. A teacher tried to kill Harry – that was a new level of horrific.

“Have all your years at Hogwarts been like this?” He asked.

They looked at each other. “Pretty much?” Ron guesses. “I mean other than the House-elf trying to kill Harry, second year was alright.”

“Dobby wasn’t trying to kill me.” Harry defends. “He was only trying to seriously maim me so I wouldn’t go back to Hogwarts.”

“Same thing.” Ron mutters.

“And last year, if it went the same route the first two years did.” Bill theorises. “Then you would have had to deal with Sirius Black. I’m assuming that you met him, which is why you’re writing to him?”

The three stared at him in shock.

“That’s preposterous!” Ron says weakly, scrunching his nose. “Us writing Sirius Black? There’s no chance of that.”

He gives him a look, and his younger brother stops talking.

“You knew I was writing Sirius?” Harry asks, surprised. His gaze is wary.

“You three aren’t subtle.” He says with a sigh. “Should I be worried that you’re keeping in contact with someone who is reported to want to kill you?”

They hesitate, staring at him in suspicion.

“I just want to gain a better understanding, that’s all.” He reassures. “To see whether I need to be worried -”

“Sirius wouldn’t hurt me.” Harry insisted. “He’s innocent! He was framed.”

“He’s Harry’s godfather.” Hermione pointed out. “Which meant that he couldn’t hurt him, even if he wanted to.” At the other two’s quizzical look, she clarifies. “I read about it in Customs of the Wizarding World. There’s a ceremony that godparents have to perform, which prevents them from being able to harm their godchild. If they do, then –”

“Then the godparent dies.” Bill finishes. “I’m aware of the custom. But was the ceremony carried out? I know that Sirius Black was close with the Potters, but Harry was born in the middle of the war. Surely this would have come up in the trial?” He didn’t think it’d be particularly important, but wizard trials always had a diagnostic charm cast on the wizard, so that it was on record what rituals/bonds were there, and how it could affect the wizard’s ability to answer questions.

“But that’s it!” Hermione says triumphantly. “There was no trial! They assumed it was Sirius because they thought he was the Potters’ secret keeper.”

The Potters had used a fidelius charm? It made sense, but if Sirius was the secret keeper, then the evidence was pretty damning.

“But Sirius wasn’t the Secret Keeper either!” Harry says. “It was Peter Pettigrew!”

Bill’s head starts to hurt. Distantly, he remembered Cass walking around the Room of Requirement, raving about how her brother was framed.

(“It was Pettigrew!” She’d said, but her words were distorted. He wanted to remember more, but every time he tried to think about it, he hit a blank wall.)

“He framed Sirius!” Finished Ron.

“You don’t believe us.” Hermione said, dismayed.

Bill raised his hands in a placating gesture. "No, I do believe you. It's just a lot to take in. Pettigrew framing Sirius, secret keepers, and no trial? It's a mess."

Harry nodded. "It is, but we have evidence. We know Pettigrew is alive, and we know he betrayed my parents. We just need to find him and prove Sirius's innocence."

"Wait, hold on. How do you know he’s alive?” Bill asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.“Let me guess, you met him too?”

Ron starts to laugh. “Met him? Bill, he lived with us!”

“In Hogwarts?”

“No. He lived with us here at the Burrow – Pettigrew was an Animagus, Bill. A rat Animagus. He was Scabbers.”

Bill freezes. “He slept in your bed.” He says, a cold rage taking over him. “A grown man.”

He slept in Percy’s bed too. And Ginny’s. Merlin, he was sure Percy had even bathed with him sometimes. Surely, when this was discovered, they should have been told? And why was Pettigrew an illegal Animagus? It didn’t make sense.

He takes a deep breath to calm down, his mind racing. "Finding Pettigrew won't be easy. If he's been hiding all these years, he's probably skilled at it. And proving Sirius's innocence without a trial... it's going to be challenging."

Hermione, interjected, "We need to gather evidence, witnesses, anything that can vouch for Sirius's innocence. We'll need a strategy before we confront the Ministry."

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "I can help with that. I know a few contacts who might be able to provide information discreetly. But we need to be careful. If the Ministry catches wind of this, it could complicate things further." He pauses. “Do you have an address for Sirius Harry? I would like to write to him.” He wanted to ask the wizard why he was relying on kids to do this, instead of any former allies that might trust him. Wasn’t Tonks’ mother a lawyer even?

The trio look to each other. “We aren’t sure.” Hermione admits. “Somewhere that isn’there.”

“I’ve written to him though.” Harry adds. “So, he should get back to me soon. I can mention that you want to speak to him in the next letter? I don’t think he’d trust you if you wrote him outright. Sirius is a little jaded at the moment.”

Which was completely understandable, being as the fugitive had been in Azkaban for the last twelve years. “I’d appreciate that Harry, thank you. Now, I’m going back down to mine and Charlie’s room to try and get some sleep, but we’ll talk about this later and think of a better plan of action.”

The trio share another look.

“You aren’t going to tell us to not get involved?” Harry asked.

“Well, with what you guys seem to get up to each year, it feels a bit pointless to.” He admitted. “All I ask is that you keep me in the loop, so I know what’s going on. Send me a letter, or a patronus, I don’t care. I do care though about what happens to each of you.” He looks at Ron. “Especially you, Ron.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Ron mutters, his face turning red from embarrassment.

“Bill!” Harry called when he’d reached the door.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for what you did yesterday – if you hadn’t found us, then I don’t know what would have happened.”

“You’re welcome. Though it was Cassiopeia who insisted on finding you, not me.” As she’d nonsensically raved about a plot. “So, it’s her who you need to thank.”

“You still saved us.” Harry said firmly. “All of us too – not just Ron.”

“Of course, I did. Any friend of Ron’s is a friend of mine. And you know him – if I’d left you behind, he would have just ran right back!”

With that he leaves the room, his mind reeling at what he’d just been told. He needed to contact Sirius Black as soon as possible, and he had a potential way to contact him, but first, he needed privacy.

He opens the door to his and Charlie’s room to find it empty. He closes the door behind him and places a locking charm on it, so anyone wanting to enter would have to knock.

There were a few ways that he could reach out to Sirius Black. He could send Lugus, his owl, with a message, but as he didn’t know where the wizard currently was, it could be a few days or a few weeks before he got a response. Or he could try and use runic magic to reach out to the wizard, but he didn’t know whether anyone was with Sirius, and as he’d be using soul magic, it would be best to not get caught off-guard. Soul wounds were hard to explain – especially in a country like Britain, where runic magic was illegal.

His mind echoed with Cassiopeia's vehement distrust of Sirius. Her warnings resonated in his thoughts, a discordant symphony of caution. Yet, beneath the surface, a nagging curiosity drove him forward. He takes a deep breath, trying to anchor himself in the reality of the situation.

His Occamy patronus, a shimmering embodiment of his thoughts and intentions, spiralled to life. Its graceful form circled the room. “Tell Sirius Black that my name is Bill, I’m the brother of Harry’s friend Ron. I would like to speak to you whenever you have a moment, you can name the time and place.”

A torrent of thoughts raced through his mind – would Sirius believe him? Could he trust this man, who had spent twelve years in the darkest corners of Azkaban? Cassiopeia's warnings lingered, but so did the trio's conviction.

As the silvery serpent soared out of the room, Bill couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. The stakes were high, and he realised he had willingly stepped into a situation fraught with uncertainty. The path ahead seemed shrouded in shadows, and whether Sirius Black's response would bring clarity or chaos remained unknown. But if speaking to Sirius gave Bill more information about Peter Pettigrew... then it was worth it.

If indeed Pettigrew had been masquerading as Scabbers, his capture became an urgent priority. Scabbers had been there for countless Weasley family celebrations. More concernedly, he’d been there to eavesdrop on all of their discussions over the years. How many spells had this man learnt by eavesdropping on Bill, Charlie or Percy as they practiced? How much confidential information had Pettigrew absorbed about the Ministry from his parents’ private conversations?

What troubled Bill the most was the certainty that Pettigrew was privy to the Burrow's defence system. The Burrow, like other magical residences, was shielded by a unique barrier—an impenetrable fusion of blood, runic, and ancient magic. Conceived by his uncle Fabian and Sean Fawcett, the shield required shared blood to breach its protective confines. Disturbingly, Pettigrew had been present when Sean Fawcett had divulged this information to a young Bill several years before.

Considering Pettigrew’s knowledge, the biggest concern was evident. If he was in contact with anyone who’d been part of the death eater crowd yesterday (which is what he suspected,) then Pettigrew could disclose any of this information to them. He most likely already had. To breach the community’s shield, all someone needed to do was cast the imperius curse on one of the residents there, and with Pettigrew knowing that Harry was most likely at the Burrow – the paranoid part of him feared a potential attack.

Sean is coming back tomorrow, he reassured himself. He’ll know what to do.

He placed every protective charm he knew on the Burrow that night, even going as far as etch some runes in the ground. It wasn’t much, but it did offeran extra layer of protection, which gave them time. And time was all he needed.

Excerpt from the diary of Arcturus Black, dated January 1st , 1980

January 1st

Journal,

This morning, I found Cassiopeia staring at Sirius’ burnt mark on the tapestry, her eyes red. The air in the room seemed to carry a weight, laden with unspoken questions and unresolved conflicts. I watched her for a moment, a peculiar mixture of curiosity and concern clouding her features. It was clear that the family legacy weighed heavily on her mind.

As the silence stretched between us, I decided to break it, my voice cutting through the stillness of the room. "Cassiopeia, my dear, it is a painful mark, is it not? The disownment of Sirius. It was not an easy one, I assure you. Are you wondering why I made such a drastic choice?"

She turned to me, her eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions – defiance, uncertainty, and perhaps a glimmer of hope. I assume that she’d answer the question. Instead, she counters it with a question of her own. “I was wondering why you didn’t disown him sooner. When he left all those years ago.”

Her question was onethat lingered in the air, and she stares at me, silently urging me to shed light on the shadows that surrounded Sirius' departure.

"Sirius," I began, choosing my words carefully, "chose a different path. His defiance of tradition, his rejection of our values – it was a bitter pill for us allto swallow. But up until now, I had assumed that his disagreements had beenmerely a difference in opinion that had grown out of hand. His actions at Regulus’ funeral have shown me that it was not merely a matter of rebellion. It was a clash of ideologies, a conflict that reached its culmination in his departure."

Cassiopeia's gaze remained fixed on the tapestry, as if searching for answers woven into its intricate threads. "He sought a freedom beyond the constraints of our family's expectations, and to achieve that, he sold out our family secrets." I continued. "In doing so, he severed ties that had bound us for generations."

There was a pause, a pregnant silence that spoke volumes. "I loved him, Cassiopeia, as I love all my grandchildren," I confessed. "But the preservation of our family's legacy demanded tough choices. Sirius' actions, though fuelled by youthful rebellion, threatened the very foundation upon which House Black stands."

Cassiopeia's eyes met mine, a silent acknowledgement of the gravity of our family's history. "Grandfather, you've weathered the storms of our lineage with a resilience that few possess," she said, her tone a blend of admiration and frustration. "But can we truly break free from the shadows of the past? Can we redefine what it means to be a Black with the family expectations being what they are?"

I took a seat, gesturing for her to join me. As she settled in, I began to unravel my thoughts, my words carefully chosen. "Cassiopeia, the answer lies not in denying our heritage but in transcending it. We are not beholden to the mistakes of those who came before us. We have the power to forge a new legacy, one that reflects our values, our aspirations."

Her mother calls her downstairs and she leaves the room. Before she does so, she composes herself. Giving me a nod, she leaves the room. And in that moment, I glimpsed the potential for a new chapter, one that Cassiopeia herself could inscribe upon the ancient fabric of House Black.

--

END

Chapter 6: The Mastermind's Flaw

Chapter Text

The Mastermind's Flaw.

BARTY CROUCH JUNIOR

One thing that Barty didn’t miss about the good old days were the meetings. They were always long and tedious, and everyone there seemed to think that they were the most important person in the room. The truth of the matter was that they never were – it was always the Dark Lord who was, the sole person who never needed to boast of his accomplishments. Despite the thirteen years of imprisonment, he found that he disliked these meetings just as much as he used to. Perhaps he disliked them even more now. Before, he could at least complain about how boring the meetings were to Regulus. Now, all these meetings did was remind him of what he’d lost. And of how few of them were left. He couldn’t even share a long-suffering look with Bellatrix anymore.

What made things worse, was that he couldn’t even trust any of his new ‘allies’ to complain to. Pettigrew would rat him out to the Dark Lord the second he said anything, and the snake wouldn’t give him the time of day even if he wanted to speak to her. And don’t even get him started on the new recruits...

They were a quintet, from an organisation formerly known as 'R.' He wasn't sure how the Dark Lord had contacted them, but they seemed to think that their best course of action was to become Death Eaters. The Dark Lord said that these people were aiding their cause, but they never spoke to his Lord with the respect he deserved. If anything, they spoke to him as equals, which made the whole thing worse. They also seemed to have their own agenda, wanting to achieve immortality itself. They hadn't helped whatsoever since they'd arrived, even when that muggle had broken into the manor to eavesdrop on them. Yet his master hadn't questioned their aims once. No, instead, he seemed fit to question him instead.

"And why did you summon the Dark Mark, Barty?" His lord asks, his gaze piercing.

"I was about to be incapacitated my lord. I cast the Mark to catch my enemies off guard and create an opportunity for my escape."

Truth be told, he'd been caught up in the mania of the event. With the rioting crowd, he'd believed that there were more allies to their cause out there, more than he'd anticipated. He'd wanted to cast the Mark to show support and had even managed to get Potter’s wand to use, so that the wand couldn’t be traced. It was Weasley and Black that had ruined his plans, by appearing just as he he'd started to cast the spell. He should have killed them, hell he would have had it only been Weasley there, but upon seeing Cassiopeia Black, he'd held back. There was something in her spellcasting that reminded him of Bellatrix and for a moment he'd allowed himself to get caught up in memories of the past, seeing the fight as a training duel instead of an actual duel.

The Dark Lord nodded. “An understandable decision. Though we cannot afford such an incident to happen again. Not until I have regained my full power. The reason that I have delayed our meeting until now is that Nagini and I have been discussing a new plan to get Potter. One that involves infiltrating Hogwarts itself.”

His master explains to the group his plan, and though Barty thinks that it is a little far-fetched, he makes sure to not voice his thoughts aloud. Regardless of what he though, he’d still attempt to carry it out to the best of his abilities, even if he did doubt his own acting skills. Once his lord finishes explaining, the meeting is adjourned, and he breathes a sigh of relief, glad to not have to sit and listen anymore.

“Barty, please stay behind for a moment. Nagini and I would like to speak to you.”

Perhaps he spoke too soon.

“My lord?” He asks, once it was only the two of them in the room. Well, two of them and the snake, but he wasn’t counting the snake as a full person. Speaking of the snake, it slithered away to the edge of the room, as if it was looking out for any potential eavesdroppers.

“Barty, don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Do you still have that invisibility cloak?”

“I do, my lord.”

“Good, you will need that to take out Moody. I have two extra tasks that I require of you. The first is regarding our allies.”

For the first time since the meeting started, he perked up. “Do you want me to kill them, my lord? They don’t seem to be very loyal to our course.”

“No, of course not – they are valuable allies. I just need you to fetch a very important document from them. They will know what you’re talking about when you bring it up to them.”

“I will do that right away, my lord.” He says, quickly rising and leaving the room.

The new recruits are only a few rooms away, and he pauses outside the door, listening to the voices within.

“She needs to be dealt with.” Snyde says firmly. “The girl’s existence is a threat to our plans. We need to take her out now, before the war. We don't know what she knows.”

“She isn’t a threat, Thornie.” Rakepick replies. “And if we take her out now, then the wrong people will get suspicious – the last thing we want is for this war to start too early and our plans uncovered before they’ve even truly begun. Our best bet is to let things play out for now, and to help Riddle regain at least some of his former glory.”

“And if the girl tries to intervene?” Shiratori asks. "Verucca is right, we don't know how much she knows. What if she directly tries to interfere with our plans?"

“Then we deal with her. Once the war starts, I’m more than happy to go after her myself.” Rakepick decides. "I need the blood of an heir anyway, so it kills two birds with one stone."

Having heard enough of that conversation, Barty chooses that moment to knock.

“Come in!” Rakepick calls. She smiles when she sees him. “Ah, Barty, what do we owe the pleasure?”

“The Dark Lord has asked for a document that you have? He says it’s very important.”

“But you don’t think it is?” Peregrine Sallow asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what this document is – but if my master believes it is, then it is.”

“Well, it’s here.” Rakepick says, handing over a file titled ‘The study of immortality.’ “Here you go! Feel free to pop by anytime Barty, I do enjoy your presence.”

“What she means.” Snyde says dryly. “Is that she prefers your presence to Pettigrew’s.”

“I’d be offended if she didn’t.” He mutters, and leaves the room, ignoring the sounds of laughter behind him.

“Thank you, Barty,” his master says when he presents the documents to him.

“What was your second task, my lord?”

“When you infiltrate Hogwarts, I’ll need you to go and collect an item for me. It’s of the utmost importance.”

“Of course, my lord. What is this item?”

“I will tell you this closer to the time. Just promise that you will retrieve this item for me?”

“I promise.”

The Dark Lord beams at him. “Wonderful. I knew I could count on you Barty. You are dismissed.”

An excerpt from chapter 422 of ‘Quidditch Apex: Chronicles of Triumphs’, written by Cassiopeia Black.

The Final

In a grand stadium nestles amidst the picturesque hills of Dartmoor, fervent Quidditch enthusiasts from every corner of the globe gathered to witness the climax of magical sportsmanship. Wizards and witches, adorned in the vibrant colours of their nations, converged for the pinnacle of sporting competitions, the Quidditch World Cup. As the final showdown unfolded between Bulgaria and Ireland, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation, each team vying for supremacy on the enchanted pitch.

The match itself was a breathtaking display of skill and strategy, with players such as Viktor Krum, Bulgaria's Seeker, engaging in a riveting aerial duel against Ireland's prodigious Seeker, Aidan Lynch. Amidst thunderous cheers, the Quaffle darted through the air, showcasing the exceptional prowess of Chasers like Ireland's Troy and Mullet, while Bulgaria's Chasers, led by the formidable Levski, proved equally formidable. However, the most memorable moment came when Krum executed a daring Wronski Feint, stunning the crowd (and Lynch) with his audacious manoeuvre.

Ultimately, the final score of the Quidditch World Cup stood at 170-160, with Ireland emerging victorious by a narrow margin. Despite Bulgaria's valiant efforts, Ireland's skill and determination secured them the coveted trophy. However, the match's entertainment extended beyond the Quidditch pitch to the antics of each team's mascots. Notably, Bulgaria's troop of Veela drew attention with their captivating performances, both enchanting the crowd and the referee, Hassan Mostafa.

In a rare move only carried out once two centuries prior, Mostafa attempted to remove the Bulgarian mascots from the pitch. Similarly to the Rusalki in 1797, the match quickly descended into chaos as the Veela unleashed their fury, revealing the seldom-seen aggressive side of these mythical beings.

WILLIAM WEASLEY

When he was a child, Bill had hated mornings. Mornings were always much too bright, far too warm and too full of life with the rest of his family involved. He’d always preferred the evenings, where the the air was cool and refreshing. He’d often stay up just to get a glimpse of the night sky, where he’d get lost in trying to figure out which constellation was which. This activity helped him achieve an O in his Astronomy OWL, so it was beneficial, but it also gave him a moment to himself, something that he sorely needed. His mother had often found him asleep on the windowsill, his astronomy book in hand.

So, it was with a strange sort of irony that nowadays, mornings were his favourite time of day. Had anyone asked his mother who out of her children would be morning people, he was sure that her answer wouldn’t have been him.

He blamed the desert. During his first year in Egypt, he’d woken up early for one of his training lessons on charm breaking and had made his way to Gringotts to find a sunrise unlike no other. Despite having been around magic his whole life, it was still to this day one of the most magical things he ever saw. Ever since then, he’d woken up early enough to watch them, admiring the way that the sky seemed to paint the ground in its colours. Sunrises weren’t the same in Britain. This was something he’d quickly found out. So normally, though he could have if he wished, he didn’t wake up early enough to witness it.

Today though, he watches the sun rise over the Burrow, illuminating the building in all different shades of orange. After the sun rose, he gets ready for the day, tiptoeing past a sleeping Charlie to get to the bathroom. That was one of the perks about getting up early – no one else was ever awake at this time in the morning.

Once he gets himself ready for the day, he opens his copy of Notre Dame de Paris. Cass had sent him the book a week prior. He’d already finished the book a few days ago, so now he was going through all the notes that Cassiopeia had written in the margins. He couldn’t help but find her thoughts as fascinating the books itself. It was also a convenient way to pass the time.

(Poor Esmeralda, she'd written in the margins,she didn't asked to be lusted after.)

--

“Make sure you send the Fawcett’s our regards!” Mum calls out to Bill as he leaves the Burrow a few hours later. It was eleven AM now, and an acceptable time for him to be turning up on their doorstep.

“Will do!” He promises. As soon as he’d announced he was going to the Fawcett’s, she’d forced him to take a basket filled with half the things she’d baked the day prior. Normally, she’d have sent it via the Floo, but she’d argued that him personally bringing them over was a lot politer.

Every family there contributed to the Community in some way. His family, the Weasleys provided bread, milk and eggs. The Diggorys had been the ones who’d educated every child in the area, whilst the Fawcetts had handled the general security of the place. Finally, the Lovegoods provided every family with the potions they needed to maintain healthy households. It was a system that had developed during the war, as every family there (sans the Prewett brothers) had separated themselves from the majority of the Wizarding World, not wanting to get them or their growing families involved in the conflict.

The walk to the Fawcett’s didn’t take too long, only about forty-five minutes. During his walk, he takes the time to admire the plant life all around him. He couldn’t remember a time when there were this many flowers on either side of the pathway – perhaps one of the families went on a gardening spree once he’d left? Or perhaps they’d always been there, and he just hadn’t noticed it? Either theory was plausible.

As the flowers started to disappear, a stately building materialised, standing tall amidst the diminishing floral cascade. It was the Fawcett family home, known as the Barbican.

In Bill’s opinion, the Barbican stood as a testament to wizarding architecture. Its exterior, crafted from stones of varying colours, made it look like a tiny castle. It certainly looked nicer than the other wizarding houses nearby, though he knew that the owners of the house, Sean and Vanessa Fawcett, also built up the house from scratch.

He goes to knock on the door, but before his hand even makes contact, it swings wide open. Standing in the doorway was Sean’s daughter, Selene Fawcett, who looked far older than he remembered her being. She was the same age as the twins, and for a while, she’d gone to the Burrow constantly, alongside Cedric Diggory and Luna Lovegood. He hadn’t seen any of them visit once since he’d been back, so he could only assume that they’d all gone their separate ways, as most children did.

“I’ll see you later!” She calls, and her eyes go wide upon noticing him. She’d added blue highlights to her hair, which helped to make her stand out. “Bill?”

“Hi Selene.” He greets with a smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Is Sean in?”

“Yeah, Dad’s in the living room. He came back last night. I will warn you though – mum and him have been extra mushy since they got up this morning.” She pulled a face. “So, feel free to go on back to the Burrow if they become too much. Right then, I’ll be off.”

“I’ll keep that advice in mind. Where’re you headed?”

“The Forge. Ced and Luna want to re-enact the final to me.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how they are about Quidditch. I really should get going – oh wait, I forgot my bag. And my coat.” She stepped back inside, motioning for Bill to follow her. “Dad! You have a visitor!”

“Do I?” The familiar face of Sean Fawcett pops into view. Upon seeing him, his face lit up. “Bill!” He pulls him into a hug, clapping him on the back. “Merlin's beard, it feels like it's been ages, mate! How have you been?”

“It’s only been two weeks.” He points out. Sixteen days if they were being exact. “And I’m alright. Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if we could talk?”

“You aren’t bothering me – You know you’re always welcome here. Take a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?”

“Tea sounds perfect.” He steps into the living room, taking a seat on the worn-out sofa. Placed around the room were photos of the Fawcett's at various stages of their lives. There were some new photos added since the last time he’d been there, but it mostly looked the same.

As Sean disappeared into the kitchen, Selene reappeared in the hallway, grabbing her jacket from the hook. "Enjoy your visit, Bill. Try not to get too caught up in their lovey-dovey act."

“Ignore her, Bill.” Vanessa Fawcett says, stepping into view. “Selene doesn’t seem to understand that her parents missed each other.” Mrs Fawcett was the resident healer of the Community, and it often felt like there was nothing that she didn’t know how to fix.

“I understand that you two missed each other just fine.” Selene retorted. “I just don’t see why you needed to suck each other’s faces off to show that like a pair of teenagers. Bye!”

“Have fun with your friends!” Sean calls, coming back into the room with a tray of steaming mugs. He hands one over to him. “So, what brings you to our humble abode today?”

Bill took a sip of the tea, savouring the familiar taste. “I came to ask for help.”

“Regarding?” Sean and Vanessa take the seat opposite him.

“A potential security breach.”

“A security breach?” Vanessa asks. “Of where? The pyramids?”

“No. Of here. The Community.”

The couple share a look.

“Bill,” Sean says slowly. “You do know that we aren’t exactly hidden away, right? It’s not surprising that a few people who aren’t from here know where we live. I’m sure Harry Potter practically has the Burrow memorised.”

“We’re also not in the middle of a war.” Vanessa adds. “So, it’s not a worry if people remember where we live.”

“It is a worry if that person was a Death Eater.” He counters.

“The Death Eater movement is far too weak to do anything.” Vanessa dismissed. “And no unwelcome guests have entered the Community, have they Sean?”

“No.” Her husband confirmed. “If they had, then the sensors would have detected it.”

“If they were a wizard, sure. But would they flare up if the Death Eater was an animagus?”

Sean’s face turned thoughtful. “No, not if they were transformed. Who was the animagus?”

He hesitates, weighing up his options. The Golden Trio hadn’t told him to keep the information they told him secret, but he inferred that what they were telling him was a piece of information that they trusted only him with.

“I can’t tell you the name.” He says after a pause. “But Ron told me that Scabbers was an animagus. And Scabbers’ human self was a spy for You-Know-Who.”

The effect of his words is instantaneous. Vanessa lets out a gasp, putting her teacup down. Sean gives him a calculating look.

“Scabbers was an animagus?” The older wizard asked.

“Yes. And a Death Eater too.”

“How important was he in their chain of command?” Vanessa asked.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted. “But important enough to be a spy during the war.”

“Which means that he’ll know how to gather information.” Sean muttered, rising to his feet. “Right, then, there’s an easy way to solve the issue of our location. Bill, stand up. Now, have you ever performed a fidelius charm before?”

“I haven’t.” Bill murmurs, also standing. He’d read about the fidelius charm in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library years ago. It was a fascinating bit of magic, but it looked terribly complicated to carry out.

“Then today is your lucky day. Now hold out your hand.” When he does so, he clasps his hand in his. “And repeat after me: Custodire Arcanum.”

“Custodire Arcanum.” His hand pulses with magic, and a golden link between his and Sean’s joined hands start to form.

“Celare Veritatem.”

“Celare Veritatem.” Vanessa puts her hand on top of theirs, and it glows a beautiful shade of lavender.

“Abscondere Domum.”

“Abscondere Domum.” A brief golden flash crosses the room. With an aching hand, he let go. Looking down, he noticed a cut on his hand.

“It’ll heal on its own.” Sean reassures, massaging his own hand. “And good work Bill, you got the charm first time. For my first attempt, it took me about three tries to actually get the fidelius to work.”

“You’ve cast it before?” Looking down, he notices his wound starting to close up.

“During the war – Your Uncle Gideon was the Secret Keeper actually. Now, it’s me, so Scabbers won’t be able to tell anyone about the Community. Not even if he wanted to.”

Relief washes over him, and he gives the couple a grateful smile. “Thank you, Sean.”

“Anytime.” Sean says. “Though I do have a favour to ask.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve only been back for an evening, so please could you fill me in on the World Cup? Why was there a Dark Mark? Rita Skeeter isn’t exactly the most reliable of sources.”

“And I wasn’t there.” Vanessa added. “So, the only things we’ve heard about the cup are from Selene, who’d heard second hand accounts from Cedric and Luna, but both of them just sounded confused.”

Bill takes another sip of tea, his mind transitioning to the events at the Quidditch World Cup. “So, the World Cup.” He begins, choosing his words carefully. “It was chaos. Death Eaters, Dark Marks in the sky – the Ministry did try to contain it, but only one wizard managed to actually save those muggles that were being tortured.” His mind flashed back to Cassiopeia, and the determined expression on her pale face.

“A Death Eater went into the forest.” He continued. “Where they tried to kill Ron and his friends. I and one of my friends stepped in and saved them, but it was terrifying. It was like a nightmare come to life. He summoned the Dark Mark, and just like that, all of the Death Eaters vanished.”

The Fawcetts shared a look.

“I suppose one of the positives is,” Sean says after a pause. “That they fled as soon as they saw the Dark Mark. It means that You Know Who hasn’t risen from the dead or anything.”

“That is true.” Bill agreed. “But it still doesn’t answer the question as to who it was that tried to kill Ron and his friends. They were willing to kill innocent children – and that combined with Scabbers... It felt like a resurgence of the past.”

“Which is why you came here.” Sean finishes, nodding. “To stop Scabbers from using the information he’d learnt against us.”

“He knows that Harry Potter is a friend of the Weasleys.” Bill pointed out. “If he reported that to those Death Eaters, then without the Fidelius, they could just turn up on the Burrow’s doorstep.”

“If it helps,” Sean says. “I don’t think that Scabbers will be going to anyone. If he was a rat for twelve years, then chances are that there was no one for him to turn to. I doubt that’s changed.”

“So, you don’t think Scabbers had anything to do with those Death Eaters at the world cup?” He questioned.

“Honestly? I don’t think that the Death Eater attack had much planning behind it whatsoever. My theory is that a bunch of former Death Eaters got drunk and wanted to relive their glory days. Some just happened to be more competent than others.”

“And regardless of whether Scabbers had anything to do with it,” Vanessa says. “He’s dealt with now, so you don’t have to worry about him bringing an army to your doorstep.”

“Did you erase his memories of the Community?” He’d read that it was possible for the Secret Keeper to do so but had never seen it happen in person.

Sean smirks. “Something like that. Now why don’t we share one of the cakes your mother baked? Don’t think I didn’t notice your basket when you came in.”

--

Bill got back to the Burrow at around two pm, where he was greeted to the sound of laughing children. It looked like they were playing another Quidditch match. This time, it was a 2v2, where Harry and George played against Fred and Ron. He wasn’t sure who was winning. In the kitchen, his mother, Ginny and Hermione were making what looked to be some sort of stew.

“You’re back already?” Mum asked, looking up from the onions she was chopping.

“I was only popping to the other side of the hill.” He pointed out. “And I figured I’d bug Sean another time – him and Vanessa had clearly missed each other.”

“I’m not surprised – it's bad enough that your dad spends so long in the Ministry. I think I’d go mad if he worked halfway across the world for majority of the year. I don’t know how they do it.”

Through Runic Magic, that was what. But it was illegal, so he doesn’t say that out loud. Instead, he decides to focus on the missing person in the room. “Has Charlie left yet?”

“Not yet.” Charlie says, striding into the room, holding a backpack. “But I will be in about five minutes. You came just in the nick of time.”

“I’ll get the boys to come in and say goodbye.” Mum says, stepping outside.

“Do you have to go so soon?” Ginny asks, putting down the knife she was holding to hug Charlie. “Why can’t you stay for a few more days?”

“Sorry Gin, but I can’t - I’m busy. I’m going to Italy with Chiara’s family, then I have the funeral.”

“You’re going to Italy?” Hermione asks, putting down the onion she was peeling.

“Yeah, Chiara’s parents own a house in the Dolomites. I’m going there later today.” That was a lie. In reality, Charlie was going to his house in Romania, where he was going to help Chiara prepare for the coming full moon. His brother had already gone to Italy earlier in the month, but no one other than Bill knew this piece of information.

The boys step back inside, with Harry and George looking very pleased. He assumed that they won. They each say their goodbyes, and mum pulls Charlie into a very firm hug.

“You must come back again soon!” She said, tearing up. “And bring Chiara too! I want to get to know my future daughter in law better!”

“Alright!” Charlie says with a chuckle. “We’ll visit again mum, I swear!”

With that, she lets go, leaving Bill as the only one left to say his goodbyes.

“I’ll see you at Penny's wedding in October.” He says, pulling him into a hug. “Do you know where we’re supposed to meet everybody?”

“I think at the Chateau itself?” Charlie guessed. “Though our plan is to meet a few friends in Paris the night before. Peia owns a house there. At least that’s what Tonks said. She still needs to ask her if we can stay there though.”

“I’m sure she’ll say yes.” He reassures. “But you need to get going.” He points to the clock in the kitchen. Charlie pales.

“I only have twenty minutes!” With a hurried goodbye, Charlie grabs some floo powder and with a call of ‘the Ministry!’ disappears in green flames.

“It never gets easier. Watching him leave.” Mum says, wiping a tear from her eye and talking to both everyone and no one at the same time. “Still - at least he seems to be doing well.” She paused to give him a smile. “Both of you are. Though you’ve yet to bring a nice witch round for dinner Bill.”

Well technically, the witch he fancied ate breakfast with them not even two days prior, but he doesn’t say that aloud. He didn’t want his mother aware of his feelings towards Peia before she even knew herself. Besides, even if she saved Ron, he knew that Cassiopeia Black wasn’t someone who either of his parents would call a ‘nice’ witch.

“One day I will mum.” He promises with a small smile. “But I still need to meet that witch first.”

“But -”

“Shall we play another round of Quidditch?” George asks suddenly, cutting their mother off. He gives Bill a thumbs up behind her back.

“Hell no!” Ron and Fred yell in unison.

“How about we swap teams?” Harry suggests. “Me and Ron on one team and Fred and George on another.

“Harry, we’re going to get thrashed!” Ron hisses, paling.

“Why don’t I play with you two?” Ginny asks them. “Make it a bit fairer.”

Ron gives her a doubtful look. “But you’ve barely played Quidditch Gin. You’d be near useless.”

“That’s why I said I’d make it a bit fairer!” Ginny mutters with an eye roll. “Not that I’d make sure we’d win.”

Seizing the moment, Bill heads back on up to his room. Footsteps follow him.

“Yes?” He asks, turning around before he opened the door.

Hermione stood in front of her, looking distinctly uncertain. “Hi Bill. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course. What’s up?”

She looks around. Bill gets the sense that she was double checking that they were alone. “Well, it’s to do with what happened at the Cup. I was just wondering, is it normal?”

“Is what normal?”

“To feel scared.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s just – I know what spell that person was casting – they were trying to kill us! They would have if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“It’s completely normal.” He reassures. “And completely human. I’d honestly be worried if you weren’t a little fearful of what happened.”

“But that’s the thing! Ron and Harry aren’t! They’re completely fine!”

“And how do you know that?”

“I asked them! And they looked at me like I was crazy.”

“Did Ron’s nose scrunch up when he told you he was fine.”

“Yes?”

“Then that means he was lying. Chances are that he’s putting on a brave front for Harry, but he’s actually terrified.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” She lets out a nervous chuckle. “I was a bit worried, well, that my fear was a muggle thing.”

“A muggle thing?”

“Something that wizards didn’t possess.” She looks down to the floor. “Ever since I started at Hogwarts, I’ve found that even with the amount of time I spend at the library, there are things that I won’t be able to know about the wizarding world the way that the pureblood and half-blood wizards do. And there are things about the wizarding world that I feel far more fearful towards than my classmates do – so I assumed that my feelings were another one of these instances.” Her words came out in a rush, as if she wanted to say them as quickly as she could.

“To be honest Hermione, you’re constantly surrounded by Gryffindors, so I wouldn’t use them as an indicator to what’s normal in the wizarding world and what isn’t.” She lets out a snort at his words. “And the only difference between purebloods, half-bloods and muggle-borns when they start Hogwarts is exposure to the wizarding world. Something that you get with time.”

“But I don’t!” She exclaims. “This is the first summer that I’ve actually gone to a wizarding house. The only time I get to see the Wizarding world is when I either go off to Hogwarts, or go to get my school supplies at Diagon Alley. And the books advise I hang out more with my school friends, but...” Her face turns a dark shade of pink. “I don’t have any friends outside of Harry, Ginny and Ron.”

“Why not?” He asks. “You’re a bright girl Hermione, and you seem to be a supportive friend, I’m sure that there are a bunch of people in your year that admire you, even if you aren’t aware of it.”

“I doubt it. I don’t get along well with the girls in my dorm, who are all terrible gossips.” She says with a frown. “They seem far more interested in the next copy of witch’s weekly than they are in their grades, and have most likely spread a horrid rumour about me to the rest of the student population.”

“Rumours are just that, simply words.” He reassures. “Surely not everyone believes them – and Hogwarts isn’t only made up of Gryffindors either. Why don’t you befriend a few Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws? Or maybe even the odd Slytherin?”

“I think any Slytherin I’d talk to would be more likely to curse me than they were to respond.” She says, shaking her head. “Besides, befriending more people would mean leaving the library more often, which I can’t do if I want to keep my grades up.”

It took a moment for him to figure out a response to that. “Why don’t you sit with your classmates at the library then? I’m sure there’ll be at least one Ravenclaw also in the library.”

“Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein do like to go to the library often...” Hermione murmurs, a calculating glint in her eye. “Thank you, Bill!” With those words, she walks back down the corridor.

“Anytime.” He wasn’t sure if his advice was any good – the only girl he’d given advice to before was Ginny, and as someone who’d grown up around magic his whole life, he doubted he ever could fully understand Hermione’s struggles. At least she wouldn’t be thinking about the World Cup riot anymore.

He goes back into his room and to his book, trying to ignore the sounds of laughter outside. He scrolls through the book and sighs. Not for the first time he wished that Cassiopeia was there. She would have known what to say to Hermione – she'd always been good with giving advice to the younger kids.

A bright blue glow envelops the room, and he looks up to see a patronus. It was a dog patronus, but had he not given it a second glance, then he would have thought that it was a grim.

“William Weasley.” The voice that leaves the patronus is deep and raspy, as if it hadn’t been used for years. “Meet me at the Shrieking Shack on the 1st of September at 11:30. If you bring any aurors, rest assured that I will kill you – regardless of you being Ron’s brother.”

With those haunting words, the patronus dissipates. Bill stares at the now empty spot in the room, wondering not for the first time if he was making the right choice.

A letter from Cassiopeia Black to James Potter, dated 20th August 1976

Mr Potter,

Is Sirius ok? Reggie keeps telling me that he’s living with you now, but he isn’t saying anything else. Is Sirius happy at your house? Does he miss us? Don't tell anyone I wrote. Keep it secret. Please.

Cassiopeia

A letter from James Potter to Cassiopeia Black, dated 25th August 1976

Dear Little Peia,

Sirius is doing just fine. He really misses you, though. But sometimes, we have to go away for a while. I promise to keep our letters a secret if you include one of those lovely pictures you've been drawing in your next letter. Sirius keeps bringing them up, and it’s starting to annoy me. Are you doing okay? Oh, and you can call me James. Any friend of Sirius is a friend of mine, even if you're only two years old.

James

A letter from James Potter to Cassiopeia Black, dated 28th August 1976

Little Peia,

I don’t care how many letters you send telling me otherwise, in my head you’re two okay? Not four.

James

P.S. That howler wasn’t needed.

P.P.S. Neither was that letter to my mother. How do you even know her name?

A letter from Cassiopeia Black to Sirius Black, dated 16th May 1988

Sirius,

Please refrain from contacting me in the future. I will fulfil my obligation to cover your Azkaban fees, but beyond that, I wish to maintain no further correspondence.

Cassiopeia

CASSIOPEIA BLACK

The funeral of Frank Bryce was dismal affair. Peia was quite literally the only person who turned up. She didn’t turn up as herself of course – instead, she’d used Polyjuice potion to transform herself into one of the muggle townsfolk, who’d wandered to the outskirts of the village. The potion had the disadvantage of suppressing her magic, but she figured that with being in the same town as Riddle himself, it made sense for her to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

In truth, she wasn’t sure why she was even there. Maybe it was to do with some sort of sympathy for the man – he’d seemed like a decent person during their sole interaction. Or perhaps it was due to guilt? She had known his death was coming of course, and had done nothing to prevent it. Then again, what could she have done? It wasn’t like she could have apparated him away from Little Hangleton without breaking the statute of secrecy, and she would have drawn the attention of Riddle himself had she stepped in to save Frank Bryce at the last second.

No, there was nothing she could have done for Frank Bryce. Not if she wanted to keep her current bout of anonymity when it came to battling Voldemort. His funeral is a standard cremation, and as the only person in attendance, she advises the staff to scatter his ashes amongst the poppies outside. It seemed fitting, what with his status as a former soldier. An hour later, once the potion starts to wear off and she’s able to apparate home, she adds his name to the list of fallen soldiers. This was a list she’d started during the first war – and something that she was sure was going to have many more pages filled over the coming years.

(This was only the beginning, she told herself as she got changed from her funeral attire into something more casual. The war hasn’t even started yet.)

Hopefully she could help prevent the war from even happening in the first place, but with the number of things she still needed to do, she doubted that it was even possible. No, the best thing she could do was prepare for the war and do her best to end it as quickly as she could. What didn’t help though, was that her attempts at preparation seemed to be going horribly as of late.

Her attempts at learning Ominis’ self-proclaimed ‘Mage Sight,’ had gone horribly, leaving her with horrific migraines that only Wiggenweld potions could help. Her attempts at learning either Fiendfyre or the hom*orphus charm hadn’t gone much better, and she’d only just about avoided setting the flat on fire. She was aware that it had only been a couple of days since the World Cup, and so she couldn’t expect herself to know everything in such little time, but she couldn’t help but worry that she wouldn’t be ready in time.

“How was the funeral?” Regulus asks when she gets to the living room.

“Very lonely. I was the only guest. Is this a suitable outfit for the Tonkses?” She turns to face him so that he could get a good look at her. She was wearing a dress that she didn’t think looked extravagant, but it was always worth getting a second opinion.

“It’s the Tonkses,” Reggie says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you turned up wearing nothing but a towel.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” The last thing she wanted to do was turn up to Tonks Orchard and give them the impression that she was flaunting her wealth. Not when she needed their help.

He sighs. “You look fine, Peia. Stop worrying about your appearance – there are bigger things to worry about.”

“Like the future.” Ominis adds. “Speaking of, did you manage to place a sensor on Moody’s house? I imagine he’s going to be kidnapped any day now.”

“Something like that.” The truth was, she wasn’t able to get close enough to place anything on the ex-auror's house without an intruder alarm going off, so she’d sent Rook, one of the house-elves who worked at her library, to keep watch on his house from a distance. As soon as something happened, then he’d let her know, and she could try and stop Crouch from impersonating Mad Eye Moody. That would help derail Riddle’s plans somewhat.

Putting on a pair of earrings that the Tonkses had gotten her for her 17th birthday, she looks herself over in the mirror, ignoring Regulus’ complaints. Deeming herself ready, she grabs her purse and waves goodbye to the portraits.

“Ominis still can’t see.” Regulus pointed out.

Her cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Ah, right. Bye Ominis!”

“See you later.” Ominis replies, sounding amused.

With a wave of her wand, she apparates away. When she reappears, the familiar sight of Tonks Orchard comes into view. She’d barely knocked on the door when it swung wide open.

“Cassiopeia, dear, you're just in time,” Andromeda exclaimed, her smile radiant as she approached to embrace her. She pulls her into the living room, ushering Peia onto the sofa. “We've made stew.”

“Or rather, I’ve made some stew.” Ted says, stepping into view. He was wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron and the sight of it made her smile. “Hi Peia.”

(She has a distant memory of her father in her first life liking those sort of aprons, claiming that his goal in life was to embarrass her and her siblings every way he could.)

“Hi Andy, Ted. Well, regardless of who made it, it smells wonderful. Where’s Tonks?”

“Nymphadora had to stay on late at work.” Andromeda says, frowning. “She said it was to do with the World Cup.”

She felt a bit of relief at the news. She liked Tonks, don’t get her wrong, but no one managed to mess up her plans as much as Nymphadora Tonks did. It was like the auror had a sixth sense for figuring out when Peia was doing something to help prevent the plot.

“Well it’s not surprising.” Ted says loudly, stepping back into the kitchen. “With the amount of damage caused, I imagine everyone and their mothers are trying to get some sort of compensation.”

“None of you got hurt that night, did you?” She asked.

“No Peia, we were fine, if a little rattled. What about you?”

She decided not to bring up the fight she’d ended up getting involved in. “My tent was destroyed unfortunately. I’m not going to try and get compensation for it though – I'd prefer for that money to go to the people who need it.”

“Where did you end up sleeping?” Andy asked, looking concerned. “I imagine that the Malfoys were a little... busy. Did you go back to your flat?”

“I stayed in the Weasley’s tent instead.”

Andy looks at her in surprise. “I wasn’t aware that you were close to the Weasleys.”

“I’m not.” She quickly refutes. “I just helped a few of them out during the riot, so they offered me a place to stay.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Ted calls.

She took her usual place at the kitchen table – just opposite where Tonks usually sat, and smiled at the Tonks patriarch when he levitates the bowls of stew over. "Ted, this stew looks fantastic. You've outdone yourself," she remarked before taking a bite. "And it tastes even better than it looks."

"Don't go overboard with the compliments," Andy teased, a playful glint in her eyes betraying her stern tone. "We wouldn't want him to develop too big of an ego."

Ted chuckled. "Don’t worry Andy, the fact that I managed to marry you has given me one already."

With a laugh, the pair kiss. Peia decides to focus on finishing her stew, deciding that it was best to not say anything that would interrupt the moment. She privately hoped that in the event she survived the war long enough to get married, then she and her future spouse would have a relationship as healthy as the Tonks' seemed.

“So where did you help the Weasleys, Peia?” Andy asks, changing the topic. “What shenanigans did they get up to this time?”

“A couple of the rioters found Ron Weasley and his friends, so I and one of Ron’s brothers helped protect them.” She tries to keep her explanation as vague as possible so as not to alarm the Tonkses, but they still look at her in horror.

“I assume that’s all that we’re going to get from you?” Ted asks.

“What more is there to tell?” She counters. And wasn’t that the truth? There wasn’t any point in bringing up the past – not when everything had all been sorted anyway. If she admitted that she had been injured, then Ted would insist on checking up on her and he’d notice the migraines.

“I imagine a great deal,” Andy says with a sigh. “But we won’t push – I'm just glad you’re alright.”

“Though if you run into any sort of danger again,” Ted adds, “then do us a favour and find me afterwards – the worst type of injury is the one that no one notices until it’s too far gone. And I can keep a secret.”

“I’ll try to.” There was no point in trying to make a promise that she couldn’t keep, but her words seem to placate him.

“Please do,” Andy says. “Ever since that incident with Azkaban Peia, you’ve been more distant that usual.”

“I just have a lot on my mind these days.”

“Anything that we can help with?”

Seeing her opening, she takes it. “Perhaps. You know, I was wondering if you’d be able to help me out with a project I’ve been working on.”

“What is your project?” Andy asks.

“Well, it’s more of a theory than a project. You’ve both seen or experienced the discrimination against muggle-born wizards.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I believe you’ve also both heard the lies spread about by pureblood supremacists that muggle-borns have stolen their magic? Well, I want to disprove that misconception.”

“And how would you do that?” Ted asks, interested.

“Genealogy.” She answers. “It’s common knowledge that magic can only be inherited, not given or stolen, but I would like to go one step further. I would like to prove this. If I could trace different muggle-born wizards’ magical ancestry, then I could disprove that argument entirely. I don’t expect to trace every muggle-born wizard’s ancestry, but I’d like to trace back enough family trees to have proof.”

If her work towards the war went south, then several muggle-borns would at least have the documentation to prove that they did have magical ancestors. The muggle-born registration commission was one of the more horrifying things to come out of the Harry Potter series, and she wanted to help as many people as she could.

“So, you want to look at my family tree?” Ted asks after sharing a look with his wife.

“Yes, if possible. I was wondering if you’d be my first volunteer.”

“Of course I will, though Peia?”

“Yes?”

“A project like this – if the wrong people find out what you’re up to, then it could get you in serious trouble. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“I am aware of the risks.”

“What Ted means,” Andy interjects. “Is that as huge of a help this would be to muggle-borns, if it came out that you were the person conducting this research, then it’d be you who people would go after. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Suddenly nervous, she fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist. “I appreciate your concern, both of you, but it’s something that has needed to be proved for years. If there's even a chance that this project could make a difference, then it's a risk I'm willing to take." It was also a project that she needed to fully establish before Riddle’s rise to power, so that her application for clearance to the Ministry Archives wouldn’t be met with suspicion.

The pair exchange another look. "We understand, Peia," Ted says finally, his tone gentle but firm. "Just promise us that you'll be careful. Now, I’ll go get dessert."

"I promise," Peia assures them, a determined glint in her eyes. "And I'll make sure to take every precaution necessary to keep myself safe."

After that conversation, the rest of the evening was rather short-lived. Once she’d finished her generous helping of chocolate cake, she decided to make her exit. Both Ted and Andromeda hug her and make her promise to visit them soon. She apparates away just as the door opens. It looked like she got to avoid Tonks another day.

"You can't avoid Tonks forever, Cassiopeia," Regulus admonished from his place in the living room. "It's only a matter of time before you'll have to face her."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she dropped her bag by the door. "I know, Regulus," she replied wearily, "but I can at least buy myself a few days, can't I? My dinner at the Tonkses was a success by the way – I can finally start that genealogy project."

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to manage that on top of everything else? There’s a lot going on with you right now.” Reggie was giving her that look – the look she absolutely hated. It was the concerned older brother look that she wished he could give her in person.

“I have no choice but to manage it Reggie,” she says, placing her coat on the coat rack. “The longer we wait, the less prepared we’ll be when Riddle comes back.”

“Perhaps we could stop your mage sight lessons at the moment?” Ominis suggests. “So that you can focus on things less headache-inducing.”

“No, I need to learn it.” She insists. She barely had any sensory spells in her arsenal, which meant that she was susceptible to any sort of concealed witch or wizard she met outside of her house. She knew that she’d probably be safe during the first year of the wizarding war if she continued to work behind the scenes, but as soon as Riddle realised what she was doing...

If she couldn’t even sense when people were nearby, then she was just asking to be killed. Her gloves, as previous events had shown, couldn’t protect her from everything.

--

The next morning, Peia awoke with a massive headache and a lingering sense of fatigue. She’d convinced Ominis to give her another lesson on mage sight, so now she was suffering the consequences.A shower helped the ache somewhat, but she still felt rough. She supposed it was a testament to how bad she looked that neither Kreacher nor Regulus say anything to her when she passed by them in the living room.

She makes herself a cup of lavender tea. It was a strange flavour, but a calming one.

“Got much planned for today?” Regulus asks.

“A few things.” She answered, taking a sip of her tea. “You know me, Reg, I’m always doing something.”

“Why doesn’t Young Mistress rest for the day?” Kreacher asks, stepping forward. He looked up at her with eyes full of concern. “Kreacher can run her errands for her if she wished?”

A strange feeling blooms in her chest. She crouches down so that she was eye level with the house-elf.

“That’s very kind of you Kreacher, but I can do it. It’s fine. Don’t worry about little old me.” There’s a knock on the door. “Besides, it seems like the first of my plans is already here.”

“Young Mistress is far from old.” Kreacher mutters as she makes her way to the door.

She opens it and grins. Standing on the other side was Hestia Jones, clad in her hit witch robes.

(One of the many revelations Peia had gotten from her fight a few days prior, was that she needed more field experience. Which meant that she needed to participate in more duels. Due to her name, she couldn’t participate in any of the duelling competitions, but luckily, she had friends that were willing to spar with her. She was under no illusion that she could beat Hestia anytime soon, but the witch helped quicken her reaction speed, which is all she needed.)

“I bought breakfast,” Hestia says, stepping inside. Immediately, Regulus and Ominis disappear from their frames. Though Peia was legally allowed to have them there, she really didn’t want to explain why she had a portrait of her brother and Voldemort’s ancestor in her house.

Kreacher disappears as well – He was surprisingly anti-social for a house elf.

“What’d you get?” She asks, grabbing two plates from the cupboard and placing them on the table. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Bacon rolls from Morsel’s Bakery. I bought four of them, so eat up. I’ll have a gillywater if you have any.”

“I wasn’t aware Morsels sold any meat.” She places a bottle of gillywater in front of Hestia and takes her seat. Peia relishes in that small bit of rebelliousness she feels as she takes a bite out of her bacon roll.

(Growing up, she’d never been allowed things like these as she’d always had to ‘watch her figure.’ It was something that was completely stupid, but pureblood witch culture was very big on making sure girls didn’t ‘pig’ out. Even her Aunt Lucretia had followed that stupid culture. It was only in Hogwarts that she could what she liked, when she liked.)

“They don’t. Good old Marty just had some bacon leftover and asked if we wanted any. I assume I made the right call?”

“You absolutely did.” She says with a laugh. She eats the rest of her breakfast in silence, listening to Hestia’s description of her date with Ruby Honeysuckle, one of the other hit wizards in the department. The two had been sleeping with each other for years, but them dating was still relatively new.

“It sounds like you had a nice time at least.” She says once the hit witch had stopped talking. She wasn’t sure of what else to say really, relationships had never been her forte.

“I had more than a nice time, it was absolutely wonderful.” Hestia laughs. “But enough about me! What happened between you and Bill?”

“What do you mean?”

“Charlie told Chiara that you’ve been writingeach other?”

“I write to many people.” Peia murmurs. She was deflecting and they both knew it.

“Not so frequently. Charlie said that you two were writing daily?”

“It sounds like Charlie needs to mind his own business.” She mutters. “Yes, William and I have been writing each other. We bumped into each other at Diagon Alley a couple of weeks ago and decided to keep in touch. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I suppose it technically doesn’t. But it means something to you.” With her words, Hestia gives her a knowing look that she hates.

“It doesn’t matter.” She mutters, sounding just as bitter as she felt. “There is nothing going on. Now, shall we?”

There was no point thinking about romance, not when she had so much still to do.

Hestia sighs. “We’ll talk about this some other time Peia, but fine, let’s go.”

She apparates them to Whitby Manor, where the house-elves had already set up the training area. Located in the basem*nt, her uncle Cygnus had built the area to give his eldest daughter a place to hone her skills. With his death two years prior, the property had gone to her – and alongside it, all areas. She didn’t use the training area much, but with all that was going on, it was too good of a location to pass up.

They take their places, making sure to stand twenty feet apart. The usual distance for duels. They bow to each other, and ready their wands.

“Same rules as last time?” The hit witch asks.

“Of course.” She answers. Their rules were simple – no unforgiveables, no killing spells, no apparition and all spells cast had to be spoken aloud. It made the spells easier to anticipate.

Peia made the first move. “Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Confundo!”

Hestia deftly sidesteps the first two spells. "Protego!" she shouted, summoning a shield charm to block the third. But Peia was relentless, pressing forward with a rapid succession of cutting spells that found their mark despite Hestia's best efforts to evade them. With each impact, Hestia’s shield begins to crack.

"Sagitta Maxima!" Hestia calls out, dropping the shield and unleashing several silver arrows towards Peia, who managed to evade them by ducking to the side. One arrow grazed her arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Contego!" Peia counters, summoning a shield from the stone floor. It forms slower than expected, allowing another one of the arrows to graze her leg. “Oppugno!” She calls. The shield shatters, and she sends the rocks hurtling towards Hestia with a force that resembled small boulders.

Hestia dashes forward, weaving between the flying stones, but one struck her leg, causing her to falter. Realizing evasion was no longer an option, she focuses on offense. "Ventus!" The hit witch exclaimed, summoning a strong wind to blow away the remaining stones.

Peia takes advantage of her opponent’s distraction. “Ignis!” A burst of fire shot towards Hestia, which gets countered by a wave of water. “Vesiaalto!”

“Glacius Tria!” Peia has to concentrate, but the wave freezes before it falls. She starts to step away from the wave, trying to get out of reach.

"Caliventus!" Hestia commanded, sending a blast of hot air that melted the ice, allowing the wave to crash into Cassiopeia head-on. As shestruggled to recover, Hestia seized the opportunity to strike with a bolt of lightning. "Fulgur!"

She attempts to dodge, but the lightning strikes her foot, causing her body to convulse before collapsing to the ground, paralyzed.

With Peia incapacitated, Hestia wasted no time in securing her. “Floralis Vinculum!” The hit witch intoned, causing vines to sprout from the stone floor and bind her. “Expelliarmus!” Her wand falls out of her grasp, and into the hit witch’s outstretched hand.

“Finite Incantatum!” Once the lightning and the vines retreat, Peia sits up and with the help of Hestia’s outstretched hand, rises. “I win. That was a pretty cool match Peia.”

“I barely lasted five minutes.” Peia muttered with a scowl. In Hogwarts, her and Hestia could duel for hours before she lost. The difference between then and now was nothing short of depressing.

“But you managed to bruise me, that has to amount to something, right? Recuperare!” Hestia replied with a reassuring smile, her tone light. With a wave of the witch’s wand, the cuts on her arm and leg start to heal.

“It does. Are you ready for a round two?”

The witch tosses her wand back to her, laughing. “You know me so well, Black,” she teased, her eyes alight with anticipation.“Shall we?”

--

It was late afternoon by the time they finally called it a day. Peia had lost every one of her matches, but she found that she didn’t mind. Losing against Hestia, that was. If she’d lost a duelling match with a Hogwarts student then she imagined she’d be seething. By the end of the day, she’d been able to stand her ground for half an hour before the hit witch won, so she was counting that as a small victory.

“Same time next week?” Hestia asks once she’d apparated them both back to her flat.

“Of course.” She couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief at the question. If Hestia wanted to continue sparring with her regularly, then she could brush up her skills quicker rather than slower. It also meant that she didn’t need to find a new duelling partner anytime soon, which would have brought forth its own problems.

(Hestia at least, wouldn’t be suspicious of her wanting to fight. She also wouldn’t push Peia for information unless the situation called for it, something of which she was grateful for. It also didn’t hurt to keep Hestia close from now on. When the war began in the original plot, Hestia had joined the Order of the Phoenix. Though Peia wasn’t planning on joining them, she was sure that Hestia could provide her with support if she needed it.)

Pulling her into a hug, the hit witch bids her farewell before apparating away. Stepping into the kitchen, she downs another Wiggenweld potion. With the rate she was going through them, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had to make an impromptu trip to Diagon Alley in the next couple of days.

“Before you ask,” Ominis says, his voice more serious than usual, “I’m not giving you a mage sight lesson today.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to!” She exclaims, rolling her eyes. “If anything, my plan for this evening revolves around a nice bath and a good book. I have to be in top form tomorrow, don’t I?” She was going to try and visit all of the properties of House Black. Including Grimmauld Place, which she already knew was going to be challenging. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“Two owls arrived for Young Mistress Cassiopeia,” Kreacher says, appearing out of thin air. “Kreacher has their letters.” He hands them over to her.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” she says with a smile.

The first one was addressed to her, and she recognises Bill’s handwriting immediately. Putting the other letter down onto the kitchen table, she opens it quickly, trying not to think about the odd flutter in her chest.

--

Cass,

I’ve found that I’m starting to miss our constant correspondence. Charlie went home yesterday, and with his departure, I’ve lost the only other person in the house who understood how odd being back home feels. I’ve sent back to you your copy of Notre Dame De Paris, it’s in the storage rune below.

This may sound awfully ignorant of me, but are all muggle novels like that one? The book was dark, depressing and ultimately horrific, yet it was one of the most interesting things I think I’ve ever read. Equally as interesting were the notes that you wrote in the margins. Do you have any other recommendations?

Moving on from books, nothing much has really happened in the Burrow. One of my co-workers, Sean, has travelled back to the UK and lives nearby, so I’ve visited him and his family a couple of times. They are delightful company. For some reason, Ron’s friend Hermione, keeps asking me for helpto make more friends. I don’t think that I’m the best person to answer her questions, but I’ve been trying. Any advice?

Hoping to see you soon,

Bill

--

Cassiopeia's lips curled into a soft smile as she read Bill's letter, the warmth of his words bringing a sense of comfort amidst the quiet of her room. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured her teacup into a makeshift quill and inkwell, hastily scribbling out a response. It was a bit rushed, she admitted to herself, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't mind. She heads on up to her room, places the letter into an envelope, and attaches the letter to her owl, Morrigan, letting her fly out of her window.

“You had another letter.” Regulus says when she returns to the kitchen.

“I know that!” She mutters, picking it up. It was addressed to Elizabeth Smith, so it was presumably from someone on Celestina Warbeck’s team, which meant that a response could wait til morning. She opens regardless, wanting to see what the letter said.

--

Dear Miss Smith,

I hope this letter finds you well. My sons unfortunately burnt all the letters addressed to me over the last few days, so I do apologise for not responding sooner. I still would be delighted if you could join us for dinner at the Burrow today. We will be gathering around 6 o'clock in the evening, and I cannot think of a finer addition to our table than yourself. You will need to travel by floo to get here due to some protective enchantments we haven’t quite yet figured how to take down, but I will meet you in the living room and get you settled in.

There will be plenty of delicious homemade dishes, and I assure you, there will be no shortage of laughter and good cheer. Despite the horrific aftermath, I did deeply enjoy being at the final, and again, I must thank you for giving me the opportunity to spend such a monumental event with my family.

Yours sincerely,

Molly G Weasley

--

Peia stared at the letter in her hands. She thinks back to a few days prior when she’d received Mrs Weasley’s first invitation. It is then that she realises she didn’t actually write the Weasley matriarch a response.

She takes a look at the clock and blanches – it was five o’clock in the afternoon. Even the best owls in the country couldn’t get from London to Devon that quickly.

She supposed she could send a house-elf, but Kreacher would sulk if she didn’t send him and if she did, he would probably insult the whole family to the point where he got hexed. Not to mention, as soon as the Weasleys met Kreacher like they did in the original plot, they’d realise that it was her who’d sent the letters, causing more attention to her than she needed.

“Are you alright Peia?” Regulus asked.

“Not really, no.” She explained the situation to him. He gave her an unimpressed look.

“You don’t need to write back to her. Just don’t go.”

“I can’t do that!” She hisses. She absolutely could, but if she did, she was essentially cutting off any future ties with the Weasleys. In pureblood culture (and in pretty much every other culture) not turning up to something for no apparent reason was considered a slight against the entire family. Even if she pretended to not know pureblooded culture (which would be unconvincing given she had a ticket to the Top Box itself) it was still rude.

In most circ*mstances, she would have been unfazed by the prospect of appearing rude. After all, operating under a false name offered a degree of anonymity, and she had the means to handle any fallout should her true identity be revealed. But here, in the face of the Weasley's invitation, she found herself caring more than she expected.

She hesitated, her mind whirling with conflicting thoughts. She didn’t particularly relish the idea of interacting with the entire Weasley family, especially with Harry Potter among them. However, ignoring the invitation completely seemed unwise. If her identity as Elizabeth Smith were to ever come to light, she could risk losing the goodwill she had worked so hard to maintain with them.

“Don’t you think that you’re being dramatic?” Ominis asks when she voices her thoughts aloud. “Just fake a family emergency or something, say that it was last minute.”

The suggestion sparked an idea. If she could fabricate a convincing excuse and have Kreacher deliver it via owl, she could technically avoid ditching the Weasleys altogether. They were known for their Gryffindor hearts, after all, and might even be sympathetic to her supposed plight.

As she considers the plan, a nagging doubt crept into her mind. Bill Weasley knew that she was ‘Elizabeth Smith.’ He’d said that he’d keep her involvement in the matter a secret, but would he still do that when she didn’t show up?

She could almost envision the scene: Mrs. Weasley spending the day preparing a grand meal, only to be disappointed by her absence. Bill's reaction lingered in her thoughts—would he be angry? No, if anything, he’d just be disappointed.

And it’s that thought – not of the Weasleys or the dinner, but of Bill being disappointed in her, that spurs her into action.

“Kreacher!” She calls. The house-elf reappears immediately. “Yes, Young Mistress?”

“I need you to find the plainest witch you can find and bring me a hair from her.” She still had a vial of polyjuice potion from the day prior that she hadn’t used.

“As Young Mistress Cassiopeia commands.” Kreacher says, his voice taking a different tone. Was that pride she heard?

“So, you’re going?” Ominis asks.

“Yes - under Polyjuice of course. Figured that I might as well try and get into their good books.” She didn’t want to tell them the real reason behind her decision.

Though from his frown, she assumed that Regulus already knew.

“You already are in their good books Cassiopeia.” He sighs. “But do tell me how it goes? Sirius’ godspawn is there at the moment, isn’t he?”

“He is. He’s the spitting image of his father - ”

“Don’t bring up James Potter!” Regulus bellows, before his portrait disappears. Peia stares at his empty frame, surprised. They didn’t talk about the Marauders much, but both of them agreed that Sirius had loved James Potter more than he’d loved either one of them.

(Which was something that did sting for her. But for Regulus? He’d grown up with Sirius his whole life – and if even his portrait felt that slighted by the mere mention of James Potter, then she assumed that fact cut him deeply.)

“Here you are Young Mistress.” Kreacher says, reappearing with a single hair in his gnarled hand. “Where did Master Regulus go?”

“That was quick. Back to Grimmauld Place I imagine.” Grabbing that small vial of Polyjuice from her potion cabinet, she added the hair. The potion wouldn’t last too long – four hours at most, but it was long enough for her to get through a hearty meal. The hair dissolves in the liquid, transforming it into a murky, shimmering substance.

She downs the vial in one go. Almost immediately, a wave of dizziness washed over her as her features shifted and contorted, rearranging themselves to match those of the witch Kreacherhad chosen.

Once the transformation was complete, Cassiopeia glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Gone was her usual striking appearance, replaced instead by the unassuming face of the witch she had become. No one would suspect this witch of anything to do with the dark arts, so for the dinner, this face was perfect. This witch was also a similar build to her, which was perfect.

She picks out a dark burgundy dress to wear, remarking to herself that, other than the scarf Bill had bought her, it was probably the most Gryffindor-looking thing she owned. She chooses a pair of ruby earrings and a gold necklace to complete the look.

She does her make up – making sure that it isn’t too striking. This witch’s skin tone was a different one to her own, so she couldn’t use any foundation or concealer, but the red lipstick she had suited the witch perfectly.

Stepping back into the living room, she checks the time, noting that she only had five minutes left.

“I’d say you look wonderful,” Ominis says. “But unfortunately I’m lacking a certain thing called vision. Are you ready?”

“I’m as ready as I can be.” She murmurs. Perhaps she should just send that apology note? A flash of an upset Bill flashes through her head, and with a sigh, she steps forward, grabbing a nice bottle of elf-made wine. That wizard was going to be the death of her.

Before she steps into the fireplace, she gives one of her unopened lipsticks to Kreacher, ordering him to put it into the pocket of the witch she was impersonating. It really did look good on her.

The flames of the fireplace turn green. She grabs a handful of floo powder. “The Burrow!” She calls out, and the flames rise higher.

As she travels, a strange warmth envelops her body. She doesn’t have any time to ponder on the sensation though, as she reaches her destination.

Taking a step forward, she can’t help but stare at the Burrow’s living room. Somehow it looked both familiar and alien at the same time. It felt almost akin to visiting her favourite movie set, where it was somewhere that she’d constantly seen through a screen, but never in person.

Yet here it was. And it was real. She reaches over to grab a nearby chair. Definitely real. It looked like she was still a bit early, so she decides to stand next to the fire and wait. Pulling her hand back to move away, a flash of black catches her eye. She looks down at her hands, noticing the black nail polish.

Her disguise's nails had been plain.

Noticing a mirror nearby, she steps forward and looks at her reflection, almost dropping her wine in shock. Staring back at her was her own reflection, not that of the witch she was disguising herself as. This wasn’t the plan. She tries to apparate away, but some sort of outside force prevents her from doing so, and she ends up just tripping over herself. She notices the front door and steps towards it.

“I believe our guest is here! Hello Miss Smith!” Molly Weasley says from somewhere behind her. “I’m so glad that you could make it! I hope you didn’t have to travel too far - ”

Caught, Peia prays to whatever deity that existed that this meeting wouldn’t be too disastrous. Slowly, she turns around. As soon as she notices who she was, Mrs Weasley stops talking to look at her in surprise. The elder witch was wearing a dark blue dress, looking vastly different to the witch she'd encountered a few days prior.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“You have a lovely home.” Peia says, trying to appear more confident than she felt. “I believe I ended up here by accident. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Mrs Weasley asks before she’d even taken a step towards the fireplace. "You're the one who sent us the extra ticket, aren’t you?"

“I didn’t want you to miss out.” She admits, her voice barely above a whisper. In her head, she was screaming every swear word she knew. “It didn’t feel fair.”

Molly Weasley’s expression softened, and a warm smile spread across her face. “Well, it was a lovely gesture my dear. Now, because of how many of us there are, we’ll be eating in the garden. I’ll show you the way.” Before Peia says anything, she takes her arm in hers, and gently guides her through the kitchen, placing the elf-made wine on the kitchen counter, and out the back door.

Outside, the Weasley clan all sat around the table, arguing, chatting, and just being a regular family. They all pause when they notice them. Disappointed, she notices that Bill isn’t with them. Percy waves, looking up from his book. She gives a small wave back.

“I suspected we’d see you here.” Arthur Weasley says, rising from his seat. To her surprise, he walks over and shakes her hand. “Thank you, Miss Black for saving Ron. Thank you.”

“It’s not me you need to thank.” She murmurs, dazed. It was Bill who’d noticed those figures. And the only reason they’d found the children was because of Bill too.

“Well, we can thank you for the extra ticket at least.” Mr Weasley says with a chuckle. “Now, I do hope you like roast dinner – Molly's really outdone herself.”

Both the eldest Weasleys guide her to a seat at the head of the table. She assumed that it was a seat reserved for the guest of honour. On her left was Mrs Weasley, who with a flourish of her wand, uncovers the food for everyone to help themselves to. On her right was one of the Weasley twins, who gives her a warm smile.

“I don’t think I’ve had a proper homemade roast dinner before.” She admits out loud. The problem with roast dinner, was that you couldn’t just make it for one person, so in her days of sneaking to the Hogwarts kitchens, she’d never made it. And every time she remembered eating a roast dinner, the food had been prepared by the house-elves.

“Then I’ll make sure you have a bit of everything dear.” Mrs Weasley decides, piling up Peia’s plate for her.

It was with that admission that the conversation around the table starts up again, making the atmosphere just that little bit more normal. Slowly, Peia starts to feel a bit more at ease. She thanks Mrs Weasley and tucks in. The witch really was a good cook.

“How could you never have had a homemade roast dinner?” Hermione Granger asks once everyone had tucked in.

Immediately, she feels herself tense back up again. “My mother didn’t like cooking.” She murmurs. “Neither did my father for that matter.”

“Did Sirius like to cook?” Harry Potter asks, and all conversations at the table cease.

“No.” She takes a sip of her wine, feeling like she’d need it. “James Potter did though.” She says before she can help herself.

“You knew my father?” Harry shared a look with the Weasley twin sitting next to her, and they swap seats. He looked at her with hopeful eyes, and she finds herself feeling more and more uncomfortable.

(“My name is James, okay? James! Tell you what little Peia, you say my name and I’ll give you a treat!”

“Woof!” She says instead.

Sirius cackles, his laugh filling the room. “I think she’s calling you a dog, Jamie!”

“Shut up!” James hisses, punching Sirius on the arm. He smiles at her. “You’ll say my name eventually, I’m sure of it!”

You’re going to die in 1981, she tries to say. All she can get out is the ‘one.’)

“I did.” She confirms. “A very long time ago. I’m sure Remus Lupin could tell you much more about him than I could.”

“He never told me he liked to cook. Did you know Professor Lupin too?”

“I met him once. Sirius snuck all his friends into the house December of 1975.” She frowns, scrunching her nose. “Out of all of Sirius’ friends, I saw the James the most.”

“Is it because he was best friends with Sirius?” Harry asked.

“It was because he was the only one of Sirius’ friends who mother and father saw as ‘good company.’ Every holiday my brother spent in our house; James Potter visited the house at least twice. It used to drive Reggie crazy.”

“What did you think of him?” Harry asked. “Of my father?” It felt like a test.

With a sigh, she decides to be honest. “When I first met him, I thought he was an idiot.” She says truthfully. Further down the table, one of the Weasley twins starts laughing.

“My dad wasn’t stupid!” Harry says, offended.

“When I remember first meeting him, he was thirteen and seemed to think he was talking to a dog instead of a child. He used to offer me treats if I did something, and I’d bark at him.” She smiles at the memory. “Sirius used to say that I was imitating our mother. As soon as James realised I was capable of conversation, then he was alright.”

Harry laughs. “Do you have any other stories about my father?”

“James was kind too.” She murmurs. “Sirius ran away from home to live with the Potters. I wrote to them to ask how Sirius was for a couple of years afterwards. Every time I wrote, James would respond and give me updates in exchange for one of my drawings.” She pauses. “I could give you the letters if you’d like, Harry?”

“Yes please.” Harry says immediately.

She reaches into her purse and pulls out a copy of the Prophet, figuring that she didn't need to read it today.

"Transitum!" With a nod, Peia casts a switching spell on the paper, picturing her desired object. It wasn't hard for her to picture where the letters she'd written to James Potter were - they were all in her room at Grimmauld Place collecting dust. She'd bound them together years ago, having always planned on giving them to Harry as a way to get him to trust her. She hadn’t expected on giving them over as early as she was though.

Harry takes the package, opening it extremely carefully, as if the item would crumble into dust if he didn't treat it with the utmost care. He reads through the letters quickly, with a hunger in his eyes that made her heart ache.

She should have warned James, she thinks for not the first time. Had she warned James, then he and Lily Potter would still be alive. And Sirius would have been free.

Would Sirius have sought her out if he'd had the chance to? Or would he have played happy families with the Potters again, pretending that she didn't exist. Did she even want to know the answer to that question?

(That was the worst part about knowing the future - the guilt. Realistically she knew she couldn't have done anything during the first war, she was only nine by the time it ended. Yet, she still felt like she could have done more. Even if they most likely wouldn't have believed her, there was always that nagging thought that she still should have tried. If she had, then maybe Harry Potter wouldn't look so hopeful at a mere bundle of letters, eager to get something of his father's.)

“Thank you.” Mrs Weasley whispers, giving her a warm smile that she felt she absolutely did not deserve.

The conversations around the table resume, and Peia uses the time to finish her food, listening tothe conversations around her.

“Congratulations on being the official historian for the tournament by the way.” Mr Weasley says.

“Thank you.” She wasn’t aware that was public knowledge yet. “I’m just glad Rita Skeeter didn’t get the job.”

“As am I,” Mr Weasley agreed.

“I do have to ask,” One of the Weasley twins – she thinks that it was Fred say. “How on earth did you manage to pass a History of Magic NEWT? Or even an OWL? With Binns as a teacher?”

“I did a lot of self-studying.” She admits. “Plus, I used to get quizzed on it a lot.” Bill and her had needed fairly similar qualifications, so it had made sense. During seventh year, she’d ended up using the time turner she’d had for her extra lessons much more, to the point where she was pretty sure there’d been seven versions of her running around.

“I’m still surprised you didn’t become a curse-breaker.” Percy says. “Bill was always convinced you’d become one.”

“He was?” That was news to her. “I did consider it, but my grandfather told me to choose something else, so that was that. I would love to go to somewhere like Egypt though – the sheer length of magical history there is nothing short of phenomenal. What was it like when you guys went there?”

The rest of the dinner went swimmingly. After a couple more bouts of awkward conversation, Peia found herself feeling a tad more at ease. The younger Weasleys were fairly easy to talk to – all they did really was ask her about her days at Hogwarts. Stories that she had more than enough of. At one point Harry goes back to his friends, swapping back with the Weasley twin who she suspected was George. Percy brings up his cauldron standardisation project, and she promises to send a book that book over from the Black library on the international history of cauldron legislation. It was after dessert – a beautiful trifle that tasted as good as it looked, that she decided to leave.

Everyone in the Weasley family warmly bid her farewell. Mrs Weasley offers to walk her to the fireplace, but she refuses, and tells the family to continue enjoying their dessert. Pausing for a moment to appreciate the Burrow’s impressive architecture, she goes through the back door, closing it behind her.

As soon as the back door closes, the front one opens, and Bill Weasley steps through. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away.

“Cass?” He asked incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“The one and only.” She murmurs. “Your mother invited Elizabeth Smith to dinner. I figured I’d be polite and turn up.”

“Undisguised?”

“Would you judge me if I admitted I may or may not have turned up to the Burrow in Polyjuice?”

He laughed. “Absolutely not. It’s exactly what I would have done. I’m assuming the Polyjuice burnt away in the floo? Sorry, that was my fault – I placed a few anti-concealment charms on the house the other day.”

Ah, that made sense. “It’s fine. The dinner was nice. I did miss your presence though.” She admitted, fiddling with her necklace.

“Well, how about I promise to be at the next one?” He offers.

“Who said there was going to be a next one?”

“It’s my mother – she’ll probably get you back in this house eventually. But it’s fine – next time she asks you to come to the Burrow for dinner, I promise to be there to fend off the crazy questions my siblings inevitably will ask.”

“My hero,” she murmurs with a soft smile. He takes a step closer, and Peia’s all too aware that it was just the two of them here.

“Bill, is that you?” Mrs Weasley asks, opening the back door.

Immediately, the moment’s broken.

“Yeah. I’ll be out in a moment!” Bill calls, and the back door closes again.

“I should probably go.” She says, stepping towards the fireplace.

“Wait, Cass?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you free tomorrow? Tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’ll probably be free in the evening. Why?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to go out for that drink? There’s a co*cktail bar in the village near here that I thought you’d probably like.”

Now this is the part where she should say no. Nothing good could come from this, and her schedule was pretty packed with her preparation for the plot. What was going on between her and Bill would disappear in less than a year anyway, when he’d meet Fleur Delacour and fall head over heels for her. It was one of those fixed points in the plot, wasn't it?

“Yes!” She says instead, caught up in the moment. “I mean, sure!”

He grins. “Great! I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Would outside the Leaky Cauldron be a good place to meet?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She murmurs, her voice barely louder than a whisper. In her head, her mind was screaming. He watches her as she steps into the fireplace and calls out her address.

She walks to her bedroom in a daze, ignoring both Kreacher’s and Ominis’ questions. What on earth had she just done?

Chapter 7: Hand-holding with a healthy dose of screaming

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 - Hand-holding with a healthy dose of screaming

PENELOPE CLEARWATER

Penelope had to say that out of all the jobs she’d gone through, her job at the Rubyvale hotel was easily the worst one she’d had. From the long working hours to the entitled guests she had to deal with on a daily basis, everything about it she hated. Not to mention that it was a job in the muggle world, something that brought forth new struggles. Struggles that she hadn’t even thought was possible.

It turned out that magic and technology really didn’t get along. This was something that she’d been taught during her days at Hogwarts, but it wasn’t until she’d accidentally broken her second computer by touching it that she understood. As a result, now she wore gloves every time she went to work. Which, bring the middle of summer, drew her some very strange looks. It was no wonder why most wizards never lived in the muggle world.

Truth be told, if she hadn’t signed a year's lease on her flat, then she would have quit the job after her first day. But unfortunately, she had, so here she was, stuck in Dover, trying to make enough money for her bills.

(She’d wanted to experience muggle life again for a year, having felt that Hogwarts had separated her from her roots. Percy Weasley had told her that she’d hate it, but she hadn’t listened, having assumed he was spewing all that anti-muggle rhetoric that got shoved down their throats in the Wizarding World. The muggle world wasn’t inferior, it was just different.)

And her flat wasn’t terrible. It was a place that she could live in by herself, so it ticked all her boxes. She’d set up a wardstone too, and though it wasn’t terribly advanced (they only taught the basics in the Study of Ancient Runes) it was good enough to prevent any intruders from breaking into her home. She definitely preferred it to the hotel.

“Name?” She asks the arriving guests, a family of four. She checks them in with barely contained boredom. In her head, she counts down the hours until the end of her shift.

A hum sounds out from next to her. She rolls her eyes. That was another thing she hated about her workplace – her co-workers. All of them were extremely dull and not ones for conversation. Or rather, conversations with her. Especially the co-worker she had on with her today, a spineless girl her age who would not stop staring at her.

A sigh sounds out from next to her.

Penelope groans aloud. “What?” She asks, turning around.

Her co-worker, Audrey Cracknell, jumps and stares at her with wide eyes. “Yes?”

“What is it that you want to say? You’ve been sighing and staring at me since our shift started.”

“I have?”

“Yes, you have. Now what is it? Spill it out.”

Audrey hums again. Penelope wants to hit her. “I wanted to talk to you if possible?”

Another family walks in. She checks them in as quickly as she could. “About?” She asks once they’d walked away.

“About the last shift we worked together. On the 19th?”

Oh right, the late-early shift she’d done as a favour to Cassiopeia Black, one of the witches she was glad to call a friend. “What about it?”

Audrey moves her chair, so they were right next to each other. Her next words were barely louder than a whisper. “I saw you, Penelope.”

“You saw me...?” They get interrupted again. This time, by a couple that made Penelope’s mood sour even further. The man’s red hair reminded her of Percy, and she really didn’t want to think about him. Not when she’d just stopped.

“I saw you mess with those guests' minds.” Audrey’s words came out so quickly that it takes a moment for Pen to process what had just been said. “Like a telepath.”

Well, this shift suddenly got interesting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says, deciding that denial was the best course of action. Audrey was a meek girl, hopefully she’d back off. Though that did beg the question, how on earth had the woman seen her obliviate those muggles? She’d made sure to cast muggle repellent charms outside each door, lest any housekeeper had decided to enter.

“I think you know exactly what I’m on about.” Audrey murmurs. Though she looked panicked, her words were firm. “You waved a strange stick at them and stunned them. Then you threw something at them and made them disappear. I saw it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Audrey scoffs. “I know what I saw.”

A familiar ‘pop’ from outside made Penelope pause. That was the sound of apparition. Outside the door, a couple of people appear. Both were wearing bright red robes.

They were auror robes, her mind offers.

“And they just appeared.” Audrey whispers. “I saw that too.”

“If you know what’s best for you, then you didn’t.” She leans forward, making eye contact. “You didn’t see anything, got it?”

After staring at her for a moment, Audrey nods. Though Pen is panicked, she forces herself to look disinterested as the aurors walk through the door. She doesn’t recognise them.

“Good evening, welcome to the Rubyvale hotel, how can I help?” She says, a false smile on her lips.

“Why yes you could.” The female auror says, glancing at Audrey. “I’m officer Proudfoot, that’s my colleague officer Savage, we were wondering if we could speak to you for a moment Miss Clearwater? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” Penelope says, rising. She follows Proudfoot to the outside of the building, feeling panicked with each step. “How on earth did you figure out I was the witch?” She asked once they were outside.

“You had to register your place with the Ministry, didn’t you?” Savage replies. “We did see that on your record.”

“Alongside a picture.” Proudfoot adds. “So, we already knew what you looked like. What caused you to want to live here of all places? I’ve seen your grades; you easily could have gotten a job in the Ministry.”

“I wanted to experience the muggle world for a bit. Get to immerse myself back into the culture.”

Though the wizard clearly doesn’t understand her reasoning, Savage continues. “Alright. Well, we won’t keep you long. Essentially, a few nights ago, this area flagged up from a sudden emergence of magical activity. An old thing, being as there is only one registered witch in the general area, which is yourself. Have you cast the Portus charm in the last few days?”

“I haven’t.” Her spells wouldn’t flag up on the Ministry’s radar. Not since she’d come of age. The only way it would come to light that she’d used magic would be in the event of a muggle telling the world what she did, but other than Audrey, she assumed no one else knew.

“May we take a look at your wand, just to verify your statement?” Proudfoot asks.

“Of course.” Knowing she hadn’t cast the spell anytime recently, she hands her wand over.

Savage points his wand at hers, which lights up blue. Then he hands the wand back. “Thank you. And were you working here on the evening of the 18th?”

“Yes. I got stuck with the late shift.”

Proudfoot nods and writes something down. “If it helps, it meant that you missed out on all the mayhem from the World Cup. Alright then, I think we can write this off as a rogue Diricawl. What do you think Colin?”

“It seems like it.” He smiled at her. “Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Clearwater. Hope you have a lovely day.”

“You as well.”

They look around. Upon noticing no one approaching or leaving the hotel, with a wave of their wands, they apparate away. Penelope breathes a sigh of relief.

(Cassiopeia had warned her that she may be questioned, so she had prepared for it, but she hadn’t expected for it to actually happen. It was a good thing she’d destroyed the portkeys the first chance she got. Otherwise, they would have traced it, and that wouldn’t have gone well.)

She steps back into the hotel and pauses, because her co-worker isn’t there. Something starts to rush at her from the corner of her eye and without thinking, she conjures a shield.

Audrey, who is fiercely holding an umbrella from lost property, blinks. “You can make shields too?”

“Why are you holding that umbrella like it’s a weapon?” She chooses to ask instead.

“Because it was going to be? I couldn’t find anything better and well, thought you needed help.”

“I needed help?” For the second time that shift, Penelope was confused.

“Against those ‘officers?’ Honestly, they could have come up with a better disguise!”

She feels oddly touched. “You were going to help me against the aurors? I didn’t think we were friends.” She hadn’t gone out of her way to befriend anyone there.

“Of course I was!” Audrey exclaims, her voice far more confident than it had been all day. “You are my co-worker! And, well, we all thought you were a bit odd, but it makes sense now, considering that you’re an alien.”

Before she can help it, Penelope lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I’m not an alien.”

“Then what are you?” Her co-worker's voice softens. “I won’t freak out, I promise.”

It wouldn’t be hard to erase Audrey’s memories – her wand was even in her hand already. But there was one thing that made her pause. How on earth had her colleague managed to walk past the muggle repellent charms in the first place? Could she be a squib? If that was the case, then telling her something wouldn’t violate the Statute of Secrecy. And if even if she did obliviate her, what’s to say that this situation wouldn’t happen again?

She sighs. “Take a seat Audrey, you’ll need it. I’m a witch.”

With those words, she carries on, trying to keep her explanation to the bare minimum. This shift had certainly proved to be interesting, though whether that was good or bad? Time would tell.

Letter from Nymphadora Tonks to Andromeda Tonks, dated 1st March 1985

Mum,

Hope everything is well! How’s dad? I’m doing well in Hogwarts mum, though I think I’ve gotten on the bad side of Professor Snape. Don’t believe anything he says, I haven’t been misbehaving in class, promise! Charlie and I are doing well in Herbology – Professor Sprout even said that we’re on track to get an O. Can you imagine mum, me, with an O? A miracle indeed.

Speaking of miracles, I wanted to tell you about something that happened. Some Slytherins were picking on Penny, so I tried to stop them, but then they turned on me instead. They were saying all sorts of stuff about you and dad and laughed at Penny when she threatened to get Professor Sprout. I went to punch one of them, but before I could, Cassiopeia Black appeared and got them to back off. You should have seen it mum – a second year telling off a bunch of fourth years, it was glorious! She got them to apologise too, and then afterwards spoke to me and Penny, asking us about how we found Hogwarts. She walked us to the Great Hall and told me to seek her out if anyone else gave me any trouble. I know that you said not to interact with her, but she was really nice. She has a great sense of humour too - I saw her laughing at one of the pranks I pulled with Charlie yesterday.

I’ll see you at Easter – hope you haven’t forgotten I’m coming home!

Love,

Dora

CASSIOPEIA BLACK

Upon returning home from the Burrow last night, Peia had spent the evening in a bit of a daze, shocked by the day’s events. She’d gone to bed lost in thought. And upon waking up, her thoughts were no different.

Going on a date with Bill Weasley would be a mistake. Despite recent events, she was still trying to keep a low profile so that she could continue her plans in secret. If a relationship between the two of them ever went public – hell, if this date ever went public, then they’d never know a day of peace again in their lives. She’d heard Bellatrix’s rants surrounding Andromeda’s choice of partner, despite the witch being her sister. Why would she assume she’d get a different fate?

(She supposed that she could always just ‘forget’ to pay Bellatrix’s Azkaban fees, which would get rid of an admittedly large problem. She dismisses the thought as soon as it comes up – Narcissa was listed as the official contact when it came to the Lestranges, so when they’d contact her regarding payment, she’d send Lucius out to deal with it. And as much as she thought it, could she even do it? Forgetting to pay something like this would result in someone’s death, and even with all the messed up sh*t she remembered Bellatrix doing, the woman was still a person.)

Even on Bill’s side, she didn’t think she could handle being under suspicion by everyone around her. The second she went off to try and end the war, she’d be accused of being a death eater by about ten members of the Order. Why on earth would she want that?

As she opens the wardrobe, she hears a roar. She pulls out the very-Gryffindor scarf and smiles.

(An image of Bill laughing flits through her mind. She thinks back to their first meeting in Prewett Manor, where he’d walked up to her and offered to help her escape the ball she’d been forced to attend. And she thinks back to their interactions in Hogwarts, where they’d spend their days in the library, trying to come up with new pieces of information to bring up during their prefect patrols. Most importantly, she thinks of the last couple of weeks, of that warmth she’d felt in her chest during their interactions.)

She sighed. There was no use in pretending, she was going on this date. Even though she knew she shouldn’t. Besides, she really needed a drink.

--

“Which pair or earrings best suit me? The sapphires or the emeralds?” She asks an hour later in the living room.

Regulus lets out a sound that is halfway between a groan and a scream. “Why, Peia, are you asking me this?”

“You’ve been staring at me for the last hour, I figured that you could make yourself useful.” She holds the sapphire earrings next to her face and peers into the mirror. “These help to bring out my features. But these,” she holds up the emeralds, “really go with my hairstyle.”

“I’m just wondering if this is the best use of your time?” Regulus says after giving another deep sigh. “Don’t you have twenty properties to visit?”

“Twenty-three actually.” There had been quite a few deaths in the last few years. She looks to her outfit, a black dress that she was pretty sure was from the sixties and sighs. Either colour would go well with it, which didn’t help. “And I’ll visit them. After I’ve figured out which earrings go best with this outfit.”

“Peia, I mean this in the nicest way possible,” Ominis says, “but I don’t think anyone cares what colour earrings you wear. I assume you’re going on a date with this Wilfred kid?”

“His name is Bill,” she corrects. “And it isn’t a date, at least it isn’t officially?”

Regulus snorts. “You sound unsure of this fact Peia. Just go with the sapphire earrings and call it a day. You’ve been going on about this for the last forty minutes.”

“But -”

“The sapphires!” Both Ominis and Regulus shout, exasperated.

Peia sighs. This was why she preferred getting ready with the house-elves instead of the portraits. She would have done so today, but most of them had been at Starlight Stitchery and she hadn’t wanted a very eager Renee Egwu to turn up on her front doorstep to give her an attempted makeover.

Stepping into her room, she quickly gets changed. Today, she had to visit all the Black properties, to try and plan out their uses for the war. There were twenty-three properties in total, and each one had at least one thing in it that she could use, whether it be portraits, people, or location. Technically, she was already in one Black property, as her flat had once belonged to both Sirius and her uncle Alphard, but she wasn’t including it in her count.

It shouldn’t take too long. Most of the properties still had house-elves to look after them. The only one that didn’t was Grimmauld Place, but she wasn’t going to stay there particularly late. Perhaps she should ask some of the house-elves from her Great Aunt’s house to clean it? Her great-aunt Cassiopeia had been very fond of cursed objects, so those elves were used to dealing with magically damaged items. That way, she could filter through the countless valuable items there before the Order got its hands on them.

And after she’d visited all those properties, she was going out with Bill Weasley. Technically he hadn’t asked her out on a date, but she wasn’t an idiot – the two of them hanging out by themselves? She knew what that meant. And what it implied. She tries to balance out her nerves by reminding herself that it was only Bill she was meeting. It wouldn’t be any different to their patrols at Hogwarts. Or their conversations at Prewett Manor.

(Of course, the main difference was that those interactions were ones she’d been forced into. But this meeting wasn’t, she could have easily said no. But no, she chose this.)

There’s a tap at the window. Looking over, there was a familiar owl outside.

“What have you got for me today Lugus?” She asks, opening the window to let him in. He was Bill’s owl, so she wasn’t surprised to find a note attached. She asks Kreacher to get the owl some treats and opens it.

--

Cass,

I forgot to say a time. Sorry about that. Would seven work for you?

See you soon,

Bill

--

Smiling, she rips off a piece of parchment and writes out a response.

--

Bill,

Seven is perfect. See you soon.

--

“Kreacher?”

“Yes, Young Mistress?” Kreacher looks over from feeding Lugus his treats. He’d grown fond of the owl, even if he’d never admit it to her.

“Could you give this note to Bill Weasley?” Lugus lets out an offended hoot and holds out his leg for her to attach the note too. “I’m sorry Lugus, but you’d take too long.” The owl continues to hoot, so she sighs and attaches it to him. “Just try and be as quick as you can please.”

As the owl flew away, she couldn’t help but wonder how much he understood. She’d been inside an owlery before and knew that they weren’t supposed to understand any English beyond basic commands, but sometimes it felt like they knew the entire language.

“Does Young Mistress still need Kreacher?”

“No. Wait, actually, yes.” She holds up the earrings. “Sapphires or emeralds?”

Kreacher blinks at her. There was a very long pause. “Emeralds.” Then he disapparated away. Well, there was her answer.

--

Out of all the properties she visited, the Black Library was easily the building that was the best maintained. Located in the magical part of Oxford, it was once a property owned by her Ancestor, Licorus Black. It had originally been a liveable mansion, but over time, it had turned into a dumping ground for the books no one from House Black had use for. She’d made the decision to open the library to the public shortly after her grandfather’s death, thus creating the first public library in Wizarding Britain. Anyone could sign up to it – all they needed to do was get a pass from the house elves who ran it, much like the library cards she remembered using from her first life. Anyone could donate books too.

(Of course, before the books there were put on display, they were vetted by the house-elves, who would put the most dangerous books in the library in Grimmauld Place.)

Whilst she was there, she made sure to send an owl with a copy of Cauldron Magical History, the book that Percy had been asking her for.

In regards to the other properties, the vast majority of them were alright. They weren’t in the best condition, but that was to be expected, being as they’d been devoid of wizards for at least two years now. It really was a shame to see how many of them were empty – House Black really had managed to branch itself out before it had dwindled down to just her. One day, she’d turn these buildings into something. Something useful, like the Black library was. For now, the buildings would be useful for the war, as with a good fidelius charm, she was the only one who knew their locations. Her Aunt Cassiopeia’s mansion would serve as a good base of operations for example, whilst her grandparents’ cottage would be a great safehouse.

She’d saved the worst property for last. Ironically enough, it just so happened to be her childhood home, 12 Grimmauld Place. It had been nine years since she’d last been here, and truth be told, she could go nine more without having to see it again. But alas, duty called, so here she was.

Heading up the stairs, the door opens before she even had the chance to knock. Kreacher beams up at her.

“Young Mistress came home!” The house-elf exclaims. “Will she be staying long?”

“Not long at all Kreacher, I just wanted to look around the place.” She takes a step into the hallway, which was far narrower than she remembered. It was also filthy. “Has this house been cleaned at any point in the last nine years?”

“No.” The portrait of Walburga Black says, sounding smug. “I ordered Kreacher to only begin maintaining the place once House Black’s rightful heir had returned. Which hasn’t happened until now. Where have you been young lady?”

If she needed another reminder as to why she hadn’t visited the place yet, here it was.

“I’ve been busy mother.” She answered. “Finishing Hogwarts, getting my Mastery. There was nothing left for me here. Well, other than you of course. Sorry I haven’t visited much.”

Her mother huffs in disapproval. “You haven’t visited at all Peia. Not even once. Did you attend my funeral at least?”

“I did.” She’d been given leave from Hogwarts to do so.

“Then I suppose that does make you a better child than your brothers. Neither of them turned up to the funeral I bet!”

“Reggie was dead.” She points out, but her mother acts as if she did not hear her. The portrait continues ranting about ungrateful children for another five minutes, so Peia decides to move on and explore the rest of the house, which were in conditions that were just as bad, if not worse, than the hallway. The portraits tut and mutter as she passed them in the drawing room, but she tried to ignore them. They weren’t insulting her yet, and that was what mattered.

Her room, however, was spotless. It looked exactly how she’d left it, with its midnight blue walls and curtains. All her books were strewn on the desk as if she’d been the last one to touch them. And even the enchantment her father had placed on the ceiling to reflect the night sky still stood. It was a room untouched by time, even if the rest of the house betrayed its age.

Regulus’ room was largely untouched too. The only sign of age in the room came from the newspaper clippings he’d kept, which were now yellow instead of the white they originally were.

“Kreacher hoped that Young Mistress would return.” Kreacher said, appearing in the doorway. “So, he made sure to clean her room alongside Master Regulus’.”

“Thank you for that Kreacher.” She says, feeling touched. “You know, I haven’t eaten yet. Would you like to eat dinner with me at the flat?”

The house-elf brightens up. “Kreacher will get started on dinner right at once!”

“I can make dinner.” She says, but after giving her a dry look, the house-elf disapparates. Presumably to start on food.

She sighs. One of these days, she was going to wear him down, she could feel it.

“Goodbye mother.” She says to the portrait as she passed it in the hallway.

Walburga frowns. “Are you coming back?”

“Of course.” With the sheer number of priceless artefacts in the house, there was no way she wasn’t going to sort them all out before the Order of the Phoenix turned up. These items weren’t going to be sold off like they had been in the original plot – a lot of them could be dangerous if put into the wrong hands. Kreacher was also going to need help cleaning down the place, so she unfortunately wasn’t going to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Just for a moment, relief crosses her mother’s face. Perhaps the portrait had been lonely?

“Good.” Walburga says, after she’d regained her composure. “I expect to see you here within a fortnight.”

“I’ll try to.”

“No, you won’t try to. You will.”

Her nostrils flare, but she holds her tongue. There was no point in arguing with a portrait, especially a portrait of her mother’s. She’d be there for hours, and be late for her date later, which wouldn’t do. “Of course, mother. Goodbye.”

She tugs at her magic and apparates, reappearing in the familiar walls of her flat. Grimmauld Place hadn’t been her home for a long time (if it ever even was.)

She noticed Kreacher cooking and steps over to help, grabbing a knife and dicing up some onions. Other than a disapproving stare, the house-elf doesn’t stop her, which was progress. Distantly, Ominis and Regulus were embroiled in a discussion about mage sight. Her owl, Morrigan, watches them from her cage, seemingly entranced by their conversation. This house, with all its portraits, pets and house-elves, was home to her. Once the onions were in the pan, she smiles, letting herself feel at ease.

--

A couple of hours later, she was anything but.

Her outfit was fine. Her shoes were fine. Her jewellery was fine, but as soon as she’d left her apartment, she couldn’t help but feel overdressed. Going to a co*cktail bar in the middle of a muggle town meant that she needed to look like everyone else there, and she was painfully aware of the fact that she was dressed in a style that was a few decades too old. What if Bill found her outfit too formal? Or too posh? It was a stupid thought, but she didn’t want the wizard to think that she was stuck up.

She was also paranoid that someone would recognise her, so anytime a witch or wizard would enter or exit the Leaky Cauldron, she’d try her best to blend in with a crowd walking past. If Tom, the innkeeper of the Cauldron, was looking out the window, then she was sure he was very entertained by her. When a group of wizards leave the pub, she hides in a nearby alley.

“Why hello there.” Bill says, materialising next to her. He was wearing a dark green shirt which really helped his hair to stand out.

She jumps. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” She shrieks, shooting him a glare that had no real heat.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry! I noticed you over there and thought I’d surprise you. You look stunning by the way.”

"Thank you," she murmured, her cheeks flushing. "You look rather dashing yourself."

“Why thank you.” With a playful grin, he offers his arm. “Now, shall we?”

After a moment of hesitation, she slips her arm through his. “Let’s.”

--

Now the feeling of apparition was a familiar concept to her. But it had been a long time since she’d gone through side-along apparition, so when they re-appear, she stumbles forward. Bill's strong grip on her arm steadied her, preventing her from falling.

She chuckled nervously, straightening herself up with a sheepish grin. "Forgot how disorienting side-along apparition can be."

"I'll try to make it smoother next time," He promised.

Cassiopeia glanced around at their surroundings, taking in the dimly lit alley. "Should I be worried you took me to an alley?" She teased, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. "Trying to kidnap me, are you, Weasley?"

“Well, I have to be the favourite sibling somehow. And Percy really did want to talk to you about Cauldron bottoms for a birthday present.” She looks over at him, and the playful glint in his eyes told her he was joking.

“Then I’ll be sure to send him your way.” She says with a giggle. They reach their destination, a bar called ‘Astral Lounge,’ and she looks up, pleasantly surprised by its bright colours.

Letting go of her arm, he holds the door open for her.

“I have a reservation booked for Weasley.” Bill says to the hostess, who takes them over to their seats. He pulls out her chair for her, and that strange warmth blossoms across her chest.

“You made a reservation?” She asked, taking her seat. “You only asked me yesterday.”

"I had to run in this morning to make it," Bill explained with a grin, his eyes locking with Cassiopeia's in a playful exchange. "The bar staff found it amusing. Thankfully though, it’s only Monday, so they had tables available. Though even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world – I'm sure there are several places in London we could have gone to instead."

There’s a muggle restaurant near my flat that we could have gone to," she offered. "It is Italian though – I don’t know how you feel about Italian food." She peers through her menu. There was a lot of choice, considering that this was the nineties.

"Truth be told, I prefer Indian food," he admitted, his tone conspiratorial. "But I have nothing against Italian. To me, it just isn’t particularly spicy, but if I add any sort of spice to it, it just ruins the entire dish."

“Indian food is good. Though if I had to pick one cuisine, I’d pick Chinese food any day.”

“Not English?” He asks. After a pause, they both laugh. “I don’t think I’ve had much Chinese food.”

“That’s because it’s not really a thing in the Wizarding World. Or at least, it doesn’t have as much as a chokehold over Wizarding Britain as it does in the muggle world.”

“Why is it popular in one place and not the other?” He asks, genuinely curious.

She leans closer, making sure to keep her voice low. “The short answer? For muggles, post-World War Two, there was a change in immigration laws, which allowed more people to migrate. It resulted in among others, a Chinese restaurant boom, with a lot of different places adapting their menus to adapt to British appetites. The Wizarding World has always been closer than its muggle counterpart, so these laws have never really been necessary.”

“And the long answer?”

The waitress approached to take their order, interrupting their conversation with a cheerful smile.

"What would you like, Cass?" He asked.

"Hm, you pick the first round?" she suggests, deciding that she wasn’t opposed to drinking anything that was on the menu.

His lips curved into a smile "Alright, could we have a couple of mojitos please?" he asked the waitress, who nods and jots it down.

She waited until the waitress had walked away before raising an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Mojitos? Really?" she asked, her voice laced with playful banter.

“What’s wrong with mojitos?” He asked.

“Nothing. They’re just probably the most basic co*cktail you could have picked.”

He chuckled. “Ah I see. To be fair Cass, most of my alcohol knowledge comes from the bars I went to when I was eighteen. I do live in Egypt, don’t I? The country as a whole isn’t big on drinking.”

“You haven’t drank since you were last in Britain?” She asks, surprised. Though not a heavy drinker herself, part of the thrill of having her own home was that she could go out as she pleased.

“No, I’ve drank, I just haven’t had any co*cktails in a long time.” He thinks for a moment. “Five years to be exact.”

Her mojito gets placed in front of her, and she thanks the waitress.

“Well, you’re going to have several tonight.” She decides, taking a sip of her drink. “Don’t worry about the cost, I’m paying.”

“I’m paying.” He corrects. “If memory serves me correct, it was me who owed you a drink, not the other way around.”

“You can pay for one of my drinks, I suppose. But I’ll pay for the rest, alright?” He opens his mouth to say something, but she cuts him off. “Alright.”

He sighs. “Alright. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That next time we go out, you let me pay, with no complaints.” He raises his glass. “Deal?”

She smiles. “Fine, deal.” They clinked their glasses together in a silent toast. “Do you miss anything about Egypt?” She asks after a pause.

“The sunrises.” His answer was automatic. “They’re nice here, but nothing compared to the desert. It’s as if the whole sky glows alight.” He leans closer. “The pyramids glow orange too. The muggles can’t see it, but every wizard can. The theory from the local Wizarding population is that the buildings are covered head to toe in magic, but the cursebreakers have a different theory.”

“Which is?”

“That the pyramids are made of long dead wizards’ magic instead. Whilst we don’t think it was wizards who solely built the pyramids, we do know that each pharaoh liked to have a court wizard, someone who could fix their problems with a swipe of their hand. Our working theory is that upon that wizard’s death, their magic is transferred to the tombs themselves through some kind of ritual.” He sighed. “The real problem is that we’re still trying to figure out what ritual it was exactly.”

“You think that those court wizards sacrificed themselves?” She asked, intrigued.

“Not sacrificed per say.” He takes a sip of his drink, clearly trying to mull over his next words. “I personally think that this ritual would work similarly to how we create portraits – taking a small amount of magic from the person and storing it in some sort of anchor. That wouldn’t affect the wizard for anything longer than a day. However, upon their death, the person’s full essence would transfer over to this anchor and thus, cover the entire tomb.”

“What makes you so sure of this?” She asks, finishing her mojito. The waitress goes back over to their table and as it’s her turn to pick, she picks two cosmopolitans.

“Well, with portraits, they’re supposed to stay exactly the same once they’re made right? So even if they change their ways later in life, it wouldn’t matter, that original portrait would remain the way it was. With the first tomb I ever entered, I remember the notes we had on it saying that the place with warded with only a few elemental spells. When we entered the tomb, each of these spells had spiralled into full on storms.”

Cassiopeia pondered his words for a moment before speaking again. "But couldn’t that just be due to the original spell work dismantling over time?" she suggested. "Especially considering the spells? Early ancient elemental magic hadn’t been very stable."

Bill considered her question for a moment before shaking his head. "Had it been anyone else, I would have assumed this," he admitted. "But the court wizard for this tomb had been Imhotep Tefnut, the first recorded wizard to perfect elemental magic. On top of that, the storms weren’t chaotic like normal spiralling spells are, it felt like they were specifically trying to target us."

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a faint scar on his wrist. "I even got marked because of it," he confessed, his voice tinged with frustration. "There are also other instances – like remember that Runespoor I mentioned killing ages ago? Well, after he’d sealed the original tomb, the original wizard had become a Runespoor animagus. At no point in our initial assessments did it mention that there was a Runespoor even in there, so I suspect that it was the animagus itself that attacked me."

Peia listened in fascination. Though she’d already known that he was a thinker like her, it was nice to hear him speak about what was on his mind.

"Of course, it is only a theory," Bill continued with a sigh. "None of us have been able to find the anchor linking a court wizard to a tomb. It just seems coincidental that those tombs in particular just so happened to include magic that historically recorded to come into existence after the original tombs were sealed."

“It seems to be a fairly solid theory.” She murmured. “If it helps, you’ve sold me on it. Then again, I hadn’t really thought about this side of cursebreaking. Is there an opposing claim?”

“The other claim is essentially what you asked earlier. A lot of the other cursebreakers think that these traps being so destructive are just the result of time. They were closed off from everyone for more than 2000 years after all. I just think that there’s more to it.” He finishes his drink and pauses. “Sorry, I’ve been rambling on.”

“It certainly makes sense.” She agreed. “The idea of those traps deteriorating over time is definitely a valid argument. But I do agree with you – it does feel like the traps you’ve encountered have been intentional.”

“Exactly!” He finishes his drink and leans back in his chair, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, I’ve been rambling on.

She waves off his apology. “No need to apologise. I enjoyed the discussion. Remind me in our letters to take a look in the library to see if there are any books I can find that prove your point.”

“I’ll be sure to.” He promises. He looks behind her at something and frowns. “Perhaps we should change the conversation though to something a bit more pub-friendly.”

Using the excuse of collecting their glasses to take over to the bar, she looks over to the table behind them to see a couple giving them odd looks.

“How about we play a game of 21 questions then?” She suggests after coming back from the bar with a couple of Long Island iced teas. She’d told Bill that it was his turn, but he’d insisted on her picking their next drink. “That way, neither one of us can go off on a tangent about something history-related.”

“21 questions?” Ah, right. She forgot that it was a muggle game.

“It’s a very simple game – I ask you a question, you answer, then vice versa. The goal is to learn more about each other, one question at a time.”

“Sounds like fun. Any rules?”

She leans over the table, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “It has to be muggle-approved questions. Can’t afford to break the Statute.” Truth be told, she absolutely could afford the thirty galleon fine, but that wasn’t the point. She sits back down in her seat. “And we can’t ask what about you.”

“Understandable.” He stands. “Do you want to go first?”

“Sure. Alright, let’s start with an easy one. Favourite colour?”

Bill chuckled softly, his expression thoughtful as he considered his answer. "Purple," he replied without hesitation, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's always been purple for as long as I can remember. Favourite food?"

“Lamb Stew. There's nothing quite like a warm bowl of lamb stew on a cold winter's day. Where was the best place you visited?”

She watches him as he answers, a soft smile on her lips. They hadn’t done much, only had a few drinks and conversations, but she found herself enjoying every bit of it. They get through their game and go back to talking about their jobs, making sure to keep their voices low. They move off of co*cktails, and she finds herself enjoying a nice glass of rose. At some point, the barstaff turn on the dancefloor and she pulls Bill onto it, deciding that she wanted to dance with him. He was a decent dancer, and though their dancing was far more formal than the muggles around them, she found that she didn’t care.

For now, it was him and her, which was all that mattered. They leave at around eleven, and with the amount of drinks she’d drank, she almost felt as if she was floating. Grabbing her hand, he apparates them back to their meeting place. He walks her back to her flat, and as they debate about the best choice of weapon for a fight, she’s dimly aware of the fact that he hasn’t let go.

So, she doesn’t either.

“You live in a block of flats?” He asks when they get to her building, surprised.

“Yeah. Flat 4. It used to belong to my uncle Alphard. Once upon a time it used to be Sirius’ too, but he moved out during the war.”

One of her neighbours, a mixed-race witch with a vacant stare, opens the door to let them into the building. She gives them a quizzical look, but doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to move on.

"I see," he murmured, his expression thoughtful. "It must hold a lot of memories for you."

"It used to," she admitted softly. "But I've made it my own now. Besides, I don't see the point of living in a cottage or mansion yet. Not when it's just me."

"That makes sense," he agreed. “Well then, there’s your stop.”

She hadn’t realised they’d climbed all those flights of stairs already. “So it is. Would you like to use the floo to get home?” Though he could walk just fine, his cheeks were flushed from the alcohol.

“I’m alright. I think apparating there and taking a short walk back to the house will do me some good. Gives me some chance to sober up before I get to the Burrow.” He chuckles. “My family absolutely will be as loud as they can be tomorrow if they realise that I was drunk.”

“That’s family for you.” Her family had been like that in her first life. “Well then, I guess this is where we part ways. Thank you for tonight, William -”

“Bill.” He interrupts.

“Okay then, Bill -” She teased. His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, a charming complement to his fiery hair. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Cass.” He gently raised her hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. She stared at him and could have sworn she felt her heart flutter. “I’ll see you soon.”

With a smile that mirrored her own, he released her hand, and disappears. Left alone in the landing, Peia allows herself to look down and smile. Perhaps another date wouldn’t hurt?

CHARLES WEASLEY

The day of Rowan Khanna’s funeral was a miserable one. It wasn’t surprising, given the occasion, but even the weather seemed to think this, as it hadn’t stopped raining. The dreary weather seemed to mirror the heavy hearts of those gathered to pay their respects. Charlie Weasley stood solemnly, watching the druids lower the coffin into the ground. No one other than the people around him knew he was in the UK today, and he planned to keep it that way. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone today – all he wanted to do was remember.

(He’d first met Rowan Khanna in his first year. They’d been best friends with the youngest of the Sallow siblings and after second year, had almost always sat at Gryffindor’s table. Rowan had been a close friend of Tulip’s, so when Tulip and Tonks had roped him into their pranks, it was Rowan they’d gone to for planning out the logistics of said prank when it got too smart for them.)

At the reception, he offered his condolences to Rowan's grieving family, their parents and younger brother, Ashok, who thanked him with empty smiles. Garrick Ollivander stood with them, and he’d never seen the wandmaker look so sombre.

Making his way through the gathered crowd, he notices a familiar face staring at the nearby forest. It was Ben Copper, Rowan's late boyfriend. They’d dated since their fifth year, so he couldn’t even imagine how he was feeling right now. Approaching Ben, he greets him, but to his surprise, Ben remained silent, his eyes distant and unfocused. Deciding not to press further, he gave him a nod before moving on.

“He hasn’t talked to anyone.” Another former classmate, Murphy McNully says, when he goes up to greet him. “Well, anyone except Skye, but you know how close they were.”

“Even then, he only responds to me about fifty percent of the time.” Skye Parkin adds, stepping into the conversation. She glances towards Ben. “I’m starting to get really worried.”

“He’ll talk more with time.” Charlie says. His words attempt to comfort, but from Skye’s expression, he assumed that he did anything but.

He excuses himself from the conversation and attempts to mingle with the crowd, searching for people he knew. Eventually, he finds himself standing off to the side, alone. Dimly, he wondered whether or not it’d be seen as rude if he’d left. He’d shown up and paid his respects, but with every minute of silence that passed, he became increasingly aware that this place, this country, was one he left for a reason.

He thinks of Chiara, who was still recovering from her most recent transformation. He should go back to her, he decides, and they could mourn Rowan together.

“I wouldn’t have imagined you of all people to be by themselves.” A voice says from next to him.

He looks over to see another former classmate, Victor Ketsueki. Unlike every other former student he’d encountered, Victor looked exactly as he did the last day of Hogwarts, with the sole exception of an earring. He hadn’t been close to him, the man had always been too dramatic for him, but as another Ravenclaw, it made sense as to why the wizard had been invited.

“Why is that?” He asks.

“You were a social butterfly at school, all your friends are over there. And yet, here you are.” He chuckles. “No, let me correct myself. Not all – Tonks and Tulip aren’t here. Neither is Chiara. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Tonks and Tulip are working.” Jobs in the Ministry gave them little time off, and, well, Rowan wasn’t immediate family to them. “And Chiara wasn’t well. She did send her regards though.”

“I’m surprised she’s still feeling under the weather.” Victor says. “Normally werewolves would have recovered by now.”

Charlie freezes, his blood running cold. “Excuse me?” Maybe he’d misheard?

“It’s been four days since the full moon.” Victor continued. “Most werewolves recover in two. It’s a tad alarming.”

“How on earth do you - ?” He grabs Victor and pulls him into a secluded corner as far away as they could physically go. The wizard was cool to the touch, and harder to pull away than expected. But Charlie was a dragonkeeper, he’d carried things that were far heavier on a daily basis. “How do you know?”

“I have my ways.” The wizard responds with a grin. His teeth were much too sharp. “I do have to commend Chiara though – I had no clue during Hogwarts. She covered up her condition well.”

Charlie stares at him. He hadn’t seen Victor Ketsueki since Hogwarts. Neither had Chiara. How on earth did find out in the last three years that she was a werewolf? Could it be...?

(His mind wandered back to the day he and Chiara had returned to Romania.

It had been a normal day—or as normal as days got in their line of work. Felix Rosier, their co-worker, had greeted them with a troubled expression, informing them that he had discovered something strange lurking around their house. Despite his best efforts, Felix couldn't identify what it was, leaving both Charlie and Chiara on edge. Was Victor somehow connected to the mysterious presence at their home? And if so, what did he want?)

"Victor," he began, his tone tinged with irritation. "What do you want from me?"

For a moment, Victor remained silent, his smile widening ever so slightly. Then, with a sigh, he spoke. "It’s not a want, but a need. I need your help, Charlie."

Charlie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Need my help with what?"

Victor's expression grew serious, his gaze unwavering. "I need your help to find out who killed Rowan Khanna. Now should we talk somewhere more private." With that, he walks away. After a moment of silent deliberation, Charlie follows him.

WILLIAM WEASLEY

For the last few days, Bill had been floating on cloud nine.

No one at home knew the reason for his good mood. Well, he had a feeling Percy suspected, but he knew his brother wasn’t going to say anything about it. And no one was going to ask him about it either.

The truth was, he was happy. For the first time since he’d met her twelve years ago, it felt like having a relationship with Cassiopeia was an actual possibility. Ever since they’d gone to that co*cktail bar a little over a week ago, they’d been closer than ever. Letters had been exchanged frequently, and for a couple of nights now, he’d stayed up until everyone else had gone to sleep and had a conversation with her via the floo at her request. They’d seen each other a few times too – when he’d gone shopping in Diagon Alley for dress robes, she’d gone with him. Under a disguise of course, but he’d still had a nice time. Another time, they’d gone out for dinner at a muggle Italian restaurant in London, where he’d learnt that Cass was a frequent visitor. Something which, considering its nature, had surprised him.

Yet, as happy as he was, he couldn’t help but also be worried. Though she covered it up well, it was clear that something was going on with her. Almost every time they spoke to each other, she complained of a headache. She was always working on something too – whether it be a new article for the prophet, or a contraption for some strangely specific purpose. And if she wasn’t working on something, she was always thinking about something so wonderfully complicated. He couldn’t help but worry that she was pushing herself too hard.

(And he couldn’t help but wonder for what? What was it that pushed her so? It wasn’t money, it didn’t even seem to be ambition. If they weren’t in a time of peace then he’d have long suspected it was survival, but even then, that goal still didn’t fit. If she’d placed her survival above all else, then she wouldn’t have gone after that death eater by herself, would she?)

He is somewhat comforted by the fact that he used to do this in Hogwarts too – trying to tackle the whole world at once. It was something he didn’t think she was ever going to stop. So, though he worries, he says nothing and hopes for the best.

When he isn’t spending time with Cass, Bill spends his days in between the Burrow, the Barbican and Castor’s Cottage. He flies with his siblings, plays chess with Ron, cooks with his mother and debates with his father. He reads through the books his uncles had left behind in Castor’s cottage, pleasantly surprised by the topics that they’d found interesting.

He meets with Sean Fawcett for coffee every couple of days and some days, it felt like neither of them had left Egypt at all. He was happy. And with the Fidelius back in place, alongside the protective enchantments placed around the house, he felt safe, protected even.

Yet despite this sense of security, a lingering sense of unease followed him on the evening of August 30th. In the quiet of the night, after talking on the floo with Cass until 2AM, he found himself checking over the protective wards. They said they were fine, but he couldn’t help but suspect that something had managed to bypass it. The question was though, what?

Shaking off the notion as mere superstition, he takes a deep breath, deciding to just go ti bed.

It was safe to say, that the following turn of events were more than a little disconcerting.

Out of all the things that Bill was expecting to wake up to the morning of August 31st, a house elf was nowhere near the top of the list. He’d been having a dream about taking Cass to the crystal oasis when a sharp bout of pain brought him back into consciousness.

“Thief!” It hisses.

Rubbing his eyes, Bill blinked at it in confusion. “Huh?”

“Thief!” the elf repeated sharply. “Does the wizard admit to his crimes?”

“What crimes?” Bill asked, genuinely puzzled. Where had it come from? More importantly, how did it get past the protective enchantments in place without setting off a single one?

“Crimes of theft!” the elf accused.

“I haven’t committed any crimes.” He replied, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence. His gaze flickered to the door, seeming farther away than ever. If he could hit the elf with a stunning spell, maybe he could make a run for it. But he hesitated, not wanting to involve his siblings in whatever turmoil the elf was going through.

“The wizard lies!” the house elf screeched, lunging forward.

Bill managed to roll out of bed just in time to evade the elf’s grasp. He dashed for the door, but a hand snagged his ankle, and suddenly he found himself in a different setting, surrounded by several other furious house elves.

“Thief!” They all shriek in unison, and though he managed to resist them at first, they eventually manage to tie him to a chair. He tries to apparate away but finds that he’s unable to do so. It was a bizarre situation, and he struggled to mask his disbelief.

“What did I steal?” He asks calmly, trying to reason with the agitated creatures. He’d faced worse than this, though he had to admit that house-elves were far scarier than he’d ever though them to be. Perhaps he was having a nightmare? Then again, who’s mind would conjure this scenario?

“The wizard stole the books!” The house-elves shriek.

“Which books?” He asked.

“Silence wizard!” One house-elf bellowed. It looked slightly older than the others. He wasn’t sure of their gender. “Taffy will be the one asking the questions. Howey, go to Mistress and tell her that the library elves have found the thief!”

Library elves? He wasn’t aware that such a job existed.

“Gladly!” One house-elf towards the back of the crowd says before disapparating.

“Wizard!” Taffy shrieks. “Where did the wizard find the books?”

“What books?”

“The wizard knows what books he stole.” A house-elf to his right hisses.

“The wizard really doesn’t” He murmurs. “Did you say you were library elves?”

“Yes, wizard.” Taffy replies, their smile proud. “We are the elves of the Black Library, and it’s our job to make sure every book here is safe.” Their eyes narrow. “And that any suspicious activity is investigated.”

“Did you say the Black library?” He questions. “So, it’s a library owned by Cassiopeia?”

“Don’t you dare say the mistress’ name!” Taffy screeches. “A thief like you is not worthy of it!”

A few days ago, he’d sent back the French books Cassiopeia had sent him in a storage rune. The magic was technically illegal, but he assumed that as she had sent them to him in one in the first place, the workers in the library wouldn’t think anything of it. Clearly, he was wrong.

“Cassiopeia sent me those books.” He explained. “She told me to send them back to the library once I’d finished with them.”

“Then where is your pass?” Taffy questions. “Any person who reads a book from the Black library must have one.”

“Even Cassiopeia?”

“The mistress is an exception,” Taffy conceded, eyes narrowing. “You, wizard, are not. Now, where did you obtain the books? Taffy will not ask again.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but a voice cuts him off.

“Taffy, what is going on?” Cassiopeia asks, appearing in a spot just behind the House-elves. They quickly move out the way for her, and she approached with a furrowed brow. “William?” she asked, surprised.

“The one and only.” He mutters dryly. “Could you ask your house-elves to release me?”

“Of course. Taffy, please let him go.” With a snap of the house-elf's fingers, the ropes binding him disappear. "Causing a stir, are we Bill?" She teased, her eyes sparkling with an emotion he couldn’t name.

Despite the circ*mstances, his face grows warm. Even though he’d told her several times to, she still barely called him Bill.

“You know the thief, mistress?” One of the house-elves to the left asks.

“Thief?” She questions, looking to him.

“I sent the french books back to the Black Library, like you suggested. They thought I stole them.” He explains in gobbledegook, a language he guessed the house-elves didn’t know.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. I didn’t think they’d assume that. Sorry Bill.” She turned to the house-elves. “He’s not a thief. I lent him a few of my books, which he returned. Could you add him to the list of approved borrowers to prevent this misunderstanding in the future?”

“Of course, Mistress.” Taffy says, bowing their head down. “Sorry Mr Weasley.”

Bill nodded in acknowledgment, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had bound him moments before. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he glanced at Cass.

"Thank you, Taffy, for defending the library and listening to my words." She said, her tone firm yet gracious. "But please don’t do this to William again."

Just what words was she on about?

The house elves murmured their agreement and dispersed, leaving the pair alone in the room.

"Sorry about that," Cass says, a sheepish expression crossing her features. "I didn't anticipate the library elves mistaking you for a thief."

Bill waved off her apology with a chuckle. "No harm done; I suppose. Though I must admit, being accused of theft by a group of house elves wasn't exactly how I planned to start my day. I’m just glad that I was actually wearing pyjamas instead of just my boxers."

Cassiopeia's laughter rang through the room, melodious and warm. "I can imagine. But you handled it well, considering." Her eyes look him over, and her cheeks turn red. “And if it helps, the pyjamas suit you.”

“Like what you see?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Her blush deepens, but she doesn’t answer his question. Instead, she fiddles with one of the bracelets on her wrist. There was a bright golden sun on it, which contrasted greatly with the rest of her outfit, a set of training robes that seemed to have flower-themed sleeves.

“Why are you dressed as if you’re going to a duel?” He asks, gesturing to her clothes. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her in anything similar. Again, he was dimly reminded of the fact that here she was in front of him, all dressed up and he was in a set of falling apart pyjamas. Silently, he really hoped he didn’t have bad morning breath.

“Because I am. Hestia and I are duelling in,” she checks her watch. “Approximately thirty minutes. It isn’t anything serious – we're just brushing up on our skills.”

“What time is it?” He peers at her watch and frowns. “You two are duelling at seven AM?”

“It’s the only time she was free.” Cass says with a shrug. “Would you like to take a book home by any chance? The house-elves won’t attack you now.”

He plays along with the topic change and looks over at the seemingly endless bookshelves behind them. “There’s a lot of choice there. What would you recommend?”

“We have a few books on magical artefacts that I think you’d like. Follow me.” She grabs his hand and pulls him along.

He into step beside her as she led the way towards the section of the library housing books on magical artefacts. As they walked, he couldn't shake the image of her in her duelling robes – which looked oddly similar to the ones he’d seen her wear at the World Cup. Perhaps they were the same pair?

As they reached the designated section, Cass gestured towards the shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls. "Here we are. Feel free to take your pick."

He browsed the titles, his interest piqued by the wealth of knowledge laid out before him. He reached for a worn-looking tome titled "Lost Treasures of the Ancient Wizarding World" and flipped through its pages, noting with amusem*nt that Hathor’s headdress had indeed been found several years prior.

"This looks fascinating," He remarks, turning to her with a grin. "Thank you for the recommendation."

“It’s no problem, I -” She cuts herself off as a blue glow envelops the room. A patronus appears, and Bill stares at it, impressed. It took the form of a hippogriff, and he’d never seen a patronus so gigantic.

“I’m sorry Peia, but I won’t be able to make it today. Ruby surprised me with a morning date.” The unmistakeable voice of Hestia Jones says. “I’ll see you tomorrow though, I swear it!”

With that, the patronus dissipates.

“I wasn’t aware Hestia was seeing someone.” He says after a moment of silence. “Who’s Ruby?”

“Ruby Honeysuckle, her co-worker. And they aren’t really – they’ve been on and off for years. Chances are that they hooked up after partying in the Prometheum last night.” She sighs. “Well, there goes my plans for the evening. A shame. Just after I’d gotten ready as well.”

“Why don’t you practise your aim on a target?” He suggests, vaguely wondering if there was still going to be breakfast on the table when he got back. Knowing his siblings, probably not. “I’m sure at least one of the numerous properties you own has a training ground.”

“Four do, but mannequins aren’t the same as wizards. And my aim isn’t the problem – my reaction speed is.”

“You reacted just fine at the world cup.” He pointed out. If anything, she’d been quicker than the average wizard, especially one with hardly any proper field experience.

She turns to look at him, annoyance clouding her features. “But just fine wasn’t enough! I still got injured, didn’t I? Just fine won’t be enough for the future either. Not with -” She cuts herself off, leaving him curious as to what she was going to say. “I need to get faster with my reactions if I want to be able to competently defend myself.”

It seemed that he wasn’t the only one affected by the world cup final.

“I guess I’ll just practice on one of the mannequins at the manor in Whitby,” she says with a resigned sigh. “In that one at least the targets are enchanted to move. It isn’t the same, but it’s something.”

“You know, I’ve got no plans for today.” He says, attempting miserably to sound casual. "Why don’t we go and get breakfast together?”

She hums, looking at him with a calculating expression, as if trying to figure out a difficult puzzle. She doesn’t say anything else.

“If you’re busy, it’s fine.” He says once the silence stretches on for a tad too long. “I get it.”

“It’s not that – I was just thinking. My house-elf was helping me make breakfast when I got summoned, so it’s probably waiting for me when I get back.”

“That’s fine –”

She cuts him off before he can finish. “But he would have made food for Hestia too, so would you like to pop round to mine?” She fiddles with her bracelet, looking oddly nervous.

He blinks for a moment, surprised. “Sure, if you’ll have me.”

“Great!” Her eyes trail downward, and his cheeks grow warm. Not for the first time, he felt underdressed. “Though you do have to get changed first. I will too – there’s no point in me wearing these anymore.”

“They really aren’t.” He agrees with a nervous laugh. “Shall I meet you outside your flat at around eight then? Gives us enough time to get ready.”

“Eight sounds great. I’ll see you then.” With those words, she disapparates, leaving him alone in the Black Library, grinning like a madman.

As soon as she disappears, the house-elves reappear, where they look up at him with wide eyes.

“We must apologise for our behaviour Mr William!” Taffy says, stepping forward. “We didn’t realise you were so close with the Mistress.”

“It’s alright Taffy.” He says weakly, uncomfortable with the number of house-elves that were watching him. He disapparates away with a little wave to them.

Placing the tome on his bed, he makes a mental note to read it later. Grabbing one of the best sets of clothes he had available, he heads to the bathroom which was thankfully free. He sorts himself out, and bumps into Percy on his way downstairs.

“What are you still doing here?” He asked. “I would have assumed that you’d be in work by now.”

“Mr Crouch wanted me to come in at nine today.” Percy responds. His brother frowns when he turns to look at him. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“I’m not dressed up! If anything, I’m just wearing a shirt instead of a jumper.”

Percy raises an eyebrow. “Which is unusual. And you’re wearing your fang necklace – and is that cologne? are you going out by any chance?”

“Technically not?” At Percy’s unimpressed look, he continues, making sure to keep his voice low. “I’m going to Cassiopeia’s, alright?”

Percy hummed. “I see. Well, tell Peia I said hi. You’re best off apparating – mum is in the kitchen and will interrogate you if she sees you dressed like that.”

“I see. Thanks for the head’s up.” With those final words, Bill heads back to his room, making sure to lock the door. Hopefully, his mother would assume that he was just working on some sort of project so needed some space away from the rest of the family. It was something that he used to do when he was younger, so it was nothing out of the ordinary.

He apparates to the outside of the flat building, remembering that far better than he did the inside. The same neighbour he and Cass had bumped into was standing by the door, giving him a quizzical look.

“You look like someone I knew.” She says, opening the door for him. Before he can even respond to that, she disappeared.

Not knowing what to make of that, he continues on upstairs, hoping that he remembered the right number Cass lived at. Was it number 4, or number 5? They stood on opposite ends of the corridor, so he spends a moment looking between the identical doors, deliberating.

“She lives in number 4.” A voice says from above, and stepping over to the flight of stairs, he looks up to see the neighbour from earlier, looking down at him. “The lady you walked in with.”

He thanks her and knocks on the right door. It opens barely a second later, and Cass smiles at him. “Hello!” She looks him up and down. “You look nice.”

He feels a slight flush creeping up his cheeks. "Thanks, Cass. You look lovely as always."

Cass returned his smile, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Come on in," she said, stepping aside to let him enter. “Kreacher’s gone at the moment - it’ll just be the two of us, but between you and me, he was in a bit of a mood today anyway, so you won’t be missing out on anything.”

“Kreacher?” He looks around the flat, surprised again by how mundane it looked. There were two empty picture frames in the living room that he didn’t particularly understand. Perhaps the portraits there had left to give them privacy?

“One of my house-elves. He’s annoyed that he helped me with breakfast today. Speaking of,” grabbing his hand, she guides him into the kitchen, where two plates of scrambled eggs with bacon on toast sat on the table. “Dig in!”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “Why’s he annoyed that he helped you?”

“He wanted to cook it himself, but I refused to let him.” She sighs. “Kreacher has been looking after me since I was born – so I think sometimes he struggles to see me as an adult who can look after herself. But that’s family for you.”

She considered a house-elf her family? He files that piece of information away. “Family. You love them, but you hate them.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” She murmurs in-between bites.

After breakfast, they go through a pile of letters that all turned out to be proposals. He expected to feel jealous reading through them, but to his surprise, all he could feel was disbelief at how bold some of these letters were. They were also incredibly generic.

(He groaned out loud when he saw another wizard compare Cass to a shining star in the night sky. She giggled from her place across the table.)

He leaves the house at noon, all too aware that it was the last day before his siblings went back to Hogwarts.

--

“It’s been an absolute uproar,” Percy rants to everyone that evening. They were all gathered in the living room. It was his mother’s request, who’d wanted everyone in her family to spend the evening with each other. “I’ve been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don’t open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders.”

“Why are they all sending Howlers?” Ginny asked. She was sat in front of the fire, attempting to mend her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with spellotape. It was a losing battle.

“They’re complaining about security at the World Cup,” his brother continued. “They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher’s put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with ensuite Jacuzzi, but I’ve got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks.”

Bill snorts, not looking over from his chess game with Ron. For the first time in a long while, it looked like he’d managed to push Ron to go on the defensive.

Mum sighed. “Your father hasn’t had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who,” she murmured. “They’re working him far too hard. His dinner’s going to be ruined if he doesn’t come home soon.”

“Well, Father feels he’s got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn’t he?” Countered Percy. “If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first —”

Silently, Bill wondered if Percy sometimes struggled to read the room. Why say that in front of everyone there, who knew little to nothing about how the Ministry worked. Not only that, but in a room full of Gryffindors no less.

“Don’t you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!” Mum hisses, enraged.

Looking over, he notices Percy open his mouth to say something else, and so, decides to intervene.

“If Dad hadn’t said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented.” He points out, trying not to react when Ron takes his last rook. “Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts’ Charm Breakers once, and called me a long-haired pillock?” He’d been nineteen then, in the junior cursebreaker unit, and though he’d already read articles by Skeeter, it had stung nonetheless.

“Well, it is a bit long, dear,” Mum says after a pause. “If you’d just let me - ”

“No, Mum.” He wasn’t having this discussion again.

Ron wins, and with that, it signalled the end of him being in the living room. With a wave of his wand, he fixes Ginny’s book, and with a smile, bids everyone goodnight. He then heads up to his room, where there was a book with his name on it, and reads away, trying to ignore the sense of impending doom he’d been feeling lately.

One more night to go, and he’d be meeting Sirius Black. Perhaps the man could give him some answers. Or perhaps he’d have to run away from a madman trying to kill him. Either way, tomorrow was going to be interesting.