46.Interlude-Back to School

The first months of 1993

Amelia Bones

“I decided to apply out of concern for the children and the school, not because I want to fight or scheme, headmaster Dumbledore,” Amelia had said. “I do not want to hear of, let alone join, any borderline illegal associations. My elder brother and father did, and it only got them an early grave. Frankly, I don’t trust you, especially after last year’s fiasco with Petrov and Quirrell’s death.”

The old warlock didn’t seem offended; on the contrary, the twinkle in his eyes grew brighter as he stroked his beard. “You’re hired, Miss Bones.”

And just like that, she was saddled with one large stack of papers as Dumbledore jovially started explaining her duties and the work a deputy had to do. At moments like this, Amelia could see why people would think the headmaster had gone barmy, but no, he was still as sharp as ever. It took her three days to get around to her duties, and aside from matters of administration, regulation, supplies, and admission of new students, she was responsible for any lesser organisations at school, as well as being the intermediary between the student body and the staff at large.

She honestly thought she would have been promptly dismissed, which would be the normal response when you told your future employer you didn’t trust them one bit and criticised how they managed things. But it was perhaps her reputation and stellar work ethic that worked against her. Dumbledore was well aware of everything that happened in the Ministry, even if he had seemingly decoupled from the administration to focus on the school.

The staff welcomed her quite warmly; even Minerva McGonagall, the former deputy headmistress, seemed to be glad to have Amelia on board. Sirius Black, who acted nothing like his younger, wayward self, was another pleasant surprise. It only took ten years in Azkaban and a godson to take care of to get his head screwed straight and stop flirting with everything with a nice pair of legs.

Slughorn was far more vexing than she remembered, taking every opportunity to visit her in the office for the smallest of matters, and even attempting to invite her to his Slug Club.

Then there was Merula Snyde, the new caretaker, who glanced at her with unease as if Amelia would leap out and arrest her just like she had arrested her parents. Wizarding Britain had not been kind to a child of two convicted Death Eaters, and it showed in her skittishness when dealing with adults. Giving the witch a kind smile only seemed to daze and confuse the young Merula. While she didn’t show it, Amelia knew the witch was an orphan now; her mother had perished from a fatal splinching during the Azkaban break-out, while her father had been killed a week later while fiercely resisting arrest.

It wasn’t long before the winter holidays ended, and the castle filled up, though not nearly as much as it did when Amelia had been a student.

“I am pleased to announce that we finally have a new deputy headmistress after a long year of vacancy. Please greet Miss Amelia Bones, who has graciously decided to join our staff in these trying times!”

The surprise on Susan’s face alone was worth it.

After giving a short speech about the importance of education and growth, which was received with surprisingly enthusiastic applause, Amelia sat down as the dinner began. The lively chatter, the starry ceiling, and the four tables all heavy with food were nostalgic. At this moment, Amelia finally felt glad she had chosen to take this job. It felt right to be back here, even if sitting on the staff and staring down at hundreds of young students was not something she ever imagined doing.

“Glad to have you back in school, Professor Amelia,” Flitwick chirped happily.

“And I’m glad to be here, even if I’m not quite qualified to be called a teacher, let alone a professor,” she responded politely.

“A mastery in Defence and three decades of experience in the field says otherwise,” Black countered, face solemn. “In fact, I have a favour to beg of you, Professor Bones.”

Amelia almost declined, but the seriousness in his voice gave her pause. “I would hear your request first.”

“With the latest events, I find it imperative to keep my fighting skills sharp,” he uttered slowly, but his grey eyes were blazing with fire.

“I suppose a few duelling sessions every few days wouldn’t hurt,” Amelia allowed. “But don’t expect too much—it will be a while until I get the hang of my new position.”

Black gave her a tight nod and focused on his dinner.

As she gobbled down the tasty portion of shepherd’s pie served before her, her gaze roamed over the students. It was the duty of the deputy headmistress to become well-versed in all matters concerning the school. Hogwarts was full of many familiar faces, if far younger. Susan was still glaring at her, irritated for being kept in the dark, though the expression looked more like a pout of an angry kitten to her. Amelia smiled inwardly as it reminded her of her younger years when gossip and fashion occupied her and other girls’ minds.

She shook her head, and her gaze wandered towards the Gryffindor table. The Weasleys were unmistakable, even if the red-haired twins resembled their Prewett uncles more than anything else, especially in deed rather than appearance, if Albus’s warnings had any merit. Then there was grim-faced Neville Longbottom, who mechanically shoved food down his throat as if to go through his motions. His eyes were full of fire and vengeance, an understandable thing considering his parents’ murderers were on the loose.

At the Slytherin table, Elise Travers almost looked like a respectable young woman. Her being betrothed to a Rosier was even less of a surprise. Amelia only hoped the two of them wouldn’t follow in their uncle and cousins’ footsteps, respectively.

Then, there was a young wizard who looked like a miniature version of Lucius Malfoy, glaring at a mini-Cyrus Greengrass. Amelia barely held down a chortle; it seemed that the sons had inherited the feuds of their mothers.

What Amelia found most surprising was that Bellatrix’s daughter did not seem to be shunned or under particular scrutiny for the rampages her mother had committed only recently. Whether it was due to her being a Ravenclaw or best friends with Harry Potter remained to be seen. There was still some wariness aimed towards her, but it was so subdued Amelia would have missed it if she were less observant.

The next two months were surprisingly quiet and peaceful, as if the escaped Azkaban prisoners had decided to simply hide. Perhaps rightly so, after that skirmish in Diagon Alley that saw them smacked by some unknown wizard. It was not only a humiliation for the DMLE but also the Death Eaters themselves. Of course, Amelia knew better than to let her guard down, so she veiled her brother’s house under a Fidelius. If the Death Eaters were quiet, it merely meant that they were planning for something or waiting for something, not that they turned over a new leaf.

The DMLE had managed to recapture or kill nearly half of the escapees, with only a hundred and twenty remaining at large. But she knew most of those recaptured were petty criminals or other offenders, not the worst of the murderers and Voldemort’s followers.

It was none of her business. She had left the life of law enforcement long ago. Being deputy headmistress of Hogwarts was quite engaging and just as satisfying. The workload was significantly less than the overnight shifts she was forced to do as the Auror Captain. In fact, it could almost be called leisurely. Paperwork, request forms, dealing with suppliers, sending official letters and the like were nothing new to Amelia, so she quickly took to the rhythm of the new work. McGonagall was eager to help in any way, and Amelia had to hand it to the elderly witch who juggled not just the position of Deputy Headmistress but also Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor.

Thankfully, working at a school was far less eventful than the DMLE.

The most annoying thing she had to deal with was giving the Weasley Twins detention for trying to spell her favourite yellow robes crimson. They had grown used to the joys of menial labour under Filch, Petrov, and later Merula Snyde, so Amelia had simply made them stand with their hands raised in the corner of the Entrance Hall for hours to no end, which seemed to annoy the two quite a lot—to the delight of their classmates, of course.

Then, there was Eros Tonks, who had to be hexed a few times to learn not to annoy her with his childish flirting. The occasional duel with Sirius Black was a welcome surprise; the former troublemaker had turned quite dangerous, even if there was a sense of desperation as he gave his all each time they crossed wands.

“I’ve never seen someone push themselves so hard,” Amelia noted at the end of a duelling session after a month.

Sirius groaned as he struggled to get back on his feet. “Then you haven’t seen my godson. He’s a little monster.”

“I heard he was quite good for a second year.”

“Quite good?” That got a choked laughter out of Sirius. “Words don’t do him justice. Sooner or later, you’ll see.”

There wasn’t much to see, though. Harry Potter avoided the duelling club and disappeared into some secluded corner of the castle for most of his free time during the day. His performance in class was outstanding, considering he was already doing advanced fifth-year magic. Bellatrix’s daughter was just as impressive, if not even more so.

By the beginning of February, she was dominating the seventh-year students in the duelling club with ease. Amelia observed Juno Black closely, looking for any signs of unsavoury behaviour or the madness her mother’s House was so famous for, but had yet to find any.

February passed with a surprising amount of snow, but the chill began to thaw at the beginning of March. At the end of the first week, Moody came over for a surprising visit.

“We’re leaving,” he barked, his enchanted eye spinning around her office.

“Not a great way to greet your former colleague, Alastor,” Amelia tutted.

“Spare me the nonsense about courtesies.” Moody impatiently waved. “Director Scrimgeour has recalled me and Tonks.”

Why was he telling her this? A heartbeat later, she groaned inwardly as realisation sank in.

“And let me guess, there won’t be any replacement protective detail for Hogwarts,” Amelia said with a sigh.

“Precisely. They consider your presence here more than enough insurance and require my expertise urgently.”

Leave it to the Ministry to cut corners after a mostly ineffective publicity stunt. And if something happened in Hogwarts now, she would be the one to take the blame.

“I thought the Death Eaters had gone into hiding?”

Moody took a sip from the flask on his hip and snorted. “As if. The Prophet doesn’t report it, but Crouch Junior and Rookwood have been spotted in the Balkans. Greyback and his pack have been active in Romania and Hungary—no doubt trying to bring other packs to heel and swell their numbers. A hundred and twenty of the Azkaban escapees are still at large.”

“That wouldn’t make someone like Fudge move so urgently unless someone was lighting a fire under his fat arse,” Amelia pointed out. After nearly three decades of working there, she knew the Ministry was always slow to rouse itself into motion. At times, it bordered on complete incompetence, especially when coupled with corruption.

“Ah, I missed your barbed tongue.” Alastor chuckled. “That sabbatical did you good, lassie. But yes, you’ve got it right. That pyromancer is at it again, too; Ascalon Emberwick has set a village in France on fire, and the French ministry has petitioned the ICW to intervene here due to Wizarding Britain’s ‘inability to solve its own problems’.”

“No way that flies in the Wizengamot,” she said. While the Lords of the Wizengamot were the most self-important and quarrelsome lot in Wizarding Britain—her brother included—if there was anything they had in common, it was their pride. That and distaste for all things French.

“Of course not. They even voted to increase the DMLE’s funds, if only to spite the French, but Fudge still demands faster results, and he demands them yesterday.”

“And you’re the best dark wizard catcher.”

“I’m getting old,” Alastor complained, his face twitching with annoyance. “Most of the new crops of Aurors are too soft. Slow and used to dealing with drunken sots and petty thieves, not violence and actual dark wizards. The Ministry is so hungry for skilled wands that they’d take you back in a heartbeat.”

“I like it here more,” she admitted. “Far more peaceful. Less work, less risk. Dealing with a dedicated Dumbledore who has no distractions from his former positions is surprisingly easier than dealing with a stubborn Minister and the endless politicking in the departments. Anything else you want to tell me before you leave?”

“Constant Vigilance!”

Amelia was still chuckling as Moody left, and the clanking of his pegleg faded in the distance. All things considered, she would miss seeing his scarred face.

The news of the Death Eaters along the Dalmatian coast slowly trickled into the Daily Prophet in the following weeks. While it wasn’t explicitly said, Amelia could read between the lines—the Ministry’s efforts to deal with the remaining escapees bore no fruit, and families with Death Eater relatives were under heavy scrutiny.

The school remained thankfully peaceful even without the Auror guard. One early morning, Amelia found herself waking up early and strolling through the castle grounds. The quiet before dawn was serene, and she both marvelled and realised how much she missed how the school was left untouched by the undercurrents that had enveloped the rest of Wizarding Britain.

The sound of footsteps gave her pause. It was a few figures running around the Great Lake. Potter, Black, their Muggle-born friend, and the Carrow twins. It was an odd combination of Ravenclaws and Slytherins, especially considering their blood status. Just a decade earlier, it would have been unthinkable to see a Carrow, let alone a Black, mingle with Muggle-borns. Harry Potter’s Muggle-born mother would have been overlooked in favour of his father’s quite ancient lineage.

It was not a friendship born out of a desire to explore the more asinine aspects of magic or a union of ambition and necessity. It wasn’t the darker-leaning families trying to corrupt the Boy-Who-Lived, either. No, if anything, Potter was the lynchpin here, pulling the other four girls along with him. With his fame, he had the foundation to stand on his own.

Shaking her head, Amelia headed back inside the castle.

As she passed through the toilets on the third floor to freshen up, she heard quiet sobs from one of the stalls. Sighing, Amelia approached the stall door in question and carefully knocked.

“Who is it?” she asked gently.

The sobbing abruptly stopped. A moment later, something inside shuffled, the door creaked open, and a red-eyed Merula Snyde glared at her, even if it lacked heat.

“It’s me, Professor Bones.” The words came out dull. “I was… just… relieving myself.”

Amelia’s lips quirked. That was certainly one way of putting it. “How about you come to my office for a cup of tea?”

Half an hour later, after a lot of tea, bourbon biscuits, and plenty of patient prodding, Merula finally opened up. “I… I confessed to Sirius Black,” she muttered, her eyes dropping to the floor. “And… and he rejected me.”

Amelia snorted. “I’m not laughing at you,” she hastily added as the girl groaned in defeat. “In fact, I still remember Professor Black boldly propositioned me in Hogsmeade while he was in his sixth year in school. I was an Auror and more than twice his age at the time, and rejected his ardent confession, of course. The three following attempts to woo me over the next two years as well.”

Merula looked torn between outrage and curiosity. In the end, she sighed and offered a weak, “But Professor Black is very different now.”

“He no longer thinks with his lower head, that’s why,” Amelia said. “Sirius Black is not the sort of man looking to build a family. A charming, well-put face, but that’s merely a mask for the shallow, vain man underneath. I’m not saying Professor Black is a bad man, but he’s not the type to seriously date a nineteen-year-old witch like you. If he did, it would be merely for fun.”

“There’s nothing wrong with fun,” Merula fired back angrily. “I am a grown woman—so what if I want some fun?”

“That path leads nowhere good, child. Perhaps if you were swimming in galleons and didn’t care about the future, you could try to ignore most consequences. But you can’t. My mother always taught me that the three strengths of a pureblood witch are her reputation, her looks, and her skills with a wand, the latter coming last as being least important. I thought she was speaking nonsense, but with time, I realised she’d always been right.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for that,” Merula bit heatedly. “My reputation is already in the gutter because of my parents.”

“Don’t glare at me, Merula. Even if it weren’t me who caught your parents, it would have been someone else.”

“I know, I know. I have thought of how things could have been different a thousand times.” The young witch sighed despondently. “It doesn’t change the facts, though. My skills with a wand might be great, but it doesn’t matter. My reputation is forever ruined. I have nothing to my name. Most men look at me and see the brash daughter of two dark wizards. I can’t find a proper job for it, too, and my temper doesn’t help. Being here as a caretaker is only because of the headmaster’s generosity—and it’s not a permanent position, either. I have no future, Professor Bones. Why would I care for yet another blemish on my not-so-illustrious name?”

She was right, Amelia realised. Fate had dealt Merula Snyde a bad hand. The sins of the parents were not supposed to be inherited by the child, but the stigma would be worse now, especially with Death Eaters on the loose. Merula’s chances of making it in life were ruined. The only thing that awaited her after this would be either selling her body to make a living or turning to crime. Or worse, reduced to dancing to Dumbledore’s tune as he sent yet another young but capable witch to her death on some noble but quite possibly fatal quest.

“How about you become my apprentice?” Amelia offered. Merula just blinked in confusion.

“A-Apprentice?” The words filled with disbelief slipped from her lips. “You will offer me a mastery?”

“Yes, in Defence. I will sponsor your studies, vouch for your character, and teach you myself. Of course, I will demand nothing short of perfection, but I’m giving you an opportunity that should have been given long ago.”

“But you’re putting…” Merula swallowed heavily. “You’d be putting your reputation at risk for a daughter of Death Eaters. If you take me on as an apprentice, all of my failings will reflect on you.”

“Indeed. But this is not an offer made out of pity,” Amelia said. “If you weren’t at the top of your N.E.W.T. classes in Defence, Potions, and Transfiguration, I wouldn’t have offered you this. I wouldn’t have even considered offering this if you had sympathised with You-Know-Who or his followers. And lastly, a capable apprentice gives prestige and fame to the master who trained them.”

Merula still hesitated. Was it out of fear, or perhaps wariness, that Amelia would swindle her somehow?.

“You have time to think, of course,” she added. “A mastery is not a decision to be rushed, but it will open many doors previously closed for you. Take your time to think it through carefully.”

The last resistance in her eyes crumbled, and Amelia Bones knew that she now had an apprentice.

17th of April 1993, Saturday

Juno

Things were going surprisingly well. She ignored the whispers and fingers pointed at her on account of her parents’ vile deeds, and the interest soon died off after they saw her toiling in the library almost every day. Perhaps Harry’s presence also helped, along with the fact that she was a model student, even if some considered her arrogant and snooty.

While Harry’s relentless pace of studying saw her exhausted more often than not, the headmaster, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Black were very helpful in arranging an early O.W.L.s for her and Harry in all seven subjects: Defence, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and History. Harry had also signed up for Care for Magical Creatures and Arithmancy to avoid the burden of elective subjects next year.

Juno wished she could follow in his footsteps there, too, but seven subjects were already pushing it greatly. In Herbology, Astronomy, and History, she aimed to merely get a passing grade and free up her time in the coming years.

Of course, Cassiopeia’s absence was slowly being noticed. The letters and correspondences she handled as Juno’s guardian could only be faked for so long. A few wizards had stopped paying rent on lands owned by House Black. One Brennan Slate had written with a request for a hefty loan, while Cyrus Greengrass kept writing for an ‘important meeting’.

While he was being vague about it, Juno had no doubt he meant to discuss ‘future alliances’, which included a business deal at the very least, or even a marriage if he was feeling bold enough to try and gobble up Houses Lestrange and Black. Fawley and MacMillan had owled her, inquiring when House Black would appoint a proxy for their seat on the Wizengamot.

Then, there was the Lestrange Branch in France, also looking for arbitration over a dispute about some château in Northern Burgundy, the Rosiers, who directly requested a meeting with Juno—or at least Cassiopeia Black over the matter of the disappearance of Druella Rosier. Her senses told her there was something fishy there, so Juno didn’t bother to reply.

While many of these inquiries, requests, and offers could be deflected or declined, the more and the longer this charade continued, the more scrutiny it raised towards her. The biggest reason Juno wasn’t prodded as much was that Cassiopeia Black had never been reachable by owls in a personal capacity. Everything written to her had to be addressed to House Black after she took Juno’s guardianship.

Of course, none of those troubles could reach her while in school, but she could not ignore the issues piling up on her plate.

“So, I heard you quit the duelling club?” Harry prodded as they met at a secluded corner of the fifth floor late afternoon.

“Not exactly quit. They no longer challenge me,” Juno admitted. “It took me half a month to win against Elise Travers, a month to win every time we duelled, and nearly three months to start winning against her and her betrothed together. I admit it’s fun, but my time is best spent elsewhere now. And Flitwick refused to let me practise with him if I was not going to sign up for international duelling.”

Juno was reasonably sure she could have lied her way around that, but she respected the Charms Master too much to resort to such trickery. In the end, she had her pride, too. Harry was probably dying to hone himself against Flitwick but hadn’t asked their head of house about it once, even if Flitwick would probably agree for his favourite student.

“Is it that much of a bad idea?” Harry asked. “Signing up for duelling, I mean. You would be pretty good at it.”

“The fame, prestige, and connections upon international success are significant. Perhaps if my mother were still rotting in Azkaban.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “And perhaps if we weren’t on the hunt for certain items. There’s always time to change my mind once we’re done.”

“I suppose,” he allowed as they stopped at an old tapestry of a noblewoman weaving a knightly favour. The favour was almost completely covered by her hands; only the bottom part could be seen, depicting the twisting tail of a serpentine S. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Open,” she hissed out after checking for anyone looking nearby. The tapestry silently swung open, and the wall behind it parted, revealing a winding spiral staircase descending downwards.

“Oh, that’s why.”

“Come.” The tapestry swung back, turning the passageway dark, and Juno lit up her wand. “I believe this is the entrance that the student with the diary found after you sealed the one in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”

“That’s handy,” Harry admitted. “A pity we never found out who actually had the diary. Anyway, the Chamber probably isn’t the best place to study, all things considered. We should go to the library instead.”

“Still reluctant to return there, Harry?” Juno drawled, not bothering to hide her amusement.

“It’s not exactly a place of joy now, is it? Damp, dark, deep underground. I prefer the sun.”

“I think it will surprise you,” she offered, her voice softening.

Harry, however, wasn’t so easily swayed by words. “We’ll see.”

“I found one more entrance—I think it leads to the Forbidden Forest, but it collapsed long ago.”

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the twisted hallway underneath the great lake. But it was well-lit now, with enchanted lanterns lining the walls covered with white marble tiles. The air was dry and fresh, and the stench of mould and all the bones littering the floor was gone.

“The entrance is certainly more pleasant,” Harry noted at the arcs dotting the serpentine corridor. “Though I didn’t know you dabbled in construction.”

“It’s all Wally. And it’s not construction, merely redecorating and assembly. Particularly skilled house elves can easily do that much, especially if they have the material beforehand.”

“And House Black doesn’t lack materials,” he concluded, shaking his head.

They reached the intertwined serpent statues.

“Open!” Juno stepped inside and swept an arm out. “Behold, the Chamber of Secrets. It’s ours!”

At least, as long as they got rid of Voldemort’s soul shards for good, nobody else could enter here.

“Well… this isn’t the abandoned creepy underground temple I remember,” Harry said, looking quite surprised. “It’s still unsettling, but it feels… more mysterious than dark and gloomy.”

And for good reason. The Chamber of Secrets was significantly better lit, as if it were half an hour before dusk. The ceiling still couldn’t be seen, but all traces of destruction were gone. The floor was smooth and warm, the air was fresh, and the serpentine statues on the walls had all been restored and painted inky black.

“As I said, it’s all Wally’s doing. I doubt Slytherin preferred living in a damp, cold hole, either,” Juno pointed out. “But a few centuries of neglect underground will do that to a secret chamber. It’s quite useful, as well. Charmed against portkeys and apparition, too—even Wally can’t enter and has to come through the passageways like me. There’s a cell hewn into the stone that probably served as Salazar’s sleeping quarters and a few small empty chambers, but if they stored anything of use, it’s long been looted by his descendants. What do you think?”

Harry paused by the big mahogany study desk smack in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, tentatively sitting on one of the two luxuriously comfortable chairs lined with black and silver velvet.

“Only you, Juno, only you would think of renovating a basilisk’s lair,” he shook his head, but the mirth in his words betrayed him. “I suppose it’s not that bad to have a secret retreat in case things go wrong. Anyway, are you ready? Professor Flitwick says we’ll be starting our O.W.L.s first thing on Monday.”

“Confident in the wanded subjects,” Juno said, but some nervousness slipped through. “I should be able to… pass the rest. The better the grades, the higher my chances of having Fudge pass my partial emancipation.”

“How will it even work? I read that it required your parents’ agreement, and well…”

“It’s precisely because my parents are ‘hardened criminals on the run’ that Fudge will let it pass.” Juno flexed her fingers. “It does show I wish to separate from them legally. It’s not unusual for young heirs from families with seats on the Wizengamot to do it, whether to prevent being controlled by some unscrupulous relative or guardian in case their parents perish in times of turmoil. Well, that and the fact that I will donate a generous sum to the current administration. I won’t even have to use the dirt House Black has on Fudge’s wife.”

“…Of course, you’ve got dirt on our minister.” Harry chuckled. “Anyway, forget about that. What do you want to do? Transfiguration? Potions? Herbology?”

He said that with the utter confidence of a person who had nothing to worry about the exams. And perhaps he didn’t. To this day, she was almost sure the only thing that stopped Harry Potter from taking N.E.W.T.s instead was not theory but his age. His magic wouldn’t be thick enough to perform the more complex seventh-year magic.

“A few extra hours of studying or revision won’t help me now.” Juno’s lips curled. “Let’s duel instead.”

“We’ve done that a thousand times in the last few months. How about we take a walk outside?” Harry countered. “It’s even pleasantly sunny. We can meet up with Diana and the Carrows; it’s been a while since we hung out together aside from the morning runs.”

“Fine,” Juno conceded. “I suppose I can’t avoid going outside for too long, or Longbottom might just start a rumour I’ve turned into a vampire.”

“You, a vampire?” Harry rubbed his chin, looking all too serious despite the lilt in his tone. “Considering all the time and energy you suck from me, there might be some truth to such claims—”

“You coming or not?” Juno had already walked away, not deigning to reply to such asinine jokes. However, if someone accused her of smiling lightly, she would hex them.

24th of April, Saturday

“Very well, Miss Black and Mr Potter,” the examiner tapped with her cane. “Anything you would like to show me for extra credit? Corporeal Patronus certainly was a welcome surprise in your Defence practical.”

Surprisingly, the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority had been here in person to oversee and even conduct half of their exams. Griselda Marchbanks was an old, tiny woman, her face so wrinkled that it looked like she was draped in cobwebs.

And the most important part: she was a witch of great authority and influence who had overseen the exams of everyone alive in the Wizengamot and almost all the wizards and witches in Magical Britain. It suited Juno perfectly; Griselda’s presence here meant no doubt could be cast on the validity of the O.W.L.s.

Focusing her mind to the limit, she pulled on all her magic and tapped the desk, turning it metallic silver. She felt her insides twist, sweat running down her back as Juno bordered dangerously close to magical exhaustion with a single spell.

Miss Marchbanks let out a thoughtful hum and knocked on the surface with her knuckles, producing a clear ringing sound.

“You turned it into aluminium,” she observed. Her voice was raspy and slow, but her blue eyes were still sharp. “Silently at that, hah. I must admit, I thought the two of you were just hasty and overeager to try to take your exams in your second year. Or perhaps you had got drunk on your success. But that wasn’t it. I can see why Flitwick was so excited about this whole thing, and why Dumbledore allowed it with so much amusement. Let’s see how long it lasts.”

Ten tense minutes later, the table slowly started reverting to wood.

“Not bad. What will you show me, Mr Potter?”

Harry slowly and deliberately placed his wand on the table and took out a matchstick. His face scrunched up in concentration, and he tapped the matchstick with his finger, turning it into a needle.

The old witch grabbed the needle with surprising agility for her age and held it right before her squinting right eye.

“A technically impressive but useless trick,” Marchbanks allowed begrudgingly. “This is more a display of your mind, magic, and honed intent than Transfiguration itself. I bet you can’t do the same trick with anything larger than a thumb, either. Why don’t you show me something else?”

“Any more, and it will be too troublesome, Madam Marchbanks,” Harry countered with surprising smoothness. “There’s a limit to how talented twelve-year-olds ought to be.”

“As cheeky as your father, if far more sensible,” she harrumphed unhappily. “But fine. I would understand why you would want to avoid… further attention with all those misguided fools on the loose. That’ll be it then for both of you. It’s been an eye-opening week for an old witch like me. Go now, run along.”

Just as the two reached the door, Griselda Marchbanks coughed loudly. “And Miss Black, you’re a bright young thing. I hope you won’t ruin your future by following in your parents’ footsteps.”

Juno suppressed the flare of anger in her chest, bit back the retort that threatened to erupt from her tongue, and rushed out of the room. How dare they even insinuate that she would do something as imbecilic as her mother, like abandoning their daughter, going on wanton orgies of violence, and bowing her head to some ambitious half-blood coward?!

Before she could flip her lid, Juno faced a small crowd of students in the hallway, led by some Fifth Year Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

“How was it?”

“What were the questions?”

“Was there anything about Gamp’s Law?”

“And the practice parts?”

Juno was too exhausted to deal with them, and all she could do was stare as her mind was sluggish from all the writing and being on the brink of magic exhaustion. Harry outright muttered ‘excuse me‘ while elbowing his way into the crowd to get to Diana and the rest of their friends, who had been pushed to the back. It looked particularly amusing to see a twelve-year-old force his way forward like some muggle, and she couldn’t help but snicker.

The snicker turned into a peal of full-blown laughter as she simply found herself too tired to care about propriety, even as several students stepped back in shock as the corridor fell into silence. Bloody hell, even Harry stopped and stared at her with confusion.

“She’s lost her marbles from too much studying, it seems,” one of the fifth-year Slytherin boys noted with a hint of dread.

“Is this the fabled Black Madness?”

“I mean… the hat put her in Ravenclaw for a reason.”

The comments only added to her amusement, and it took Juno a good minute to school her face while the crowd looked at her as if she had grown a second head. Why wasn’t she feeling as mortified as she ought to?

“Sorry about that. Regarding the exams…” Juno then promptly gave the waiting students all sorts of exaggerated and mostly inaccurate answers while Harry was trying his best to hold in his laughter.

She could almost feel all those months of tension leave her body, and even her heart lightened. Just for once, she felt like a normal girl, not the head of House Black. And just for once, she could afford to be a normal girl.

A voice in her head that suspiciously sounded like Arcturus Black screamed that it was improper to display such… unrestrained and foolish behaviour. That she should go and rest before rushing to train again or start planning for the future, but it was fine to forget all of her worries just for today.