64.Rain

1st of September 1994, Thursday (71 days later)

Ronald Weasley

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was as lively as ever. The air hung heavy with steam and the voices of a hundred conversations, the hoots of owls and the yowls and hisses of cats. For once, they hadn’t arrived at the last moment—a glance at the clock told him they had seven minutes before departure instead of the usual four. Their dad was busy with yet another urgent call-up from the ministry—something about breaking the island-wide enchantments again. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll write every week, Mum,” Fred was saying, winking to his brother.

“And don’t forget to look after your sister.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” Ginny whined, but did not pull away when she was pulled into a firm hug.

There were no hugs for Ron, not yet. His mother would hug all of her children goodbye, yes, but he was always last, just as he was last in everything else, as the youngest son. He would rather not have this last hug at all.

Charlie laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re doing well, Ron. You have the build for a dragon-keeper. Hell, you’re already as strong as I was at seventeen.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he glanced at their mother. “I can get you hooked up for a summer job if you want it, away from Wizarding Britain.”

Ron opened his mouth to decline, but struggled to find the words to refuse him. Instead, he swallowed and muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t be too harsh on Mum,” his brother whispered. “She’s always trying her best in her own way.”

Not hard enough, though. Nobody tried hard for the sixth son. 

“Yeah,” Ron said instead, forcing a smile to his face. “I know.”

Charlie grinned as he ruffled his hair. “Take care, little brother. I might be seeing you sooner than you think.”

The moment he stepped away from his siblings and his mother, who had yet to let go of Ginny, he was assaulted by two blonde missiles.

“Ron!” Luna beamed at him from his left hand.

On his right side, Astoria was poking at his biceps, blinking with surprise. “Oh, wow, you’re built like a brick shithouse now.”

Somewhere behind him, his twin brothers snickered loudly. Ginny, finally slipping out of their mother’s embrace, also gave him and Luna a cold glance before she ran to her Hufflepuff friends.

“Hullo to you too, Tori, Luna,” said Ron, exasperated, trying to shrug them off, but they held tight. He studied them curiously. “You two are clingier than usual.”

“We missed you,” Astoria said with a pout. “Whole summer and not a single owl.”

With a groan, Ron pried his hands away from their grasp. “I saw Luna well enough, but Errol couldn’t find you for some reason.”

“Mum dragged my sister and me to the Maldives and then to Sri Lanka.” 

“They have the greatest healers there,” Luna chimed in. 

Astoria’s smile stiffened ever so slightly. Ron wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t know her. “Anyway, let’s get seats before they’re all taken. I swear there’re even more people than last year,” Astoria murmured as she jumped over a pair of yowling cats. “The school’ll be stuffed full.”

“There can’t be more than two dozen more firsties than last year,” he said, glancing around. “Bloody hell, they’re smaller every September.”

He pressed on through the chattering crowd, Astoria and Luna trailing behind him as he elbowed away students too absorbed in their chatter to move. Voices echoed all across, filled with eagerness and excitement. Some even held a hint of worry.

“—Another werewolf attack in France, twelve bitten, thirty killed—”

“I can’t believe Argentina won the World Cup!”

“They’d have never reached the semi-finals if half the Bulgarian team wasn’t cursed—”

“So there’s truth to that, then?”

“Truth to what?” 

“Some new Dark Lord rising in power in the continent—”

“Bah, who cares. The continent can go shove it. It’s not like the ICW or anyone else helped when You-Know-Who—”

“The French Miracle has won the world’s championship for U17 for the third time in a row—and I heard she even managed thirteenth place in adult duelling—”

“My favourite lions!” It was Padma Patil, leaning out of the window with black curls spilling down her face. “Come and join us.”

Unlike the other windows, the one below the Indian witch was opaque, and nothing inside could be seen. 

“Padma!” Astoria elbowed forward, smiling widely. “You’ve become so pretty.”

The Indian witch turned her nose up at them. “I’ll have you know I’ve always been pretty. Come along quickly now, the others are waiting.” 

“The others?” Luna asked, tilting her head.

‘D.A,’ Padma mouthed. 

Ron threw his trunk over his shoulder and climbed up the train stairs.

“Wait, Ron,” Astoria called behind him. “Help us out, please?”

Turning around, his gaze settled on the two trunks nearly the same size as his helpless friends.

“Ruddy underage magic laws,” he swore under his breath, hauling their trunks over his. “W-What did you put in here? Bricks? Both of these are at least twice as heavy as mine.”

Luna blew him a raspberry.

“Just witch stuff,” Astoria said innocently. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Shaking his head, Ron slipped into the compartment before they could say anything further. It was nearly as wide as a classroom, with three tables conjured between the seats. Padma was seated by the window, joined by Diana, Morag, and Anthony.

Then, there was a clearly transfigured, high-backed sofa of black velvet. Seated between the Carrow twins was Juno, as pale as always, and her raven hair now tied in a bun, with her face surrendering no emotion. She felt more dangerous than ever. Her fingers ran through the plumage of a swan-sized bird with green and black feathers sleeping in her lap, which made his gaze slide away when he tried to look closer.

The most eye-catching thing was the ridiculously posh ring on her finger. It looked like it had been carved entirely out of some expensive green gemstone. Even Malfoy wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something like this.

Ron hummed out a greeting and busied himself, tucking away the three trunks at the corner of the compartment, and settled beside Damien. Astoria and Luna swept in after him, cheeks puffed out in anger as they gave him a harsh glare and sat far away.

‘They must be in one of those moods again,’ he told himself with a shrug. They would sulk for a while, and then it would pass. It always did.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to use Expansion Charms on the train?” Ron asked nobody in particular. 

“Professor Bones allowed it,” said Padma, pulling out an Arithmancy textbook from her bag. “She said Hogwarts hasn’t seen this many new students in decades.”

Next came his brothers, the Hufflepuffs led by Diggory with his chest puffed up with a shiny prefect’s badge, followed by the Slytherins. For a change, Draco sat as far away from Diana as he could, and his surprisingly tanned face was dripping with guilt. In turn, the Muggle-born girl averted her gaze, refusing to look at the Slytherins. 

Two of the usual faces were missing, though. Tonks had graduated last year, and—

“So…” Hannah’s hazel eyes darted around the compartment. “Where’s Harry?”

“He’ll come,” Juno said, fixing the pig-tailed Hufflepuff with a cool gaze. 

“So is it true then?” It was Cedric, his fingers fiddling with his wand.

“Is what true?” 

The whole compartment grew quiet, and even the Slytherins were no longer pretending to play coy, their gazes flickering from Cedric to Juno. 

The older boy cleared his throat. “That Harry’s squibbed himself.”

“Nah,” Ron said quickly. Everyone looked his way, and he felt heat rush to his face. “I-I wrote to him a couple of times in the summer. Says it was some mishap, but he’s healing well enough.”

Cedric hummed, brows knitting together in thought. “Why’d he leave Hogwarts without a word, then?”

Hannah wrung her fingers. “And the Article in the Prophet claimed he broke his magic and fled Wizarding Britain in shame—”

“It’s called vacation, Abbott,” Daphne Greengrass said slowly as if speaking to a child. “Some secret interview with a drunken Ministry employee can hardly be trusted. I doubt anything can faze our Tryhard. He probably finished early last year to train more at home. We’ll find out soon enough, but you seem awfully concerned about Harry. I can’t help but wonder why?”

“I—” Hannah stammered, face flushing red.

“Come off it, Greengrass.” Susan was the one to respond. “Harry’s our friend. Of course, we’re concerned about him.”

“I thought the D.A. was dissolved,” Cedric pressed, gaze roaming around the compartment.

“It is not,” was the curt reply. Juno stared unblinkingly at the older Hufflepuff boy until he shuffled uncomfortably and looked away. “It shall continue as it did last year. But you’re free to leave anytime, of course, provided you do not speak of it again.”

Everyone shared a glance, but nobody left their seat. Ron understood them well enough. The D.A. had been far more fun than classes, and he learned more in a single session than in any series of classes ever.

And then, there was Harry. He had rarely talked to the Boy Who Lived, but Harry was always far friendlier than any of Ron’s housemates.

Uncomfortable silence settled in the compartment. The train finally started moving, and everyone busied themselves. Juno was ruffling the sleeping black swan’s feathers without a care in the world. Astoria and Luna took out a chessboard; the Hufflepuffs played Exploding Snap, while the Slytherins talked in hushed whispers beside the Ravenclaws, whose noses were stuck in textbooks. 

His twin brothers’ heads were so close they might as well have been glued together, doubtlessly plotting another bout of mischief.

“I take it the Protein Potions were put to good use?” Damien whispered humorously, glancing at Ron’s arms.

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Ron said, flexing his biceps. It had been a pain to explain to his mother how he got them, though. “How did the World Cup go?”

Damien let out a dramatic sigh. “It was interesting at first… but Mateo Perez didn’t catch the snitch until after midnight, and half the audience was asleep. None of those teams should have ever made it to the finals, I say. Both of their seekers were utter trash. Krum would have crushed them within an hour—no, half an hour, even.”

“I heard Krum got attacked by a werewolf before his match with Brazil,” Ron said sombrely. “It’s a pity.”

“What’s the real pity was the Lychester attack.” Damien’s face darkened. “Without Troy and Ryan wounded, the Irish would have definitely qualified for the finals, I tell you.”

Ron lowered his voice. “Yeah, well, Juno’s old bat of a mother is barking mad and twice as dangerous. We were lucky to be rid of her with the Brechfa Inferno—but my dad says the Azkaban breakout will haunt Wizarding Britain for a decade.”

“My father says the same,” his friend muttered with a long sigh. “They say Emberwick will be acknowledged as a Dark Lord by the ICW by Sunday.”

“No way he’s that dangerous! Emberwick just burns stuff!”

“He burns people, too, Ron.” Damien’s mouth twisted. “None of the thirteen veteran ICW hit wizards pursuing him survived. He turned them all to ash two days ago. Word is he has followers, too, and works hard to expand his influence: the hallmark of any dark lord. The international news keeps quiet about it, but my father knows the Supreme Mugwump in person.”

“…Right,” Ron said with a grimace. Damien’s dad knew a lot of people high in the Ministry, and beyond, of course. His own father knew a lot of faces in the Ministry, or at least that’s how it seemed when he took him for a visit to his work, but they seemed like distant acquaintances at best.

His eyes settled over the Slytherins, who all looked uncharacteristically worried. Outside, the rain poured in thick ribbons, lashing against the glass and blurring the world beyond.

The talk in the compartment steadily died off, and Ron took the chance to get a good nap until the trolley lady came. Damien generously swept her trolley clear, piling up sweets and snacks on the tables and shoved a handful of galleons into her hands.

“Help yourself, everyone,” the blonde boy said generously. “My treat.”

Ron grabbed a bag of crackers without a moment’s hesitation. It went great with the chicken sandwiches he’d lathered in mayonnaise. 

As the hills blurred by, the mood in the compartment slowly relaxed. 

“So,” Draco raised his voice, “are any of you ready for the Triwizard Tournament?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll try my hand at it,” Cedric said. “I can probably beat whoever Durmstrang and Beauxbatons put in, and if not, I’d at least get valuable experience out of it.”

The sixth-year Selywn witch from Slytherin glanced him up and down and snickered. “Maybe if the tasks were related to beauty, Diggory, you’d stand a chance.”

Cedric frowned but didn’t rise to her bait.

“Wait, wait, hold on a minute,” Ron let out a groan. “What tournament?”

Even his brothers and a good deal of the Ravenclaws seemed just as confused as he was. 

“It’s a famous inter-school contest.” Damien was the one to explain. “Goes back over seven hundred years, when Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons decided to pit the best of their students against each other.”

“Famous?” Fred echoed. “Why haven’t we heard about it, then?”

“It was discontinued in 1792,” Padma said, a frown settling over her face. “That time, all the contestants were killed by a rampaging cockatrice.”

Juno finally stirred from her place. “Sounds intriguing. And we’ll have a Yule Ball to go with it, too.”

Ron groaned inwardly. So that was what those blasted robes were for. The whole school would see him make a fool out of himself. Or perhaps he would be better off not going.

“Why bring it back, then?” Diana asked.

Damien replied, “My Father said they tried once or twice when he was young. But evidently, they didn’t try as hard as our Minister.”

“Fudge needs all the good publicity he can muster.” Juno sneered. “The rest of Europe is on fire, but Wizarding Britain is safe and prosperous, or so he hopes to make it seem.”

Ron couldn’t help but laugh. “Surely no one’s forgotten that the Azkaban breakout happened right under his nose, right?”

“That is true,” Juno cocked her head. “But it means little. Since then, most of the dark wizards on the run have been apprehended, slain, or long fled Wizarding Britain. Which Fudge has said loudly and often to great effect.” 

“No different than the Muggle Prime Minister, then,” Diana said with a brittle smile. “Will the tournament be dangerous?” 

Damien snorted. “Of course—the more danger, the bigger the crowd; who doesn’t like to watch teenagers fighting for their lives? And then they’ll still claim it’s safe, regardless, I bet.”

“I mean…” Goldstein scratched his head. “What danger could there be with Dumbledore overseeing it?” 

“Our headmaster will probably be amongst the judges,” Juno’s voice was silky smooth. “And the judges are impartial and take no part.”

Whispers rippled across the compartment, discussing the tournament with hushed tones, but the bird in Juno’s lap finally awoke, stretching as its razor-sharp beak cracked open for a long yawn. Gazes immediately gathered on the swan as its eyes fluttered, revealing two orbs that could easily be mistaken for emeralds. 

The hair on his neck stood on end the moment he laid eyes on it. Something on the back of his mind prickled in a way it hadn’t even when Ron had faced Hagrid’s hippogriffs or a troll’s corpse with Petrov. There was something dangerous to this beast, and that shade of green was pretty but too bright.

“I’ve never seen a bird like this before,” Ralina Selwyn said, her black eyes glittering with curiosity.

“I would be surprised if you had.” The edges of Juno’s mouth curled. “There’s no other like it.”

So it was not a swan. Ron shrugged inwardly.

“Does it have a name?” Daphne asked, her blue eyes studying the green swan with great interest. 

“Ashwing.”

The bird shook its plumage, standing up as it glanced around warily with glowing emerald eyes.

“It’s majestic,” Susan said, and even Ron found himself nodding.

Now, he could get a better look when it was no longer a curled ball of feathers. Most of the feathers were inky black, streaked with green towards their tails. The bird was slender and graceful, much like a swan, but with curved talons instead of a swan’s webbed feet and a far sharper beak, the colour of obsidian.

Juno rose, pushing the window open, and the bird rushed out in the rain before they could blink.

“Oh, why’d you go and do that, Juno?” Padma groaned, grimacing at her now-soaked textbook. 

The window was sealed shut, but the damage was done. “Ashwing wanted to fly,” Juno said, drawing her wand. Then, she tapped it on Padma’s book, and all the moisture drained away from the pages. “That should fix it.”

The Indian witch made a face. “It’s all brittle and all scrunched-up now.”

“…Ahem. Apologies.” Possibly for the first time ever, the dark-haired witch looked slightly abashed. But that looked as if it had passed so quickly that Ron might as well have imagined it. “I’ll purchase you a brand new one before lessons start.”

Ron looked at his trunk, filled with third and fourth-hand textbooks and suppressed the pang of envy at the display. 

Damien’s eyes were fixed on the black stick in Juno’s hand. “Is that a new wand?”

“Oh yes. Basilisk horn and phoenix feather.”

The Slytherins all gasped, while Ron was trying very hard to remember if he could remember what a basilisk was. His mind went blank, but it was probably pretty important, judging by Damien’s gaping mouth.

“Do you have venom to sell?” Ralina leaned over, interest written all over her face.

Juno’s eyes grew glacial. “None, it’s an old token I took from House Black’s personal stash.”

Cedric, who just swallowed a chocolate frog, wiped his mouth. “So, why’d you call us all here, Black? Not that I mind the expanded compartment and all, but—”

Whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the opening of the door, and Harry Potter stepped in. The moment his foot set in, the whole compartment felt full, overflowing even, despite the generous expansion charm and seats that were half empty. The Boy Who Lived gave them a slight smile and a casual nod, as if he had just gone to the washroom, not disappeared for four months. 

“Hello, everyone,” he said softly as he ran a hand through his messy black hair. “I’m back.”

His face had a healthy bronze tan, looking sharper than ever. His eyes were somehow greener and made the back of Ron’s neck prickle. 

Fred whistled. “Damn, Potter. I need a double portion of whatever they fed you in the summer.”

Ron was tempted to whistle too. Harry was now taller than Juno, nearly matching Cedric in height. He had grown in width, too, with broad shoulders and black school robes that failed to hide a well-trained body. Not as strong or bulky as him, if Ron had anything to say about it. ‘But not too far off, either,’ he begrudgingly admitted. Yet there was no doubt that somehow, Harry Potter had become even more dangerous. But Ron couldn’t shake the feeling that the Ravenclaw boy was tired. 

The Muggle-born girl eyed her friend and let out a relieved sigh.

“So, you’re no longer a Squib?” Anthony asked bluntly. 

“Never have been,” Harry said. His fingers curled around a pale wand, and with a flick of his hand, a wisp of white-hot flame tore from its tip, twisting itself into ribbons. “I did suffer heavy backlash after a particularly rigorous practice session, though, but I’m better now. It’ll take me a few more months to fully recover.”

Ron could feel the searing heat all the way from his seat. The air around the pale flame simmered, even, and he could see veins of green thrum stronger with every passing moment.

Harry just reached out and pinched the flame, reducing it to smoke slipping between his fingers.

“Wow!” Astoria had stars in her eyes, and she started clapping. “That was brilliant, Harry.” 

“Thank you, Astoria.” The Boy Who Lived looked a bit wistful. He glanced at Ron and gave him a friendly smile, and made his way to Juno’s side as Hestia Carrow obediently moved away to make a seat for him. “You all must be wondering why Juno’s called you here.”

“We were getting to it, yes,” Fred muttered helpfully.

Harry and Juno looked right together. His sharpness dulled, as if someone had sheathed a razor-sharp sword. Somehow, the young wizard’s presence softened the usually cold witch, and she almost looked prettier instead of frightening. 

“The reason is simple.” Juno’s silky voice slithered across the compartment walls. “I’d like to tell you that the Dark Lord has returned.”

“We already know about Emberwick,” Damien said, yawning. “The pyromancer won’t dare set foot on the British Isles with Dumbledore here. Bet even old Mad-Eye Moody can make quick work of him.”

Many were nodding, and Ron was not surprised. Folks who’d been locked up in Azkaban for years were not powerful enough to pose a great level of danger, or so Bill had claimed. And he trusted his brother.

“Moody retired this summer, though,” Morag said. 

Damien shrugged. “Well, I’m sure the ministry’ll call him back if he’s needed—” 

Harry cleared his throat. “It’s not some small fry like Emberwick we speak of.” His gaze fell to the Slytherins. “Draco, Ralina. Do you know?”

Draco slumped in his seat, gave a tired nod, and hid his weary face behind his hands. 

“Know what?” Daphne demanded, eyes darting between Draco and the Selwyn witch. 

“Know that Lord V-V—” Ralina trembled all over. “The Dark Lord is back.”

The whole compartment erupted. Fred and George laughed as if they had heard the greatest joke, Diana just shrank into her seat, while the rest were like Ron… confused.

Anthony snorted. “Impossible. Dead men can’t go back to life, and if he did, Dumbledore would have told everyone about it—”

“But Voldemort never died,” Harry said, voice growing grim. “He’s a man who fears death more than anything else and did everything in his strength to avoid it. Just look at his name.”

“Wait!” Fred stifled his laughter. “You mean you’re serious?”

“He is,” Draco said glumly. “My father has seen him, and his presence has been a terrible drain on the Malfoy finances already. He’s robbing us blind.”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Juno said. “But it’s true. The Dark Lord has delved into magic so dark that even death wouldn’t take him so easily. We merely meant to inform you of the fact.” 

“Surely someone would know about it,” said Cedric, eyes darting around as if the Dark Lord would leap from the hallway or the window to attack him in particular. “Last time, people went missing, attacks on Muggle and Magical settlements were the norm, and nothing like that is happening here.”

Harry quirked a brow. “And what makes you think Voldemort has returned in Wizarding Britain?”

Cedric paled. 

“A powerful wizard is well capable of remaining hidden if they do not wish to be found,” Juno added. “Dumbledore was the one who told Harry of his return, but I doubt he has the proof to bring it to the public eye.”

“What are we going to do?” said Astoria, her voice rising in panic.

“Nothing,” Juno said. “We merely meant to let the whole club know. Our meetings shall continue as they were. I suspect the Dark Lord is attempting to gather a following on the continent by taking advantage of the chaos there. Perhaps it’ll be years before he sets his eyes on Wizarding Britain. Perhaps he never does. This is not your fight.”

“Can we practise more?” Draco asked, voice hoarse. “Not duelling or simple spell practice. I… I want to learn how to fight. Properly.”

Diana whirled in her seat, her amber eyes staring widely at Malfoy.

“You can.” Harry nodded, giving him an encouraging smile. “Any who wish to learn how to fight should be up and ready for a good run with me at six in the morning by the main entrance. If you can’t even drag yourself out of bed early, forget about any mock-fighting.”

The Slytherin boy grimaced, but he gave Harry a sharp nod. Ron looked at Draco with new eyes. No wonder Malfoy looked so tired… nor was it a shock as to why his budding friendship with Diana had been broken so swiftly.

Everyone quieted soon enough, and the only sound was the pittering of rain against the glass. Any disbelief was quick to melt away. Contrary to what he expected, not a single Slytherin looked happy or ready to gloat. Ralina sat lost in thought, her gaze drifting from Harry to Juno, and then to the Carrow twins. The Ravenclaws had returned to their books, but their gazes were too restless and their eyes unfocused for someone who was supposed to be reading. 

The Hufflepuffs shuffled in their seats at first, but then slowly calmed down. Their doubt was written plainly on their faces, though it was mostly from Cedric. Hannah and Susan were lost in thought. His own brothers looked deathly serious, though knowing them, it was hard to say for how long that would last.

Only Luna and Astoria whispered to each other, giggling and completely unbothered, as if they believed everything would be fine somehow.

Ron wished he could be half as optimistic. 

His eyes settled on Harry, who had returned to his seat. The Boy Who Lived did not look at all surprised. If he was afraid, it did not show. His tanned face betrayed nothing, and his green eyes were burning with resolve.

Realisation sank in. 

Perhaps this was why he had trained so hard. If some dark tosser killed his parents, Ron would want his pound of flesh, even if it was You-Know-Who. But Ron had lost things in the war, too. His uncles had died at the hands of the Dark Lord’s cronies when he was still in the crib.

Ron didn’t remember them, but he remembered the way his mother used to hold back tears when she looked at Fred and George whenever she thought no one was looking. He felt a sting of pain in his palms—his nails were digging into his flesh. He did not remember balling his hands.

Inhaling slowly, he unclenched his fingers.

He would join Harry and the rest tomorrow at the crack of dawn, too, no matter how much he hated getting up early.

Harry Potter

Curious eyes clung to him more than usual tonight, and many seemed surprised to see him return to Hogwarts. Fingers were pointed his way, whispering, “Hey, look, it’s Potter!”

“Didn’t he Squib himself?”

But Harry had grown used to far worse. He flicked his wand into a Lumos, and that silenced most of the whispering, and the students were swift to curse the Prophet. 

Moody was already at the staff table when they arrived, his magical eye spinning erratically. Professor Perrywinkle had retired, much to the joy of many, and Mad Eye had taken his place. Once nobody was looking, Juno’s eyes flashed with purple for a long moment, and she gave him a curt nod. 

Harry’s nerves finally eased. This was the real Moody, then. His eyes kept flicking towards the scarred wizard, and he saw the man eat his food with relish. He drank from his cup, too, though he waved his wand over it first. No Polyjuice, then. It would have been easier to confirm with the Map, but it was gone.

Perhaps it was time to attend Defence classes again.

His eyes flickered towards Professor McGonagall, whose hair had gone completely bone-white, and her face had wrinkled as if she had aged twenty years in just two. Her strictness was still there, but her energetic demeanour was nowhere to be seen—she looked tired. Terribly old, too.

Harry had thought it was just some mishap that would eventually go away, but it hadn’t. He was not the only one to notice. If the rumour mill was to be believed, the affliction came from a curse Petrov had struck her with.

‘But Petrov had died in the chamber, trying to steal the stone,’ Harry thought bitterly. The perpetrator could only be… Voldemort.

He pushed all of his thoughts aside and focused on his food with greater resolve. Just as Harry was trying to decide if he should go for a second piece of treacle tart, the food vanished, to the disappointment of many. The headmaster stood up, and the murmurs quickly quieted.

“I must regretfully inform you that the Inter-House Competition will not take place this year,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed over the tables. “That includes this year’s Quidditch tournament.”

“What?!” It was Roger Davies, face twisted in outrage, who stood from the Ravenclaw table. 

Many others were mouthing silently at Dumbledore, too appalled to speak. 

The headmaster’s eyes twinkled. “Instead, Hogwarts will be the host of an event that will take up much of the staff’s time and energy throughout the school year. But I assure you, you’ll all enjoy it immensely. I am pleased to announce that Hogwarts will host the Triwizard Tournament!”

The Great Hall erupted. 

“He must be joking!”

Most were muttering, “What’s the Triwizard tournament?”

Those who knew looked almost giddy. Harry just smiled wryly at the chaos.

Dumbledore went on and on about it, but he didn’t pay much heed once he was sure everything was the same. 

“Did he just say death toll?” Michael Corner whispered furiously.

Terry Boot nodded. 

“You don’t seem very eager for it,” Juno whispered in his ear. Her warm breath ghosted over his neck, sending shivers down his spine. 

Harry’s mouth twisted. “Already seen what it’s about, and it wasn’t fun. Also, quit the teasing unless you want to be snogged in front of the whole school.”

That earned him a smouldering look, but she reluctantly leaned back, always mindful of her reputation.

“Lastly,” Dumbledore was saying, “The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in two days with their short-listed contestants—and they will remain with us until the end of the year. The selection of the three champions will take place on Halloween. An impartial judge will select each candidate. Only the students most worthy can compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and ten thousand galleons in prize money.” 

The schools were coming far too early. Were they worried about the unrest in Europe, or was it some new change?

Juno’s eyes lit up. “Interesting.”

“I didn’t think you’d care about some galleons,” Harry muttered, frowning. 

“It’s not the gold I crave, but the glory and recognition that victory will bring. It might not be much, but becoming Triwizard Champion will prove that Lady Black is more than just the last scion of a dying house, more than just a name standing on her predecessor’s shoulders.”

“I suppose I’ll help you,” he said, exasperated. Glory and fame meant nothing to him. He could understand her desire, but that didn’t mean he agreed.

Juno shook her head, gaze set on Dumbledore. “As much as I appreciate the motion, I want to earn my victory properly, Harry. I mean to use the tournament as a whetstone to push myself further, and assistance might just ruin that.”

She was not the only eager person. Harry didn’t need to look across the four tables to know that many students’ eyes were now burning with desire. Ten thousand galleons was a small fortune that could last half a lifetime if handled wisely, and many were eager for the glory or riches. Many gazed at Dumbledore with rapt attention, while others whispered furiously between each other, no doubt lost in their own dreams. 

The headmaster cleared his throat loudly, and the hubbub quickly died off.

“As eager as all of you are to bring victory to Hogwarts,” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students of age, that is to say, seventeen years or older, will be allowed to put their names forward.”

His decree was obviously met with outrage, but a heavy, looming presence hung over their heads, pressing down on them, silencing all objections at once. Yet another reminder that this Dumbledore was not his Dumbledore, though no less dangerous. Some shuddered, others quickly began to sweat, but Harry could bear the pressure with ease.

If anything, a burning desire to fight stirred deep inside his chest. His magic coiled underneath his skin, like a serpent ready to strike, but the looming presence withdrew as quickly as it had appeared.

“This,” the headmaster glanced at the still-furious Weasley Twins, “is a measure we feel necessary, given the tournament will be as difficult as it is dangerous, regardless of any precautions we take. It’s highly unlikely that students below the age of majority can overcome them. I will personally ensure no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge.” 

Dumbledore’s gaze was still fixed on the Weasley twins again, but his target was all wrong. Harry felt many eyes settle on his back and was not surprised. Amongst the Hogwarts students, no one was his equal, whether in knowledge, power, ability, or skill.

But the one to watch out for was Juno, who came close enough. Her face was expressionless, but Harry could feel waves of burning desire roll off her—she had taken the headmaster’s words as a challenge.

After a few final words of caution, Dumbledore sent them off to bed.

Chairs and seats scraped as the students rose and swarmed towards the double doors of the entrance hall. The crowd churned with whispers, and Harry doubted anyone would be calm enough to sleep any time soon. 

Many of the fifth years were still outraged, and Diana was even angry on his behalf. 

“This rule was meant to target you,” she said darkly, giving one final glare at the headmaster before they streamed past the doors. 

“I never wanted to participate anyway,” Harry said with a lazy shrug.

“Really?” Goldstein asked, squinting his eyes. “I bet you can bypass whatever defences Dumbledore places.”

Harry let out a snort. “Don’t be so quick to underestimate him. He’s the man hailed as the second coming of Merlin, you know. Besides, it’s not like I need gold or glory. And I’m still recovering, remember?”

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be vigilant against anyone placing his name inside. 

“It would be nice if we could participate in the tournament, though,” Morag said with a heavy sigh. “Ten thousand galleons… my parents have barely made that much in a decade.”

“Most of it is Ministry gold,” Juno said with a sneer. “They’ll try to earn it back and then some through the windfall tax they passed last month and the rest through tickets, amongst other things. From what I know, the aim is to broadcast the tournament across the Wizarding Wireless and internationally, and even record each task like the Muggle-telly things and sell it to be viewed.” 

Diana scrunched her brows. “Can’t they just make magical cable TV or something?”

“They’ve tried,” said Padma. “I heard American wizards had some success half a decade earlier, but they scrapped it because the cost of displays and connecting a network of screens and their upkeep was far higher than they could afford.”

On the fifth floor, a flush-faced prefect waylaid them. 

“Potter, this is from the headmaster,” he said breathlessly, shoving a piece of parchment in Harry’s hands before fleeing.

I would like to meet you and Miss Black before you tuck in. I have a liking for foam bananas. 

“What does it say?” Diana asked curiously.

“Summons from the headmaster for Harry and me,” Juno said. “You go ahead, we’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

They rushed to the seventh floor, only to find that the spiral staircase that led to the headmaster’s tower had moved. At moments like these, Harry deeply felt the loss of the Marauder’s Map. 

“Why do you think the old man has called for us?” Juno asked.

“Dunno.” Harry stifled a yawn. “Might be a recruitment offer for his exclusive club. Let’s go and be done with it—I want to squeeze in another training session before bed.”

After another fifteen minutes of wandering, they gave up and called for a house elf, who led them to the far end of the second floor.

“Foam bananas,” Harry intoned, and the stone gargoyle leapt aside.

They climbed the staircase, and he hesitated for a long moment before rapping on the door with his knuckles.

“Enter.”

The door swung open on its own, revealing the headmaster’s office. It was quiet for once, as if all the gizmos strewn over his shelves and cabinets had fallen asleep.

Dumbledore was waiting for them behind his desk, slowly stroking his beard.

“You called for us, headmaster,” Juno said, voice betraying no emotions.

His blue eyes twinkled hard as they peered at them from his half-moon spectacles.

“Indeed,” he said, smiling widely. “Fascinating.”

Harry made a face despite himself. “What is, sir?”

Dumbledore hummed, but with a flick of his finger, a bowl of yellow Muggle sweets slid across the table. “Lemon drop?”

Juno did not make a move, nor did Harry, both watching the headmaster with vigilance.

“Very well.” Dumbledore let out a long, tired sigh as his shoulders slumped. “I must congratulate you, Mr Potter, for succeeding where I failed. I shall not inquire further, but I cannot help but notice that you have greatly benefited from your ordeal and then some. I assume you have mastered your Animagus form?” 

“Takes up too much magic and focus to use,” Harry said vaguely. “It will be some time until I’m anything more than an oversized bird.”

The headmaster gave a noncommittal hum, and his gaze fell on Juno. “And I didn’t expect this from you, Miss Black, though I probably should have.”

Juno was like a statue. “I have done nothing wrong, professor.”

“Nothing wrong, no,” Dumbledore stroked his beard, “but perhaps skirting on the wrong side of Wizarding Law. I have seen no new names in the Animagus register.”

“With all due respect,” she said slowly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, headmaster.”

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. “After a certain mishap three years ago, I updated the castle’s enchantments, more than once, mind you. Fiddling with obscure magic has always been a fondness of mine, and an ever greater one when I accomplish something new or worthwhile. Now, I can tell if an Animagus walks into my school even if they have yet to shapeshift, and you, Miss Black, are one.”

“What?” said Harry sharply, staring at the headmaster as though he had misheard.

His gaze flicked to Juno, and she was looking guilty. Why was she looking guilty?

It stung more than he had wanted to admit.

“Now, I’m in no way here to enforce the law.” Dumbledore laid his hands open. “Or to tell you what or what not to do with your free time. But I expect… both of you to remain on your best behaviour, as you already have in the last three years. And Mr Potter, my offer still stands.”

“I have no desire to be head-boy, sir,” Harry said coldly, glancing at Juno, who would not meet his gaze. “Not now, not ever. But I would ask you for a small favour instead: please place some enchantment on the Goblet to prevent others from slipping my name in.”

“Moody is not an impostor, and the Dark Lord would have no reason to care, and your worries are unfounded, Mr Potter. But perhaps such a thing is prudent, even just to put your mind at ease. I shall see to it, and know this: my door is open to you at all times. 

He adjusted his crescent-shaped spectacles. “You have reached a point where the normal curriculum is no longer challenging to you. I believe I can offer you lessons you will not find elsewhere. Of course, my promise to Miss Black to tutor her on advanced metal Conjuration and Transfiguration still stands.”

“There’s no need, headmaster.” Juno’s voice was clipped. “I can already do it.”

With a sharp Z-shaped twist of her wand, a shiny silver phoenix pin fell on Dumbledore’s desk. That was new, too. The surprise barely registered for him—right now, very little would surprise him.

“Let’s leave, Harry,” she said, pulling him out by the hand.

Harry allowed himself to be dragged down to the hallway on the second floor, and Juno turned to kiss him. 

He simply stepped aside, avoiding her.

The hurt in her blue eyes made his chest tighten. 

“You didn’t tell me you’ve become Animagus,” he said sharply. “When was it?”

“Last week.” Her voice cracked. “I meant to surprise you, Harry. I… I wanted to soar the skies together with you.”

Harry slowly exhaled and pushed his anger aside, though the emotion stubbornly clung to him. He felt silly then. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Juno was his friend and his betrothed, and he trusted her. 

“Apologies,” he offered with a sheepish smile. “Anger comes quicker to me this summer for some reason. Easier, too. Somehow it sneaks past my Occlumency.”

“I’ve noticed,” Juno said coolly. “Your temper shortens the days you stay as a phoenix.”

His mouth twisted. “That makes sense, scarily enough. I… guess I should at least talk to the headmaster about it. Perhaps see if his lessons are of any use. We can go fly together sometimes if you want. Just the two of us.”

Juno averted her eyes, muttering something beneath her breath.

“Could you repeat that?”

“I said… I can’t fly,” she said quietly.

Harry opened his mouth to offer her to take to the skies with a broom, and shut it closed with a click. He felt like the greatest fool, then. Juno was afraid of heights, but she had braved the Animagus ritual just to join him.

“I… show me your form?” Harry asked instead, voice thick.

She stepped aside, face scrunched up in focus. In a moment, Juno’s body twisted and stretched, and in her place, a lean black panther stood, gazing at him with bright blue eyes. She reached up to his waist in height, and her fur wasn’t entirely black, but dotted with dark brown. A lean and graceful predator—a fitting form for Juno.

“It’s pretty,” he blurted out. The black furry head eagerly rubbed on his thigh, as if she were an oversized kitten. Perhaps she was. Harry sank his fingers into the fur and found it soft and supple. “This makes you an honorary Marauder. So, you’ll need a proper name, too.”

Juno let out a soft, keening noise that almost made him melt. This wasn’t fair. Then, her body shifted, and she stumbled before him in her human body. Harry reached out a hand, steadying her before she could fall.

“I still need to get the hang of this,” she said, giving him a grateful nod as she patted the imaginary dust from her immaculate robes. “It feels so weird to be a cat, no matter how big.”

Harry gave her a slight smile. “I know the feeling. Hopefully, we’ll get used to it sooner or later. But we should probably return to the common room or risk breaking curfew.”

Juno’s fingers found his palm and curled around it. He returned the gesture, and they trudged on up the marble staircase. 

For a short moment, Harry forgot training. He forgot the looming threat of Voldemort and war. It felt right. The thought of moving beyond the ocean to America or Canada grew more appealing by the minute. But then he remembered the way Juno’s face lit up when she heard about the Triwizard Tournament. 

He remembered the old, tired face of Professor McGonagall, who had aged far more than was right. And then… he remembered that eerie green light that defined his life and the voices that came with it.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” 

“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now….”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—”

“—Harry?” Juno’s voice shook him from his daze. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” he muttered sheepishly. “Just… remembered something unpleasant.”

He tried to find that carefree, happy feeling from earlier, but the magic of the moment had passed, slipping away from him like water through his fingers.

That night, Harry trained himself until almost all magic and strength were squeezed out of his body. As he lay on the carpet panting for breath, his thoughts drifted towards Dumbledore’s offer. Perhaps… It would not be too bad to see at least if the headmaster was serious. But it would take some time to adjust his mindset.

He did not make it to his bed before falling asleep, slumping across his bedroom carpet. 

Author’s Endnote: Whew. That was a doozy to write. Going to dive into year 4 right away. Decided to do away with the World Cup entirely. I considered having the World Cup again, but then I realised that even with Voldemort, people would expect some sort of DE attack or something, even though it’s not logistically feasible for him and he’s lying low, so I butterflied it away. 

On a side note, I have my mind settled on a proper Ron side-plot, and I wonder if I should pursue it.