68. Of Magical Goblets and Enchanted Rings

The end of October 1994

Ron Weasley

The school year was in full swing. 

Even though Voldemort had returned, not much had changed for Ron. Wizarding Britain seemed as peaceful as ever, and whatever happened on the Continent seemed too distant. He trained harder, and the D.A. meeting had grown solemn, yes, but the rest of the school was much the same, if with the addition of a handful of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. 

The former were all proud and haughty, while the latter were taciturn and very competitive, if Fred and George were to be believed. The only regret was that Krum and his schoolmates had settled on the Slytherin table.

Of course, there was the Triwizard tournament that had the whole school buzzing with excitement, and the Gryffindors were no different. 

“Ten thousand galleons are enough to buy a good house about anywhere,” Jon Robins was saying loudly one evening in the common room.

“Or to buy a Firebolt and live in luxury for a few decades,” Lee Jordan piped in, a sly smile on his face.  

“Forget about winning,” a younger boy said loudly. “I heard that the school champion can have his own quarters comparable to a five-star hotel and a personal bath for the whole year.”  

“Who told you this, Creevy?” Katie Bell demanded. 

“It was uh… one of the Frenchies.” 

McLaggan sneered. “Tsk, what would a frog-eater know?”  

But even though he said that, his eyes were bright and he listened closely whenever anyone spoke of the tournament. 

The room churned with excitement, and for a good reason. Every Gryffindor felt stuffed in their dorm room, having to share with five or more yearmates at the same time, and Ron was no different. The matter was likely to be true, considering Hogwarts had plenty of rooms and chambers to spare.

Ron and his friends were clustered around three seats by the window, mulling over homework while trying to ignore the excitement rippling through the room. Or at least he was.

“Even I can’t help but feel a little tempted,” Astoria said, her eyes sparkling as she lifted her gaze from the Transfiguration essay.

“Maybe I could buy a thestral with that much gold,” Luna said dreamily. “Do you think the ministry’ll let me keep it?”

“No way, it’s a class five beast. What about you, Ron?”

Ron flipped the page of his second-hand Potions textbook, which was used by Fred before, with its pages crumpled and filled with scratches and inkmarks, while Ginny’s textbooks all came from Percy and were preserved as good as new.

“Ron?” Astoria prompted again.

“I have better things to do than daydream,” Ron muttered. He should have remained in the library.

Her pale face leaned in. “But it’s ten thousand galleons. You must be tempted.”

“Only the winner gets it,” he said quietly. “Entering the tournament is hard enough. You should know as well as I do that we’re far from being the best in Hogwarts.”

Astoria pouted. “But it’s the Goblet of Fire that chooses the champion,” she stated with a stubborn point. “It’s supposed to be an impartial judge, and the selection might have nothing to do with strength.”

If it weren’t Harry or Juno, it would be Diggory, his brothers, or Miss Selwyn—the senior D.A. members had all grown quite terrifying since the last year. But Ron was too lazy to argue right now. 

“Maybe,” he said instead. “But no matter how hard you dream of those ten thousand galleons, it’s of no use if you can’t bypass Dumbledore’s age line and put your name in, even if you had a whole year, let alone seven days.”

The blonde girl blew him a raspberry. “Spoilsport.”

Truth be told, Ron was a little tempted, especially for the personal quarters, but he knew his limits. This opportunity was out of reach. If the tournament had come three years later, when he would have been a seventh year, perhaps…

Dumbledore’s age line stopped all those not yet seventeen from attempting to place their names in the Goblet of Fire. Ron had seen McLaggan approach the first morning, only to be unable to step over the age line, as if he had hit an invisible wall.

His brothers were no exception, and the next evening, he saw them approach the Goblet just before dinner. They had rolled strips of parchment around a small iron ball and started throwing them at the goblet. The air shimmered as balls bounced off the age line.

The next evening, they somehow convinced Angelina Johnson to place her name in, but the moment she took out their name strips, they burned in the air. 

“Dumbledore doesn’t leave us poor brothers a bloody chance,” Fred said through gritted teeth. 

George gave him a vial with a deep green liquid and uncorked one of his own.

A small crowd had gathered, watching on with interest.

“It won’t work,” Juno said from the side with no small amusement. 

“We can’t know unless you try,” George said wisely. “Cheers!”

Clinking the vials, they drank them in one breath. Their hair grew longer, and their faces lost their boyish look. 

The moment they tried to step through the age line, they were hurled back as if struck by an invisible Knockback Jinx, their hair growing uncontrollably and their faces slowly turning wrinkled.

Laughter rippled through the gathered crowd, but it quickly grew quiet when Juno walked out next, spine ramrod straight. 

After a moment, she paused just before the age line, her eyes scanning through it. It was a thin, golden line gouged into the floor itself, making the air around it ripple and shimmer.

Her wand, curled in her hand, was already moving in a complex manner as she muttered some incantation under her breath.

In a moment, blocks of dark iron nearly an inch thick shot out of her wand, one after another, covering the age line and paving a small path to the goblet.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Juno stepped forward into the iron, placed her glowing wand on the Goblet with her right hand and gently placed a piece of parchment into the flickering flames with the other. 

The moment she stepped away, the thick iron blocks disappeared, and the crowd erupted in murmurs. A few even approached her, asking how to conjure iron, but she paid them no heed. 

“Juno is so cool,” Luna said with a giggle from his side.

“I wish I could be as cool,” Astoria muttered, her face downcast. Was that envy in her voice?

“You got plenty of time to get cooler,” Ron said, patting her shoulder. “Juno is nearly three years older.”

That only made the peppy girl sag even more.

Needless to say, by the end of dinner, the whole school knew of the matter, but neither the headmaster nor the other teachers had said a word nor punished Juno. The meaning was clear—if you could bypass the age line, you could enter your name in. 

The weekend before the drawing of champions arrived, and with it was the time for their D.A. club meeting. They no longer held their meetings in the abandoned wing after a few nosy third years had come sniffing around, but deep underground, in a vast underground chamber Juno had found. Luna joked that this had to be the legendary Chamber of Secrets, but Ron didn’t buy it. He hadn’t seen a single snake around the place aside from Nyx.

Noon rolled over, and Ron, Luna, and Astoria found their way to the secret passageway. 

“It does feel like the secret passage to a villain’s lair,” George had said as they descended through a damp, winding staircase hidden behind an old shelf that slid to the side once she murmured a password. 

“How’d you even find this place?” Fred had asked with great interest.

“Luck,” Harry said with a shrug. Once he saw the thoughtful face of the twins, he quickly added, “Only Juno can set the password here, so don’t even think about it.”

The chamber itself was rather grand, nearly as wide as the Great Hall and a bit longer, with over a dozen crystal lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft yellow light over everything. The insides were posh, lined with lacquered wooden planks, rugs, and carpets. The sides were lined with carved pillars, intertwined with old-looking carved wood that suggested the place was ancient.

At the far end of the chamber lay the Hogwarts symbol, with the four house sigils carved into a single giant stone facade, and a small wooden door at the bottom. Beneath it were tables, chairs, and sofas that looked like something out of a pureblood manor, where they would turn to study.

Since that revelation on the train, the intensity of their lessons had gone up a notch, reading and writing taking a backseat to fighting.

This year, Harry tapped out after the second week, and he spent the gatherings either sprawled over the sofa or sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, meditating with his eyes closed upon something. It was Juno that trained them, and she was a harsher, more demanding taskmaster.

Sometimes, she’d set them to duel in pairs, sometimes in teams of three or four or five, or duel them herself. Although not as overwhelming as Harry, Juno could hold her own with grace and came out victorious more often than not. Her wandwork was no less swift and far more insidious, and her repertoire was full of dreadful jinxes and heavy curses, and if Ron didn’t know better, he’d think she was a dark witch in training. But no matter how sinister her curses, none of them were lethal or maiming, though he still shuddered at the memory of the Jelly-Bone Curse that had left Cedric as limp as a wet noodle on the ground for a full hour.

Today’s lesson was no different, duelling and fighting and practising chantless Transfiguration until they were all dog-tired. Once the meeting was done, the D.A. members trickled away, and even Draco and Damien gave him a nod of respect before they left.

Ron saw Astoria, paler than usual, panting as she sat on the ground, making no effort to get up, let alone leave. Luna sat beside her, face flush with exertion but not as tired.

“Need a hand?” he asked lightly.

Astoria’s blue eyes blinked at him. “Just need a few moments to catch my breath,” she said breathlessly. “Chantless spells and advanced magic take too much out of me.”

“I can make a few more protein potions,” Ron said after scratching his head.

She made a face. “There’s only so much they can help… and they taste like old rotten socks.”

“All potions taste like crap. Anyway, suit yourself.”

Astoria had always been faster to grow tired than everyone else and a tad smaller than her peers. Ron hadn’t thought much of it. Some people were born weaker, some were stronger, but her weakness didn’t go away, no matter how well she ate—or how many protein potions she drank. 

Luna helped her up, and the two of them left. Ron turned to the sofa where Harry had just woken up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. But the exhaustion still seemed to ooze from the boy.

“Mate, you look dead-tired,” Ron said. “Those lessons with Dumbledore must really be something.”

“A pain in the head, that’s what they are,” Harry muttered, stretching with a yawn. “Quite literally at that. But I’m making serious progress.”

“Planning to sweep through the Triwizard, then?”

Something dark passed through the boy’s face. “Nah, I’m good. Someone else can win the gold and the glory. It’s probably going to be Juno.”

Without Harry taking part… Ron didn’t really see anyone else becoming a champion.

“Probably,” he agreed. His gaze settled on the weight racks on the side—brought over from the Muggle world by Harry himself. “Want to go for a few rounds—at least to get your blood pumping?”

Harry’s eyes sharpened. “Sure, why not?”

***

It was the Sunday before Halloween. Ron had just finished his Charms essay and was going for a quick spell-practise session in an abandoned classroom when he came across a small commotion.

After closely interacting with Ralina, Draco, and the Greengrass siblings for over a year, Ron no longer thought House Slytherin was full of slimy gits. The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin still kept going strong in class, but what did it have to do with him?

His own housemates didn’t particularly like him, and the Slytherins no longer bothered him. Even the most stubborn snakes had learned he was willing to dish out as much as he took, without fearing detention.

That’s why he was most surprised to see one of the younger students in blue school robes cornered by a bunch of Slytherin girls, all over a head taller. He didn’t recognise any of the Beauxbatons students, but he sure as hell recognised Melony Burke’s smarmy face.

“Pleez— I ’ave done noz’ing wrong. Let me go, s’il vous plaît.”

Melony sneered. “Can’t even speak proper, little slut.”

Ron frowned, and his feet came to a grinding halt when the Slytherin girls plucked the wand from the girl’s quivering hands.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Melony turned his way and waved him away as if he were an annoying cockroach. 

“None of your business, Weasley. Go now, and run along.”

Ron let out a sigh. It would be easy to just turn around and leave. Perhaps even go report it to the nearest professor, as would be proper. For a long moment, he was tempted. But his dad taught him better. 

He stepped closer, looking down on the band of snakes. “And let you all torment some poor soul?”

“Come now, we’re just teaching this arrogant little Frenchie a lesson. What are you gonna do about it?”

The girl just sobbed out.

“Hit us?” another Slytherin girl chuckled.

Another laughed nastily. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Weasel’s mother didn’t teach him manners.”

“Are you willing to risk it?” Ron asked, fists clenching tight even as he tilted his head curiously. “It’s gonna hurt, you know.”

Melony Burke turned her wand to him. But it was too slow—slower than anyone else from the D.A. club.

Before they could even chant a spell, he had already charged in.

A fist slammed into Melony’s nose. She fell with a shriek.

Ron swatted away the wand from another girl’s hand and kicked a third one in the knee.

The last two witches stared at him as if he were some sort of dementor, their hands quivering, and he simply plucked the wands from their hands.

“Piss off,” he said coldly.

They scurried away without a moment’s hesitation, leaving their companions behind.

No loyalty amongst thieves, then. Or was it snakes?

“You really ‘it zem?”

Ron turned to look at the little witch. ‘A first year,’ he thought. A pair of wide blue eyes looked at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. She barely reached his chest, and her pale blonde hair looked brighter than Malfoy’s. 

“Yeah,” Ron said with a crooked smile as he leaned in. “I hit them. Let me tell you a little secret. If someone bothers you in the future, you smack them good in the nose a few times, and they’ll think twice before messing with you.”

Her eyes sparkled.

“Really?”

Ron nodded seriously. “Really.” His smile turned sheepish as he glanced at the groaning Slytherin witches on the ground. “We should probably go to McGonagall’s office and ‘fess up.”

“Shouldn’t we just run away, non?”

“Nah. If you make trouble, you should be ready for what comes after. It’s faster just to go and honestly admit it—and the professors tend to go soft on you when you do it.”

Ron grimaced as the French witch started skipping by his side. McGonagall was definitely going to chew him out for this. Hopefully, the detention would be less than a month. But it was hard to tell with McGonagall—she had become energetic as of late, and hounded the Gryffindors who misbehaved with renewed vigour, overseeing their detentions.

Even Fred and George were on their best behaviour—aside from their clever little attempts to enter the Triwizard tournament.

It probably wouldn’t be so bad. 

***

31st of October 1994, Monday

Harry

Today, Dumbledore gave him a rare rest from their lessons, and Harry functioned normally for a change.

The Great Hall was packed tight. 

Madam Maxime and Madame Zagorska looked as tense as he would expect, but Harry’s gaze lingered on Barty Crouch Senior. The man was serious, his eyes not leaving the Goblet of Fire even for a moment, a stark contrast to Ludo Bagman, who was winking at the students and stifling a laugh.

Harry leaned in to whisper in Juno’s ear.

“Can you check for me again?” 

Her eyes narrowed at Moody and then flickered to Crouch for a moment, flashing with purple.

“Nope. Still Moody and old Crouch. Both shouldn’t be under any spells, but Crouch definitely drank a potion or two.”

“Potions?”

Juno’s lips twitched. “Calming Draught,” she said. “It’s standard for Ministry officials to take a sip before important events, allowing them to remain calm and dignified no matter what happens. Some combine it with Wit-Sharpening Potion or Invigoration Draught. Crouch is definitely an old hand in matters like this, able to take just enough to be of use without getting addicted.” 

Harry shook his head in exasperation. But a part of him remained tense. Juno noticed and gave his hand a squeeze under the table.

The moment Dumbledore got on his feet, the chatter of the evening feast died out. A great sweep of his wand saw all the candles except those in the carved pumpkins extinguished all at once, plunging the Great Hall into semi-darkness.

The Goblet of Fire now shone brighter than anything else around, its sparkling blue-white flames stung at the eyes and bathed the Great Hall in flickering, azure light.

“The goblet is about to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “When the champions are called, I would ask them to go into the next chamber, where they shall receive their first instructions.”

A door behind the staff table lit up in soft yellow.

The next moment, the Goblet’s flames turned red. Sparks began to fly, and a tongue of hot flame shot into the air, and a piece of charred parchment fluttered out of it as many gaped.

Dumbledore’s hand snatched the parchment at once and held it at arm’s length so as to read it at the Goblet’s fluttering lights. 

“The champion of Hogwarts is Juno Black!”

For a long moment, everyone was stunned. 

Juno stood up at once and walked into the back room without hesitation.

“How’d she get her name in?” someone from the Hufflepuff table asked loudly.

“Quite easily,” Dumbledore said. “Miss Black bypassed my age line, thus proving her qualifications to enter.”

Harry let out a long sigh and began to clap loudly. Slowly, the Ravenclaw table took up the applause, as did the teachers and eventually everyone was cheering. He felt a pair of eyes glare at him through the dark and didn’t need to turn to see that it was Fleur Delacour. She clearly had some issues, but he was too lazy to bother with her. 

The rest of the ceremony held no suspense as Krum was chosen as the Durmstrang Champion, and Fleur would represent Beauxbatons again, and the Goblet’s flickering blue flames guttered out. Only then did Harry breathe out a sigh of relief. Surely enough, Voldemort did not need to drag him into the Triwizard Tournament, not when he was already alive and murdering his way through Europe. 

Crouch, Dumbledore, Bagman and the two headmistresses disappeared through the door after the champions. Professor Bones cleared her throat loudly. A sweep of her wand lit up all of the candles, lighting up the Great Hall again. 

“The ceremony is concluded for tonight,” she said. “It’s time you go back to your dorms. Hurry now, there are classes tomorrow.”

With the deputy headmistress ushering them, students reluctantly filed out of the double doors.

Harry quickly made his way through the doors and allowed his magic to blend in as he stepped out of the stream of students, standing by the wall next to a suit of armour.

Nobody seemed disgruntled with Juno becoming Hogwarts’ champion—aside from a few older years who grumbled about missing their shot at ten thousand galleons. Perhaps it was because she had placed her name in the Goblet openly, not selected under dodgy circumstances as a fourth champion. Though he would wager that her skill with a wand did a lot to convince many. 

A part of Harry was glad she wouldn’t be ostracised or come under the suspicion he had suffered once. A smaller part of him was a bit envious, but he’d never admit it aloud.

The stream of students soon dried up, and solemn silence fell upon the hallway as the echo of footsteps and lively chatter faded in the distance.

Before long, Fleur and Madame Maxime rushed out of the Great Hall, followed by Madam Zagorska, who was smiling widely as she dragged the taciturn Krum out.

Harry’s gaze followed the two until they disappeared into the Entrance Hall’s great doors. Irina Zagorska. The name was wholly unfamiliar, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the old witch seemed somewhat familiar.

A softer set of footsteps came next, moving with quiet grace, and Harry didn’t need to look to know who was coming.

“Congratulations,” he offered with a grin.

Juno’s lips curved. “Becoming the Hogwarts champion was easy enough,” she said. “It’s the trials that are supposed to be challenging. First task is supposed to be a test of daring.”

Another set of footsteps ambled from the Great Hall before Harry could say anything else.

Sighing, he offered his elbow. Juno looped her slender hand through, linking their arms, and the two of them quickly walked up the marble staircase.

“Krum should be easy enough to defeat,” Juno continued once they reached the second floor, stepping over an empty step. “He’s good enough with a wand, but his character is too rigid. It’s Delacour that might prove a challenge.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate Krum either,” Harry said. “He’s not that bad, and surviving a werewolf attack might have just made him tougher. And if Zagorska is anything like Karkaroff, she’d be lowering your score and helping Krum in every possible way, unlike Dumbledore.”

Juno’s voice thickened with disdain. “Only the unskilled rely on trickery.”

“Madame Maxime will probably do the same, though not nearly as blatantly,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but Fleur is far sharper and more dangerous of the two by far. I can see it in her magic.”

Harry rubbed his brow with his free hand. “And I’m sure that has nothing to do with her interest in me.”

Juno offered a noncommittal hum, leaving him exasperated. His friend, or well, betrothed now, was reasonable and clever in all things, but when the interest of other witches was concerned, all of her reason was replaced with quiet aggression. She had even stared down Ginny, who had mustered the courage to invite him to a Hogsmeade date, pinning her with a glare until she burst into tears.

Fighting for his life and getting into deadly trouble was an old friend, but this was uncharted territory to Harry, given that his previous relationship had been swift and not even in this world. He knew even less about betrothals, really, if theirs could even be called one.

“We can come clean about the betrothal,” Harry broke the silence as they reached the seventh floor. “It’ll give you peace of mind if we do.”

To no surprise, Juno gave him the exact same response she had offered him the last three times he had raised the matter. “Now is not the right time. Voldemort is stirring up trouble all over the Continent, and I’m at odds with the Ministry. Announcing a union such as ours will stir up a hornet’s nest and paint a bigger target on our back.”

“When’ll be the right time, then?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “But I’ll be sure to tell you when I find out. How goes the training with Dumbledore?”

Harry’s mouth twitched at the abrupt change of topic. 

“Same old,” he said. “My mind feels light and solid, and my thoughts feel quick as if I’ve drank a Wit-Sharpening Potion. At least my head no longer feels like it was trampled by a herd of angry hippogriffs. As for the soul… I sorta feel different, but it’s hard to say. Dumbledore doesn’t shy away from giving me tips on transfiguration and elemental magic, too.”

“Not a loss, then.”

They finally reached the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy. Juno paced back and forth three times, and an elegant black door appeared on the wall. She pushed it open and Harry followed right away, entering a parlour that was an exact copy of House Black’s living room.

“So, why are we here instead of the common room?” Harry asked idly, easing himself onto one of the posh chairs. “Not that I mind.”

“I did quite a lot of things since the summer,” she said, her blue eyes studying him with scary intensity. “A lot of odd and questionable things. But you didn’t ask a single thing, not even once.”

“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to,” he said with a shrug.

“That blind trust is foolish.”

“If I don’t trust my best friend and future wife, who’ll I trust?” Harry shot back.

Juno’s gaze softened, and before he could blink, she moved with surprising swiftness and a weight settled into his lap.

“Ask, then,” she said. “I’ll answer all of your questions without holding anything back.”

“How’d you cure McGonagall?” 

The reply came without hesitation. “I performed the countercurse and concocted a powerful healing draught. It contained your phoenix tears, extract of manticore venom, willingly given unicorn blood, belladonna—”

The more she spoke, the more Harry’s scalp tingled. 

“No need to list it all.” He knew Juno’s skill in potions, and it was far from enough to cook up something new from scratch that would use his toxic phoenix tears as an ingredient. “Why’d you even cure McGonagall? Her dislike of you is not exactly a secret, and I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.” 

“To prove I’m better than my father,” was the quiet reply. She turned to face him, straddling him in a very compromising position. “To undo some of the evil he has done and prepare my mind to impact the peak. Last but not least was to display my ability to deal with dangerous, long-lasting curses and lure Greengrass into coming to me for help on their own. I’m sure you have more questions. Ask away.”

Harry stood speechless for a while. He knew Juno was cunning, but this was beyond what he had expected. But no, this was not a matter of her cleverness or anything else. Was something wrong with Greengrass? No, that didn’t matter, not now.

“How’d you know all of this?” he asked instead, waving a hand.

Juno quirked a brow. “You mean to ask who my master is? Who taught me a countercurse that Dumbledore couldn’t find for three years, how to make a healing draught with unique ingredients, or prepare a ritual?”

“Yes.” He nodded seriously. He had not forgotten the slew of obscure spells, dark curses, and her skills in transfiguration rose faster than an out-of-control Firebolt to the point they already surpassed him in conjuration. 

“It’s pretty simple,” she said, reluctantly peeling herself from his lap. “My master is Gellert Grindelwald.”

Harry gaped in surprise. But Juno looked at him with those blue eyes, filled with earnestness that made his heart flutter. It couldn’t be a lie—she never lied, not to him… and it made too much sense. A dark lord who almost brought Europe to its knees and could rival Dumbledore, deciding to teach Voldemort’s daughter. Why not? 

Shaking his head, he allowed his surprise to drain away. Truth be told, Harry knew nothing about Grindelwald aside from his ownership of the Elder Wand and defeat by Dumbledore’s hands. After all, that particular dark lord had spent the last half a century in prison, and he was nothing but a defeated old man now. In other words, he was old news.

‘Focus on the important things, Harry,’ he chided himself. ‘Is it dangerous?’ he meant to ask, but the question died on his lips. A good few months had passed, and Juno looked no worse for wear.

“Er,” he managed. “How’d he even teach you? Isn’t he in some prison deep in the Alps?”

Juno averted her gaze, her hand stroking the emerald ring on her finger. “Not quite.”

“Don’t tell me you broke him out?”

“Not quite,” she repeated, lips twitching. “Teacher, come out now.”

A stream of smoke fluttered out of the emerald ring until it took the shape of an old, gaunt man in transparent grey, much like the Nearly Headless Nick.

Harry leapt out of the chair, wand drawn.

“Don’t worry, Mr Potter,” the ghost spoke with a soft accent. “I can’t exactly harm you or anyone else, and in turn, you cannot harm me either.”.

Upon a closer look, the man did look like what he remembered in that vision. 

“Are you a Horcrux?” Harry asked coldly, keeping his wand pointed at the ghost.

Gellert Grindelwald let out a cold scoff. “I’m not young and brash enough to do something nearly as foolish as mutilating my soul. No, I sealed all of my essence into Miss Black’s ring, mind and soul, giving myself… a second life. A rather pale existence, without the possibility of directly affecting the world, unlike a Horcrux and much like a ghost. But an existence that allows me the delight of teaching a bright student.” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “You should know, your betrothed is rather smitten and loves you dearly. She was quite ready—”

“Enough.” Juno tapped on her ring with the wand, and the ghost was funnelled back inside the emerald.

“Is carrying a dark lord’s soul on your person safe?” Harry asked, edging closer with suspicion.

“He hasn’t brought me any harm for the last months,” she said with a slight smile. “He gave an unbreakable vow on his soul to never harm me. Master is not a saint by any means, but he isn’t evil to the bone. If anything, the old man is far more mischievous than you’d ever guess. Also, feel free to check for any curses, if you’d like.”

Harry only lowered his wand after casting every single detection spell he knew and even transforming into a phoenix, inspecting the ring with the bird’s sharp senses. Surely enough, there was nothing—if there were a problem with the emerald, he would have sensed it when transforming before.

A weary sigh tore from his throat as exhaustion seeped in, the moment he returned to human form.

Staggering, he sagged back onto the sofa, studying his best friend. Another year had seen Juno blossom into a beautiful witch, and the Hogwarts robes did little to hide her curves. She stood ramrod straight, pride written all over her face, though there was a glimmer of worry in her eyes still.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand. “So… you arranged for a dark lord to escape his prison and basically become your personal sentient artefact?”

“Yes.” Her smile grew mischievous as she sat beside him. “Fortune favours the bold, you know.”

Before Harry could react, she leaned in, sealing his lips. 

A minute later, Harry reluctantly pushed her away. “I’m dead tired for real, and curfew is coming soon.”

“Too late, I’m afraid.” Juno’s eyes turned into bright crescents. “Curfew was ten minutes ago. We can sleep here.”

“Fine,” he said with a yawn. Too tired to care anymore, he shuffled onto the sofa until he found a comfortable spot and allowed sleep to take him. 

The next morning, he awoke all stiff, with a heavy weight on his chest, though that had nothing to do with the thick woollen blanket draped over him. As posh as the sofa was, sleeping on it couldn’t compare to the good bed in his room, especially not with a witch sprawled all over him. She looked adorable, almost innocent, as a silver thread of drool spun from her lips and onto his shoulder. He had to pry Juno’s iron grip off him gently, but her eyes fluttered open the moment he moved. The hands around his arm only tightened as she studied him with no small measure of exasperation.

“Come now, lest we miss our morning run,” he said with a yawn. “And you have drool on your chin.”

Juno’s hands immediately flew to her face, and her face reddened as she mumbled out an apology. Stifling a laugh, he finally got up.

The morning run went as smoothly as always, though he could feel a gaze burning with resentment on his face throughout breakfast. Fleur had somehow seen through his ability and kept glaring at him as if he owed her money.

After he ate his fill, Harry made his way to the headmaster’s office for their daily lesson. But just as he said the password and the stone gargoyle jumped aside, Trelawney rushed into the hallway, eyes reddened and face anxious.

“They’ve taken him,” she wailed, brushing past the stunned Harry like a whirlwind. “Dumbledore, they’ve taken my boy!”

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Author’s Endnote: Ron punches his way into recruiting another blonde twerp. Juno aims for a championship and comes clean. Our favourite Divination professor is… in a pinch.