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Chapter Text

Rose Cassiopeia Potter, daughter of James and Lily, goddaughter of Sirius Black, child of prophecy and witch, wandered around the small archaeology site near Tintagel Castle in Cornwall. The end-of-school overnight trip was one of the most exciting things she had ever been on, never expecting to visit such a place. Vernon and Petunia Dursley, her aunt and uncle, would never have allowed her to go—except that, somehow, her name had been added to a small scholarship.

Worse, this was the land of King Arthur, knights of the Round Table, and Camelot, whose stories were woven with the magic cast by Merlin and Morgan le Fey. After the school announced the trip location, she wondered if Vernon was having a stroke. But their precious son Dudley wanted to go. After several threats of punishment and comments such as “freaks don’t deserve a vacation,” she was hustled onto the bus.

Since she was little, Rose had dreamt of other times and places—a secret she never spoke about to her relatives. Some dreams were wonderful, a few so terrible that she often woke on the verge of screaming, while others were so sad that she found tears on her face. However, as the bus chewed up the kilometers through Bodmin Moors, she began recognizing the land around her as part of her dreams.

And it was wonderful, if a bit lonely. Unlike other groups of children, Rose moved about the ancient stones by herself. Her cousin Dudley had made sure that either lies or threats of violence isolated her. Even the teachers ignored her, but that didn’t matter; it had been a good day—the best day—because she also felt like she was coming home.

The young witch might have been alarmed at the pull if she’d had any magical training. However, a small part of her had always felt something missing, so when she recognized a ruined wall, she reached out to touch it.

And fell.

Morgaine, youngest daughter of Igraine and Gorlois, wife of Urien, mother of Yvain, wise healer, powerful sorceress, and enchantress, slept. She had entered seclusion after the Battle of Camlann, whose dead covered the field like fallen leaves. Her brother, their King, was dead; his son also lay slain, whom he had protected until his last breath. The Britons had fought bravely, and although they shattered the invading Saxon army, it came at a horrible cost.

It was the end of a dream.

Overwhelmed by magical exhaustion and grief, Morgaine disappeared into her sanctuary. She only needed time to rest. The land, much like the bodies she healed, was broken. It needed time to heal; she just needed sleep. But as the sorceress closed her eyes, she slipped in and out of the Annwyn, the Otherworld. Time would pass as she dreamed, protected by the blessing of the spirits and ancient charms so powerful that even the most learned ward masters could never break them—much less find them.

But at long last, the long sleep was coming to an end. Morgaine was restless. For the last eleven years, foreign but familiar dreams had bled into her own. And now, a missing part of her drew close. She awoke abruptly, feeling as if something had suddenly dragged her out of the Otherworld.

What Rose-Morgaine didn’t expect when she opened her eyes was to find herself face down on the ground. Rolling over, she stared at a ceiling both familiar and unfamiliar.

“Hecate’s breath, why am I not in my bed?” the sorceress murmured, her voice like sweet honey, though spoken in a language forgotten to time.

Wincing at the pain in her head, she sat up and pushed off the ground with dainty hands. Her long hair, which she moved out of the way, was heavy and oddly wet. Then Rose-Morgaine remembered. Reaching up to her face, her hand came away covered in blood.

“Oh, I fell,” she whispered, looking up to find part of the landing had worn down and crumbled beneath her weight.

Stumbling across the chamber, she passed her workshop and entered the bedroom, finding it surprisingly—and thankfully—empty. Passing through the ancient protective enchantments with no issue, the sorceress opened the heavy wooden chest and retrieved from its depths an exquisite bronze mirror. The face reflected on the surface was not entirely her own but a combination of Rose and Morgaine.

“I look like my granddaughter,” she laughed, a little hysterically, while wiping the blood from her face—then stopped. With her other hand, she lifted her bangs to find the much-hated scar gone, as if it had never existed.

Hours later, with bloody clothing tossed aside and vanished, she slipped into a warm bath. Although the many outfits stored in her trunks might be centuries out of style, the now-young sorceress had no plans ever to wear poorly fitting clothes again.

“But what to do next?” she mused, washing her hair.

Obviously, returning to Privet Drive was out; even Uther wouldn’t have thrown her into a cupboard. Although he had married her off to one of his allies, that was expected. Rose-Morgaine wondered if anyone on the bus would report her missing. The teachers, for the most part, pretended she didn’t exist. The girls who shared a room with her at the hotel ignored her. The Dursleys would probably celebrate her disappearance.

Perhaps there was a magical community she could slip into. She knew Rose’s parents—her parents—were magical, from the snippets of memory she could recall. The odd accidental magic she experienced when younger was familiar to her, just as it had been to Morgaine. Unfortunately, as with many non-magical families, the Dursleys’ reaction to it was not uncommon, especially among superstitious peasants. But some magicals should have noticed.

Still, the former Queen didn’t have to decide right then. The ancient charms that protected her Sanctuary were surprisingly intact. There was little chance some archaeologist had stumbled upon her while she slept.

The next morning, feeling much stronger, the young sorceress stared at the raven preening itself while chewing on a fifteen-hundred-year-old apple.

“How did you get here, Breuddwydion?”

The bird looked up, stared at her like she was an idiot, then went back to what he was doing. Her familiar had always been a cheeky little thing.

“Right.”

Her spirit contract was in place, so she obviously hadn’t died. But Morgaine had created it after becoming a sorceress, not Rose—so was she more than the other, or a little of both? What exactly had happened to her? She had memories of living as a healer and a Queen, but also of sleeping in a cupboard.

“But my magic’s still strong,” she said, tossing the apple core into the air and vanishing it with a wave.

After breakfast, Rose-Morgaine, now wearing a transfigured 5th-century dress, stood in the center of the chamber and set the end of the staff on the ground.

“Your show, Breuddwydion,” she said to her familiar, who left her shoulder, circled to the ceiling, and vanished.

Chapter Text

The change in the land was startling, even with her memories as Rose. Taking to the air, her familiar circled higher to get a better view. Through Breuddwydion’s eyes, Morgaine saw that only a few people were out this early. No surprise—even Tintagel Castle would have few visitors at this time of day.

Then she spotted them: two staff members directing half a dozen yellow-jacketed bobbies and a couple of dogs. Beyond them, even more police wandered among the lower ruins toward the beach.

“So, someone did notice.”

Although she had no plans to return to her relatives, at least the teachers had said something. So perhaps someone actually cared—or were they just covering their asses, so to speak? Didn’t matter, really. But still, a child vanishing from an English Heritage site would be an issue. Unfortunately, she couldn’t exactly tell the police to stop looking.

So where to go? As much as the non-magicals believed Tintagel Castle was the birthplace of her brother—much less a magical enclave—it was not.

“Well, there was always something magical about the Damnii,” she mused, then pondered aloud, “Perhaps Londinium.”

Although the Saxons had allowed the once-great city to fall into ruins, the magical community still held a strong presence. Did it still exist?

“Right—London,” Morgaine corrected herself.

Cities and kingdoms’ names had obviously changed over the centuries. Her old knowledge would be of little use except to a historian or archaeologist. Her new memories weren’t much help either, having only just begun learning about the Anglo-Saxons. Modern history—or even geography—she knew almost nothing at all.

“Breuddwydion, what to do?” she said with a smile, speaking to her familiar as he appeared on her arm. “We’ll have to be ever so cautious, but it’s all fascinating, isn’t it? A new world to explore, new magic even. Merzhin would be so jealous.”

Perhaps she would travel. It had been some time since she’d visited the continent. The town where she stayed overnight with her husband in Charibert had been quite lovely. Maybe a visit to Rome—or even Constantinople? She might not have been terribly fond of the wand-wavers, but she couldn’t deny their formidable magic.

“Did you know, Breuddwydion, that Merzhin even spoke about meeting a Magi from Persia during his travels? But first, we need to see what has happened to our magical brethren. I may no longer sit on the throne of Rheged, but I do feel some responsibility.”

With a tap of her staff, she wrapped herself in shadows and stepped in-between—onto the beach near Tintagel Castle. She detested the Roman method of magical travel, the feeling of being crushed and pushed through a reed. It always made her unwell. Thankfully, the blood of the Tuatha Dé Danann flowed through her, allowing for a more comfortable method. Of course, she cheated a bit with her connection to Breuddwydion.

It took less than twenty minutes to reach the Tintagel Visitors Centre. After being greeted by the friendly staff, Morgaine decided to look around. Her teachers hadn’t allowed them to loiter—only a quick visit to the toilets. Wandering through the exhibit hall, she approached the gift shop. The Medieval—and especially the Arthurian—souvenirs were amusing, to say the least.

“Can I help you, luv?” asked a grey-haired staff member while setting up a display stand.

“Yes, thank you,” Morgaine replied. “I’m looking for a book of maps. Maybe one with magical locations?”

“Magical locations?” The woman smiled at the young girl.

“Oh, I mean like standing stones, circles, and other such sites.”

“Ahh, yes—we do have that.”

The book was somewhat helpful, although it wasn’t really full of maps—more of a tourist guide to what to visit in Cornwall and the rest of the country. It wasn’t expensive, but unfortunately, paying with Roman silver was out of the question, and her modern money was limited. Still, she had enough for a can of Vimto and a bag of Potato Smiles.

Raised in the house of Gorlois and later the court of Uther Pendragon, Morgaine could hide her true feelings. So she left the visitor center with a smile, thanked the staff, purchased her snacks, and walked toward the beach. They would be surprised to know that the cheerful young girl now sat with food forgotten, staring at the sky.

She hadn’t just looked through tourist books. Her teachers had gone over the stories. Authors like Geoffrey of Monmouth and Thomas Malory were mentioned. Rose knew the name Morgan Le Fey—her legend, her infamy. For some reason, it had always bothered her. But the memories vanished when she disappeared into Morgaine’s sanctuary. These books brought it all back again.

“They made me a villain, Breuddwydion. Oh, I knew they blamed me for Merzhin’s disappearance. Those wand-wavers never respected the old magic. But to say I was somehow involved with Arthur’s death—my dear brother? And poor Medraut, he never wanted the throne.”

Wiping a tear from her eye, she mourned—wrapped in shadows, supported by her beloved familiar.

Morgaine, youngest daughter of Igraine and Gorlois, wife of Urien, mother of Livia, wise healer, powerful sorceress, and enchantress, stood high upon Bellever Tor in Dartmoor National Park. She could feel the old magic of the moors. It still offered protection to the stone cairns of those who had dwelled here before the time of the Romans. But the once-thriving wizarding community of Bellever Forest had vanished.

Perhaps her search was in vain. Even in her time, there hadn’t been many wizarding communities; most lived happily among their non-magical neighbors. So she moved east. Two days later, Morgaine found herself near Bathampton Down—on the now ancient battlefield of Mons Badonicus.

Not long after she was married, her brother Arthur and Ambrosius Aurelianus, Uther’s brother, had stopped the Saxons led by Cerdic of Wessex from crossing the Avon River. At that moment, Morgaine realized she only needed to follow the A4 to end up in Surrey.

She turned away in disgust—but not before overhearing a young girl’s voice say, “Pappa, there are ghosts here.”

It wasn’t too surprising. Two bloody battles had been fought on this land. Morgaine had even met a couple herself—Briton wizards slain in battle. What confused her was that the child knew her name and inferred she still held the crown. Which was, of course, ridiculous, as neither Rheged nor her brother’s kingdom existed anymore.

But if they could see ghosts…

The young girl and what she assumed were her parents walked down a path that had once been a tramway. Morgaine called out, “Excuse me—did I hear you say that you’ve seen ghosts?”

The trio stopped, then turned. She hadn’t meant to frighten them, but they seemed quite surprised.

“Are you perhaps magicals?” she asked.

Oddly enough, the two adults appeared to panic, but the girl chirped, “Dad and me are, but Mum is not.”

Morgaine couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Morgaine Rheged.”

The mother replied warmly, “It’s a pleasure meeting you as well. I’m Agatha Turpin—this is my daughter Lisa and my husband Richard.”

“Are you here for the summer food festival?” Lisa asked, then added, “Mum really likes the music.”

The sorceress shook her head. “Although it sounds quite fun, I’m simply here to visit the battlefield.”

“Battlefield?” Agatha asked.

“Battle of Badon,” Richard answered. “I think I saw a plaque or something at the end of the trail. It happened during King Arthur’s time.”

Morgaine pointed behind them. “Arthur, along with his uncle Ambrosius Aurelianus, stopped a Saxon army led by Cerdic of Wessex right down by the river.”

“Like King Arthur!” Lisa exclaimed.

“Well, really, he was Dux Bellorum more than a king. But yes.”

“Okay,” the young girl said, looking up at her dad, confused.

“Anyway, I’m sorry to disturb you on such a pleasant Saturday. But I wondered—are there any Wizard Enclaves or even a Goblin Gwâl in Bathampton?”

Richard gave a soft laugh. “You must be from an old family. I don’t think many use those terms anymore. Unfortunately, the nearest enclave would be Diagon Alley in London—which you might already know. And of course, you’ll find the Goblin Gwâl there too, though they call it Gringotts.”

“I see. Thank you,” she said with a smile. “And once again, sorry for disturbing you. Have a good day.”

“Wait—maybe we’ll see each other at Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?”

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Lisa replied.

Seeing the young girl’s confusion, Agatha asked, “How does your family learn magic, Morgaine?”

“Master and apprentice, usually.”

“Really old family,” Richard murmured.

“But a magical school sounds interesting. I’ll have to look into it.”

Chapter Text

The sun had only broken over the horizon when a shadow appeared in the middle of a playground in Surrey, England. A non-magical wouldn’t have seen a thing, and even if they did, they would think their eyes were playing tricks on them. Just one more shadow in the pre-dawn of an early Sunday morning.

But it had a form: a young pre-teen girl who strode across the ground on her way to one particular street. Morgaine wasn’t happy to be here, not in the least, but something had been tugging on her magic for the last few days, and she wanted to know why.

“Protective enchantment,” she murmured, now standing across from 4 Privet Drive. 

Cast by someone knowledgeable but not proficient and most likely in a hurry, she thought, walking up to the door.

“A Blood Charm, Familia protection, but keyed to...” she continued to murmur. Such a charm should be passive unless. “No other protections, odd.”

Most would have missed the pull, but as a sorceress, she was more in touch with her magic than most. The charm had been keyed to Rose’s magic, well, her own. Worse, whoever cast it allowed a young magical to fuel the enchantment. But then again, that was no longer the case as it now only recognized that she was a relative and nothing more. Which meant her magic changed on a fundamental level and, or perhaps, reconnected.

Her memories of Morgaine were more predominant, but she did remember being Rose. Especially long nights under the stairs dreaming, which now she realized were memories. There was nothing more for her to do, however. The enchantments were already failing and it too only moments to remove whatever connection it had to her.

She knew the Dursleys never recognized her as family, and whatever protection it once offered was none of her concern. Even Rose had never considered this place her home, and Morgaine had no desire to protect those who dwelled within. Besides, Petunia would be less than pleased to learn that her ancestors reached back as far as the infamous Morgan Le Fey. 

With grim amusement, the sorceress turned away.

Getting to Diagon Alley was pretty straightforward from Surrey. Unfortunately, due to the land's many changes, if she walked in-between, she would most likely find herself swimming in the Thames. Instead, Morgaine took the bus from Westhumble Street to Charing Cross, using the last of her modern money to buy a ticket. Thankfully, an age glamour would keep any non-magicals from questioning why such a young girl was traveling alone. 

Several hours later, the young sorceress looked around the shabby-looking Inn with amusement. The nexus to the Wizarding Enclave thankfully still remained. At least the magic was strong, but it was definitely different from the Roman entrance. 

“Hello, young Miss; how may I help you?” An older 'quite bald' gentleman greeted her with a smile. 

“A bit of shopping, I think. Maybe a meal afterward,” she replied as she walked over to the bar and set down a silver siliqua. “Is this acceptable coinage, or do you only take non-magical money?”

With a raised eyebrow, the Innkeeper picked up the coin, took a quick look, and then sat it back down. “I apologize, Miss. We don’t take muggle money, and you’ll have to exchange this for bank notes from Gringotts or the exchange on Carkitt Market. Neither should be busy this time of the morning.”

“The Goblin Gwâl is a bank?” Morgaine asked in amusement.

“Goblin Gwâl, haven’t heard that in some time. Sorry, the name is Tom. And if you don’t mind me asking, where you’re from, Miss?”

“Cornwall, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. I am Morgaine Rheged.”

With a bit of a bow, the Innkeeper took her to the back, which opened into a small courtyard. 

“Just touch the following bricks with your wand, and it will allow you access to the ally,” Tom explained as he showed her the sequence. “If that’s all, Miss, I must be getting back. Only a few of our patrons stop in for elevenses, but we have quite a good menu for lunch today, so please come again.”

Much like the old Londinium Enclave, the cobblestoned shopping had stores on both sides catering to the wizarding community. From books to robes, and everything in-between for what a witch or wizard would need could be found. She admired the flowers of one of the many street peddlers and eyed Obscurus Books, which had piqued her interest, as well as Quidditch Supplies, whatever odd that activity happened to be. But her first destination was to the north side of the alley.

However, she couldn’t help but stop finding a familiar name. "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."

Shaking her head, she walked on by the small shop. The Latin magicals had been part of the Wizarding Enclave well before her time, having entered the Isles with the Romans.  

The Goblin Gwâl, made of snow-white marble, towered over the neighboring shops. It reminded her of some of the more impressive non-magical buildings found in London. However, she was pleased to see the goblins were still part of the magical community, although it was amusing that the fierce warriors had become bankers.

“Fortius Quo Fidelius,” the sorceress whispered to no one while reading the inscription above the bank doors. Pausing for only a moment, she took the steps to the burnished bronze doors, nodding to the two goblin guards before entering the bank. Then, after reading the poem and threat at the second entrance, she dropped her glamour.

Entering a Goblin Gwâl under false pretenses was ill-advised. She noticed the guards nodding with approval as she crossed the threshold to enter a large room flanked by long counters manned by even more goblins. 

Before she could even find a queue to join, a goblin in scarlet and gold approached her. “Milady, may we have a moment of your time?”

Instinctively, she replied in their language, “Of course, warrior, how may we be of service?”

It was unintentional, and although there were few witches and wizards in the bank, they were quick to notice. 

“Will you come this way?” He asked, now someone hesitantly; her answering in their language must have shaken the goblin for some reason.

“Of course,” she replied.

The room she was escorted into was quite extravagant, with its expensive carpet and wood-paneled walls. She had half expected to be seated in front of the large mahogany desk at the back of the room. Instead, she had been offered a place on a red settee. 

The Kingdom of Rheged had good relations with the clan leaders of the Goblin Gwâl in Hen Ogledd. When the Saxons threatened her home, they were paid handsomely to secure the kingdom’s northern lands. At Camlann, they were under contract to her personally to protect the baggage and the healer’s tents. And, as a Queen, she would expect such service, but there would be no reason why she could be treated as such now. 

Even more unusual, a woman in a servant’s uniform right out of a Victorian period drama entered the room pushing a tea service. Along with the maid was a goblin, but this one was dressed in a business suit.

“Milady, Director Ragnok is unavoidably detained. In the meantime, will you please partake in some refreshments?”

Offering a light repast while waiting for a goblin clan chief wasn’t unusual; however, the last time, it was honey mead and bread instead of tea, bite-sized sandwiches, scones, and mini pastries.

Morgaine only had time for half a cup of Assam tea and a couple of madeleines before more goblins arrived. A number of the gold and red uniformed guards took their places along the walls to join her original escort, and she set down her cup and stood as the Clan chief followed.

“My name is Director Ragnok,” the older goblin spoke, motioning for her to retake her seat.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance; I am Morgaine Rheged.”

Nodding, the director sat on a chair across from her and asked, “How may Gringotts be of service today?”

So, what exactly happened when she entered the bank? Once again, if she was still Queen of Rheged, then doing business with the goblin clan chief was expected. But as a ten-year-old human female? As entertaining as it might be, hopefully, she would discover why they were making such a fuss.

“I had hoped to do a little shopping in Diagon Alley and perhaps have a bit of lunch. The Innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron informed me that I had to exchange my money for bank notes. So, he directed me here.”

“English Pounds?”

Shaking her head, she motioned to her coin purse. After a nod, Morgaine reached in and withdrew a golden Solidus.

“It’s been some time since Byzantine coins were accepted in the alley,” the director commented in the language of his people.

“Well, the Innkeeper wasn’t interested in accepting siliquae either. Clan chief, as much as I have enjoyed the tea and madeleines, I can see in your eyes that you have questions. Perhaps I can answer them for you.”

Chapter Text

Morgaine watched with interest as a new goblin dressed all in white entered the room. It had been some time since she had been in the presence of one of their priestesses. In the small goblin’s hands was a gold box. Reverently setting it down on the table, the priestess stepped back and bowed.

Now intrigued, she noticed that Ragnok motioned for her to open it. Obviously, it held something of importance, but why a goblin artifact would have anything to do with her, she didn’t know.

She felt the magic of the chest swirl around here, then a hidden lock clicked. So surprised to find a familiar document at the bottom of the box, she didn’t notice the awed reactions of the goblins around her. Nor did Morgaine see the guards tense when she reached into the box to pull it out and set it on the table.

A contract, no, ‘The Contract’ she set up with the goblins before the Battle of Camlann. Reading through it again, the terms were simple—gold for the safety of the healers, herself, and her possessions. Morgaine had sent off most of her personal guard to fight with her brother, but she didn’t want to leave the healers undefended.

She placed a finger on the contract and pushed her magic into it, and the document glowed; Morgaine Sorcerer’s raven seal shone brightly. 

“It's still active,” she whispered, not quite understanding what happened but still amazed. 

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Director Ragnok replied in awe.

The former Queen of Rheged looked up startled, then smiled sadly. “That was a long time ago, Director. I no longer sit on a throne as neither Rheged nor my brother’s kingdom remains. And from my appearance, you can tell I am not quite the same person who signed this, but tell me, how is this possible?”

“You never released us from our task.”

“I see,” Morgaine murmured, closing her eyes. Much like her connection with Breuddwydion, the contract with the goblins somehow remained valid—another mystery.

“Much like my father, Arthur achieved a great victory against the Westessex kings; however, it came at a great cost. And with my brother and nephew dead, the Damnonīī and the Bodunnī were already at each other’s throats; the Corieltauvī, the chieftains that were still alive anyway, wanted me to take up Arthur’s throne. But I was so tired. However, I knew my duty. I proclaimed that I would return after I rested in my sanctuary, but I only opened my eyes three days ago.”

Raising her hand, her familiar appeared and settled on her shoulder. “There is much I do not understand, Director. However, what I do know is that I still have a connection to the Otherworld; my magic is strong, and a true Sorcerer’s mark cannot be counterfeited. Magic tells me that I am Morgaine, daughter of Igraine and Gorlois, grand Sorceress of Briton. However, in a way, I am also, or was, a young witch who lived with her non-magical relatives in Surrey.”

She then went on to tell the story of her other life: living with the Dursleys, her dreams, which she now knew were memories but also a feeling like something was missing, the end-of-school overnight trip to Cornwall, her wandering around the ruins outside the sanctuary and its familiarity, falling and waking up on the floor, and her search for magicals.

Director Ragnok nodded. “Three days ago, the seals adorning the Contract Chest shone brightly. We did not understand its significance until you entered the bank today. Do you remember the name of this young witch you mentioned? From what it sounds like, she was a Muggleborn.”

“Muggleborn?” Morgaine asked, not knowing the word.

“A witch or wizard who has non-magical parents.”

“Strange name,” she murmured, then answered, “Rose Potter, that’s what I have been called these last ten years. But don’t worry; she won’t be missed.”

Ragnok leaned back in shock. “The Girl Who Lived?”

“The girl who what?”

It was then Morgaine’s turn to listen to the story of the Blood War, of James and Lily Potter and their daughter Rose, how the Dark Lord Voldemort came to their home in Godric's Hollow, and what happened afterward.

“And on Samhain no less, thee fool,” she growled. “He could not kill me, Ragnok, because part of me still slept under powerful enchantments inside my sanctuary. But even so, what a ridiculous name. I am guessing it holds some significance in the wizarding world.”

The Director grinned at the trouble this was going to cause. “It does; there are even books written about you.”

Morgaine stopped herself from childishly rolling her eyes. “Probably containing as much truth as those written about Morgan le Fay. The stories told in the mundane world about her are also believed in the wizarding world?”

The Director frowned. “Unfortunately, wizards care little for the truth, your Majesty. Many of the older, pre-Roman families still honor you, but for the rest, you are a Dark Witch who is responsible for the death of your bother. They are also convinced King Arthur holds the contract and will one day return.”

“Once and Future King,” she murmured, remembering her school lessons. “I buried my brother and my nephew on the Isles of Apples, Director, so his return is highly unlikely. Can’t say I am surprised, though; the followers of Merzhin, or Merlin as you now call him now, must have been pleased to hear of my vilification. Those wand wavers never believed or appreciated the mysteries.”

“Wand wavers? You don’t own one, Your Majesty?”

Morgaine smiled as a wand appeared in her hand. Then, with a wave, it vanished. 

“Merzhin crafted it for me. And it’s not that it doesn’t have its use. No, it’s the mindset of the majority who own a wand. For them, magic is nothing more than a tool, something that can easily be controlled: no awe, no wonder, no respect. I blame the Romans, really, and their need to dominate the world around them. Even after they burned our groves and killed our priests, their magicals scoffed that there would be consequences. That magic didn’t have the ability to take its due. Atlantis fell for less, fools they were. But those are old arguments, and you have other questions, Director.”

“Do you still believe yourself to be Rose Potter?” Ragnok asked.

The sorceress sighed. “Now, that’s a complicated one. I am, but then again, I am not. Magic tells me I am Morgaine, daughter of Igraine, but I also have memories of Rose, daughter of Lily. However, the Blood Charm cast on my old home believes me to be nothing more than a relative. So perhaps, not so much Rose anymore.”

The Director looked thoughtful, then motioned to one of the goblins before stating, “The ownership of the Potter vault will not change, Griphook.” 

The former queen smiled, listening to the two goblins’ discussion, and added, “Most of the Rheged treasury remains hidden away in my sanctuary, so I have little need for gold. However, I would like to look through what is stored in the vaults. Besides the Potter’s, I assume my brother’s possessions are still held by you. There are a few personal items I would like to retrieve.”

“Yes, your Majesty, they are and are yours to do with as you see fit,” Ragnok replied. “And perhaps the two of us can discuss moving the rest of that treasury into your vault.”

Morgaine gave a small laugh. “That’s fine, although what would you like to do about this contract?”

Sitting back, Ragnok placed his hands on his lap. “Your Majesty, may I explain how Gringotts came about? Uggras, my honored ancestor with whom you signed the contract, refused to turn over King Arthur’s or your possessions. As long as it was active, we were honored bound to hold them until you returned. Throughout the centuries, the wizards did war upon us to retrieve what we guarded; however, eventually, they decided that if we goblins were trusted enough to guard the royal treasury of Briton, we should guard their family’s gold as well.”

Morgaine smiled warmly. “So, your people became honored bankers.”

She then sat straighter, looking every bit a young queen, and announced, “Ragnok, you and your people have done us a great service. We are humbled by your dedication and perseverance to keep our possessions out of the hands of those who wish to claim what is ours. How could we not but continue to place our faith in your clan.”
 

Chapter Text

Morgaine leaned over to look through the windows of the Apothecary next to Gringotts. She had used most of her healing herbs while dealing with the wounded at Camlann. And although she didn't expect there to be a battle anytime soon, a healer must always be prepared.

"I'm still trying to figure you out," a voice behind her said.

Turning her head, Morgaine looked up at her minder. "Oh, I didn't know that a curse breaker such as yourself would find me all that fascinating."

The young Queen didn't really begrudge Ragnok's insistence that she not wander around the Wizard Enclave unescorted. Even with an age glamour, it didn't matter as the goblins were honor-bound by contract to protect her. Still, it was fine, mostly, as her brother and husband were just as protective. And Charlene Davis, a twenty-something woman, was assigned that job. 

"You're obviously from a wealthy family for you to be assigned a bodyguard, or maybe there is an old family contract," she continued to ponder as if she had not heard Morgaine. She didn't even stop when the two entered the shop.

"Rheged isn't exactly one of the twenty-eight, although I heard you're from Cornwall and can't say I know many of those families. You act like a pure-blood but also want to shop in muggle London."

"I really do need to find a chemist."

"And you know what one is, too," Charlene pointed out.

The young sorceress smiled as the woman continued to prattle on. The ingredients found in the bins didn't impress her. Most of its contents must have been sitting there for some time. Unfortunately, her witch's garden was sparse, so she supposed she would have to make do. 

"And you don't exactly act like any eleven-year-old I have met."

Morgaine was about to interrupt her and claim that she was ten but stopped. Ragnok recommended that picking her old birthday might be better and just as valid as Rose's. If that was the case, then she turned eleven two months ago. With that, she went back to looking through the selection of beetle eyes.

"And the way the goblins treated you was bizarre. Oh, I know, maybe you're a Fey Princess in hiding like from one of those muggle books," she announced cheerfully, which almost caused Morgaine to stumble. 

It was not too far off the mark, she thought. 

"Can you pass me a handful of those paper bags? I can't reach them."

"Sure," Charlene chirped, then stopped speaking and looked around the store as if realizing where they were for the first time. "Oh, you're an apprentice healer."

Taking the bags from her hands, Morgaine started to fill them with different bug parts. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, you make the same face my healer friend Lauren has when she's shopping at most Apothecaries. Plus, I might not be the best at making healing salves, but I do know how to make them. And, from what I can see you bagging up, you know exactly what you need." Charlene shrugged. "Makes sense guarding you, I guess, with the Healer's Pax and all. Still odd."

Now, that was an interesting and unexpected consequence of Morgaine signing the contract. Healer Halls, such as Saint Mungos, were not targeted during wizard conflicts because the last two Dark Lords, and those before, knew the goblins would keep the peace. Healers that attacked without provocation would be fair game, but otherwise, it would be an excellent way to get your head split by a goblin ax.

"Well, I hope shopping with me won't become too arduous."

Charlene waved her hands. "Oh, no, shopping is always fun. Better than sitting at a desk de-cursing some old witch's tea kettle. Anyway, the healers won't allow me back to work until the end of the month anyway."

She had mentioned earlier being hurt while on some expedition in Egypt to explain why she was selected. It was good she was available; having a troupe of goblins following Morgaine around probably wouldn't have been ideal.

Paying for the ingredients, the two left the store and headed toward one of the used bookstores near Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. 

"Although you being a disguised princess is much more interesting."

"I'm sure," Morgaine smirked. "Oh, you don't mind going shopping in non-magical London?"

"Not at all," Charlene said, pointing to her feet. " I got my trainers from a store on Oxford Street. You did mention you wanted some clothes. Probably find whatever you're looking for there as well."

A voice calling out made them both turn. In front of the Ice cream store was an older woman and a young girl waving cheerfully. Charlene returned it and then quickly walked over to the two, leaving Morrigan behind, much to her amusement.

“And who is this?” The older woman asked with a small smile as the sorceress approached.

Charlene reddening a little. “Oh, sorry, this is Morgaine Rheged. Morgaine, this is my cousin Gwendolyn Davis and her daughter Tracey.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And you as well,” The older woman replied, then looked thoughtful. “Rheged is an unusual name, and your accent is quite lovely, dear.”

“Is she like your boyfriend’s sister or something?” Tracey jumped in, giving her a small wave.

“First of all, I don’t have a boyfriend. And I’m her minder, I guess,” Charlene said with a shrug. Then, seeing the confused expressions explained, “Morgaine’s an apprentice healer.”

“Oh, I can see why your current employers have you assigned to her,” Gwendolyn noted. “So, what finds you in Diagon Alley today?”

“Clothes shopping mostly,” Charlene answered.

“We are as well,” Gwendolyn sighed. “This one keeps growing out of her things, and clothing charms only go so far.”

“Wanna join us?” Tracey asked with a smile. “Please.”

Charlene looked over at her charge, who agreed with a nod. “Sounds like fun.”

It was closer to dinner before the four were finished or close to finish. A trip to the non-magical side of things would have to wait, but Morgaine didn’t mind. After exchanging some of her gold for pounds, she was more than capable of shopping herself. Now, the two younger girls sat off at their own table, enjoying a scoop of ice cream while the older women were busy discussing something.

“Grandma Davis is trying to get Charlene to settle down, especially after being hurt again,” Tracey leaned over and whispered before putting a large spoon of dragonberry-vanilla swirl in her mouth.

“Well, cure-breaking is a dangerous profession,” Morgaine said after taking a much smaller spoonful of chocolate. “But she’s enjoying it and, from what your cousin told me, is also very good at it.”

“That’s what Mom keeps telling Nana.” Tracey shrugged. “Bit stubborn that one, but she’s a Pellelles from York, so families much more traditional. But not in a bad way; Nana’s not going to force Charlene into a marriage contract or anything.”

It was expected in her time, so Morgaine didn’t have anything to say, although now, who knows.

“So, this apprentice thing, does it mean you’re not going to Hogwarts?” Tracey asked, then looked unhappily at her empty bowl.

“Until quite recently, I hadn’t planned on going,” she answered truthfully. She wasn’t even aware it existed. “But things have changed, so I’ll find out like everyone else in the next few days.”

Ragnok wasn’t sure if Morgain was automatically added to the Book of Admittance, if Rose’s name was still there, or both. If her name wasn’t in the book, she planned on waiting a year and applying for the next. Apparently, first-year students must appear in the book, but anyone could transfer after that. However, the magical school in France didn’t have such a requirement, so that was also considered. And since all of the mail addressed to her now will go to the Goblins, she will find out soon enough.

“I’m pretty excited. I tried to get my mom to take me to Ollivander's to get a wand early, to beat the rush, you know, but she said no,” Tracey explained with a pout.

Charlene, who had disappeared, returned to find a seat next to the pair and set down a rather large ice cream sundae. 

“Didn’t work for me either.”

“Hey, you're going to spoil your dinner,” Tracey pointed out, looking toward her mother for confirmation.

“This is my dinner,” she grumbled.

“Wait, is that allowed?”

“Not recommended, but she’s an adult, although not exactly acting like one,” Gwendolyn replied, looking at the size of the bowl with disapproval before taking a seat next to her daughter. 

Charlene cringed, looking over at Morgaine, who just sat there with an amused smile. “So, what were the two of you talking about?”

“Hogwarts.”

“Oh, are you also looking forward to it, Morgaine?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I am, although it might not be until next year.”

“That’s right; you’re an apprentice healer.” The older woman nodded.

The Sorceress felt a little bad about not correcting the misunderstanding. “So, I heard something about Houses?”

Chapter Text

Looking back, Morgaine’s idea that she could simply slip into non-magical London and shop had been a bit silly. First of all, she would have gotten lost. Londinium a thousand years ago was quite different from today. 

And although, as Rose, she had been out shopping with Petunia, the instances were few and far between. Oh sure, she would have eventually figured it out, most likely without too much embarrassment. However, having a guide, even one as overly enthusiastic as Charline, had been quite the boon. She would have to do something nice for her.

What she found strange in the few weeks upon awakening was how isolated the magical world had become. Although from what she understood it, having read about the Statue of Secrecy, it had become codified into law. Of course, even in her time, there was often hostility to those who possessed magic, usually among the common folk. But for the most part, they were welcomed as part of the community.

Both Morgaine and Rose had been part of the larger world, so stepping into Diagon Alley had at first been wonderous, even magical. But she could see that it was stagnating due to the forced isolation. Not that everything in the modern world was wonderful, to be sure, the ways to kill one another, for example, had reached the absurd, but to look down upon it seemed folly. 

She had spoken to Ragnok about her concerns, of course. Although they still had to live with their magical brethren for better or worse, the goblins were relatively progressive, cherry-picking what would benefit their people as a whole. He also believed the wizards were cutting off their noses despite their faces, to which she agreed. 

And there was nothing Morgaine could do about it. She wasn’t Queen; her throne and lands had been lost to time. But a small part of her felt responsible for these Britons and wanted to change things, to make these wand wavers open their eyes. The whole thing was quite vexing.

“That's quite the face you are making, ‘Little Healer,’” Charline dropped into a seat beside her.

 Morgaine sighed. “Sorry, just lost in thought, and where did you hear that name?”

“Oh, it's all over the alley; how you saved some poor girl’s life.”

“Hardley,” she mused.

“I wouldn’t say that, dear; you did quite well,” another voice called out from across the table.

“Err, hi Mistress Eloise, how are you this morning,” Charline greeted the Healer, her face almost turning a beat red.

“I was wondering when you would notice me,” the older woman chuckled.

They were sitting in what the alley's residents called ‘The Healer Shop.’ Run by Saint Mungos, it offered free treatment and, if necessary, a quick port key to the hospital. Until recently, it was stationed by one of the junior healers, which Charline found quite odd. And it's not like she didn’t see Mistress Eloise; it's just that she appeared to be busy with some witch with some sort of unexplained rash on her hands.

“Those weeping blisters looked like they hurt,” she commented as the patient left the shop.

“Well, the Star Grass Salve should take care of it, although she needs to remember to keep them covered until healed,” Morgaine said as she started to get her things together. “Working in an apothecary, she should know better than to touch strange plants without gloves.”

“So, you have everything?”

Morgaine looked around, then nodded. Smiling at the Healer, she said,” Well, looks like I will be going.”

“Well, enjoy your shopping. It’s a very special time for a young witch. I still have fond memories of shopping with my parents after receiving my Hogwarts letter.”

When the invitation arrived at Gringotts, it was somewhat expected. Except that it was addressed as Morgaine Rheged, a surname given on the spur of the moment. Whatever magic the castle used to find magicals seemed to have accepted. However, neither the goblins nor Morgaine knew if any letter was sent to Rose Potter.

“So, you really don’t mind that Tracey invited her friend Daphne to shop with us?” Charline asked as the two made their way through Diagon Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron.

“No, of course not; I know she’s excited that her friend has returned from her vacation.”

Apparently, the two families were quite close, being involved with business and having various marriages arranged between them. 

“This is my bestie,” Tracey grinned as they approached, pointing to the pretty blonde standing next to her.

The girl in question gave her friend a fond, somewhat exasperated smile. “It's good to meet you, Morgaine.”

“You as well, Daphne,” she said, chuckling. “Tracey told me you have a sister?” 

“She’s not feeling well, so she’s staying home with her Papa,” Evaline Greengrass, who looked like an older version of her daughter, explained.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she will get better soon. And it’s a pleasure to meet you and your family, Mrs. Greengrass.”

“Oh, you’re right, Gwen; her accent is quite beautiful,” she said with a smile. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Morgaine.”

As the group started moving toward Gringotts, Tracey asked, “So your mom’s still traveling?”

Morgaine explained when they first met that her father had died when she was young and that her mother’s second husband had sent her off to live elsewhere. All true. After he passed, her mother started traveling, which was also true in a way. 

After Uther was killed in battle, her mother, Igraine, vanished. The women in her family were all touched by the fey, so her disappearance into the Otherworld was not unexpected. However, according to her friend Nymenche, her mother had left with one of her many lovers.

“Eventually, I expect her to turn up, but for now, she’s enjoying herself, I'm sure.”

“Still, for her to miss her daughter’s first Hogwarts shopping day,” Miss Greengrass tutted.

“Well, she is an apprentice Healer, Evaline, so she does have someone taking care of her,” Tracey's mom said.

“And she has me,” Charline chirped.

“You’re hardly a parental figure, dear. You still can’t take care of yourself.” 

The group took no time at all in the bank; having the former Queen in the group to jump the queue a bit had been unexpected but helpful. 

“So, you're not picking up your apothecary supplies,” Tracey asked as they looked over their lists.

“Oh, I have plenty. Mister Burton also ensured that I had included what was needed for first years.”

“So, how long have you been brewing,” Daphne made a face looking at some of the ingredients.

“Most of my life, my mother started teaching me almost as soon as I could walk.”

“A lot of the continental families are that way too, Daphne. Your grandmother insisted that I knew my way around a cauldron at a young age.”

The girl looked up at her mom with a questioning look.

“Oh, you know I have no skill at it, sweetheart. I’m surprised that old Slughorn actually allowed me inside his classroom.”

“You melted enough cauldrons,” Tracy’s mom grinned.

Clapping her hands together, Mrs. Greengrass said, “All right, what’s next? Flourish and Blotts?”

Not too long after, laden with books, the group moved further down the alley. 

“Ollivander’s doesn’t seem too busy,” Charline commented before shrinking Morgaine’s purchases. “We can do that, then go to lunch.”

“Mom?” Tracey looked hopeful as she began to dance around.

With a sigh, Gwendolyn looked over at her friend. “What do you think, Evaline? Wands first, lunch, then robes?”

“That’s fine; it's all Daphne’s been talking about too.”

“Mum,” the blonde gave a cute whine.

“We’ll meet you later then. I’ll grab Charline; there’s another bookstore I want to look at,” Morgaine began but stopped when an arm pulled her close.

“Nope, you have to come with us,” Tracey giggled, dragging her along.

“You don’t need a wand?” Daphne asked, confused. 

“I already have one.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on; it will be fun!”

The former Queen didn’t think so but followed anyway. 

Unlike some newer stores, the wand shop was narrow, allowing only a few people to enter, as was probably designed. The store was mostly empty except for a single chair propped in a corner and stacks upon stacks of narrow boxes from floor to ceiling all around it.

“Place still needs a good dusting,” Charline commented as Morgaine found a wall to lean back on.

She could feel the magic of this place. It wasn’t unpleasant but not particularly welcoming either. Perhaps the store understood that she didn’t exactly approve of the shop. Not the wands themselves; she used hers on occasion, and even her own people were crafting their own back then, but the Ollivanders had always looked down upon wandmakers other than themselves. Of course, the family could have changed in the thousand or so years.

Morgaine had to smile, though, when both girls jumped when the wandmaker made his entrance—impressed, too, as he rattled off what the adults' wands were made of and knew their names. Although she had a feeling the names were tied to some sort of enchantment on the door.

A tape measure flew, doing what? She had no idea; wands were selected, then put back, and the ones that didn’t fit reacted quite spectacularly, but finally, both girls had one that appeared to bond with them successfully.

“And you, child,” the wandmaker said to her with a curious lilt to his voice. “According to Mrs. Greengrass, you do not need a wand. Do you perhaps have a family legacy?”

“My name is Morgaine Rheged, Mr. Ollivander, and a legacy wand, if you mean one once owned by another family member? Then no, it was specifically made for me by a dear friend of mine.”

The strange wandmaker stared at her and finally said, “Morgaine Rheged, I will remember that name. It was a pleasure to meet all of you.”

As the group left the shop, Charline leaned over a whispered, “Ollivander’s always been rather odd, but that was a bit creepy.”

Morgaine couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

Morgaine watched Charline as she fretted over a large pile of supplies. "You know, looking over what they want you to bring with you won't change after the fourth, or was it the fifth time now you checked? And I doubt Pickdark would be negligent in sending the wrong or the incorrect amount of what your new bosses are asking for.”

The curse breaker nodded, then kept on looking anyway. “Thank you, by the way.”

“What for?”

“For putting in a good word for me,” Charline sighed. “When they told me that I would have to wait another few weeks before I could start work again, I was worried. I’ve only been doing this a few years, and this is the biggest expedition in at least a decade. There are senior curse-breakers that would happily stab someone to be invited.”

The former Queen chuckled. “Well, you had to put up with me for the last month. Not sure if me putting in a good word, as you say, got you this job, though.”

“Oh no, I am absolutely positive I have this job because of you,” She grinned. “You're still one of the oddest kids I have ever known, but thanks.”
 
Morgaine childishly rolled her eyes and then took one last look around the room: “So, you're leaving right after you drop me off at the train?”

“I'll have just enough time to sit with Gwendolyn and her family for a bite of lunch, but that’s the plan. Sorry, I am the one seeing you off and not your mother, though.”

“You have already mentioned that a couple of times, and as I told you before, it's fine. Once my stepfather came into my life, she had very little to do with me,” Morgaine explained as the two began to walk down the hallway toward the exit to Diagon Ally. “Oh, it would be a pleasant surprise if my mother suddenly appeared, but I don’t expect it.”

It was a rather brisk Wednesday morning at Kings Cross Railway, London, when the pair looked upon Platform 9 ¾. They could have taken the Floo or apparated; however, going through the Muggle entrance was much more amusing. Stepping around a group of loitering redheads, the pair passed through the barrier and was greeted by the sight of a bright red, 4-6-0 steam engine. 

“Can’t say I wasn’t impressed with the enchantment, but what’s with the name?” Morgaine commented as the two moved out of the way of the portal because of incoming traffic; with half the platform already full of witches and wizards saying goodbye to their children, it was getting crowded.

Charline laughed at the look on the young girl's face at the strange platform number. “It's been that way forever, you know. Plus, you will probably arrive and exit through the Floo after today.”

A loud squeal caused both of them to turn, but not before a grinning brunette glomped Morgaine.

“Hecates breath, Tracey,” she groaned as she tried to pry herself out of her friend's firm grasp. “It’s good to see you too; been what a whole three days.”

Gwendolyn Davis could only sigh at her daughter's antics and smile. “Well, I see everyone is here. Morgaine Rheged, let me introduce you to my husband, Edward. The gentleman standing beside him is Daphne’s father, Cygnus.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, stepping away from a grinning Tracey.

“From what I hear, my cousin has been treating you well,” Edward Davis said.

Morgaine looked up at the grumbling Charline and nodded, “She has, although I am sure she is looking forward to her next job.”

“You're off to Alexandria?” Evaline Greengrass smiled. “I know your parents are very proud of your new assignment.”

“Morning,“ Daphne whispered, moving over as the adults began to talk among themselves. “Sorry about Tracey; she's a little excited.”

“And you're not. Come on; this is so brill; the two of us have been talking about it all year. Why just this morning…”

“Stop,” she gave out of a soft whine. “Yes, it's exciting.”

Tracey's grin turned into a nervous one as she looked up at the train.

“It’s going to be fun,” Morgaine said, reassuring her friend. “We're going to learn a lot.”

Rose did not have a good time when attending Primary back in the mundane world. At first, it had been quite amazing, but as time passed, the teachers and children began to ignore or be outright hostile toward her. However, she knew this time would be different, or at least she hoped.

Both the Greengrass and Davis families were good people, and their daughters were a pleasure to be around. Very different from the ones her mother picked out or those whose parents introduced her to curry favor at court. And she found it strange, but in a pleasant sort of way, that although her magic and memories were more Morgaine, she did not find it odd to be in a child’s body. She was still Rose in many ways, which included the thrill of making new friends.

“Charline and your mother are just as bad as you, Tracey, and can be just as embarrassing,” Daphne grumbled as the three made their way onto the train. To say that her mother’s farewell was quite entertaining, much to the amusing displeasure of the other adults. Charline hadn't even tried to be standoffish, grabbing Morgaine a big hug but not before promising to write. 

It would be nice to have someone to correspond with. However, the sorceress felt a bit jealous that the curse breaker was off on some grand adventure, admonishing herself for not taking the chance upon waking up in the sanctuary. But no, this was better. Physically, she was a child, and in many ways, mentally. She also needed to learn how to live in the modern world, and in truth, there was so much new magic to explore.

In another part of the train, Lisa Turpin sat alone inside her compartment; she had arrived early, quickly finding a seat. Although most of magical Britain treated the Hogwart’s annual train ride like a Bank holiday, her parents had several shipments arriving early at their family-owned bookstore.

She would admit the summer hols had been quite fun even after being dragged to all the summer festivals her mother wanted to see. Although, having to spend a good portion of it lugging around books had been a bit of a drag. But what had been in her thoughts lately was the person she and her parents had met outside Bathampton. Admittedly, she was a tad jealous; the girl was very pretty, had a lovely voice, and held herself in a way that no other girls in Primary, even the snooty ones, could hold a shine to. 

“Speak of the devil,” she whispered and ran and opened the compartment’s door. “Morgaine.”

The girl in question gave her a warm smile. “Lisa, right. How are you?”

“Good; do you need a place to sit? There’s plenty of room.”

It was then that she noticed two other girls, and suddenly, her excitement dwindled. Now feeling unsure, Morgaine just turned to them, and both nodded with a smile. With everything put away in the racks above, introductions were quickly made, and the three girls settled down for a long ride to Hogwarts.

“So, did you enjoy the festival? If I remember correctly, that’s what you and your parents were visiting when we met.”

“Oh, it was fun. Although Mum and Dad are into some really bizarre music, at least the food was good.”

“Festival?”

Morgaine nodded, “Some sort of summer festival outside Bathampton. In the non-magical part of the city.”

“Oh, Daphne, you remember the one Uncle Tarquin took us to when we went to Yorkshire?” Tracey grinned. “You got sick on those Mincemeat Pies.”

“I was eight,” she replied with a grumble. She then began, “Since you went to a Muggle festival…”

The blonde then stopped to stare at a raven that suddenly appeared inside the compartment. “What?”

“Oh, it’s just Breuddwydion,” Morgaine explained while reaching into her robes and pulling out a small bag that contained dried fruit, which she offered to her avian companion.

“Oh, yeah, it's her familiar,” Tracey leaned over. “Can I have some candied figs, too?”

“But she just appeared.”

“It’s a he, and he does that. Freaked Mom out the first time when we were having lunch at Brogdon’s.”

Morgaine nodded, offering the bag to the others. “I think he finds it amusing.”

The compartment door then slammed open, startling the three. The intruder was a young boy who immediately apologized, with his face now looking as red as his hair. “There’s no room anyplace else.”

Lisa gave a small, friendly laugh. “Go down two compartments; there are a bunch of boys in there our age.”

“Thanks,” he said with a grin, then quietly closed the door.

With her question now forgotten, Daphne said, “By the color of his hair, that must have been a Weasley.”

The four girls then started to talk about what they did over the summer. 

Lisa was amazed to find out that Morgaine was an apprentice healer. “Mom was concerned that you were wandering around by yourself. Dad said you must have had a house-elf nearby looking out for you.”

“I'm hardly alone nowadays, plus I have Breuddwydion,” Morgaine insisted.

Tracey nodded. “Then there’s Charline and, of course, the goblins because of the pax.”

Once again, the door opened, revealing a bushy-haired girl who asked, “Have you seen a toad? Neville here seems to have lost his.”

“Hello, Longbottom, good summer?” Daphne greeted the cubby boy standing behind the young witch in the hallway.

“It was all right; my uncle gave me a toad,” he replied, slightly upset. “He keeps disappearing.”

“One of the prefects could probably find him for you,” Tracey offered.

“Get one of the older students to conjure a cage, too, if you don’t have one for him,” Lisa added.

The bushy-haired girl who had been silently staring into the compartment suddenly said, “That’s a raven. You'll get into trouble; they weren’t on the list.”

“I believe you're mistaken,” Morgaine smiled. “Breuddwydion is a cat.”

Everyone looked, and indeed, there was a black feline lounging on her lap. 

“How!” 

“Magic.”

With a harrumph, the bushy-haired girl retreated, marching down the hallway, leaving Neville, who just looked amused. “Magical animals are allowed, so you shouldn't have to worry.”

“Thank you, I am aware. Also, please apologize for me, Mr. Longbottom; my familiar tends to be a bit of a prankster,” the young witch laughed softly as she scratched her cat’s head. “And my name is Morgaine Rheged. I assume you are familiar with the others in my compartment.”

Tracey gave the young boy a cheery two-finger salute while Lisa introduced herself. Neville only stayed for a few more seconds and then closed the door. Breuddwydion, however, was now back to normal on Morgaine's shoulder.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Tracey exclaimed.

Lisa couldn’t help but agree.

The Trolly Witch was the next visitor, with Morgaine buying snacks for the rest of the compartment. She was amazed at the selection, although it could have been done without Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, in which Tracey insisted on making a game of tasting them. The only odd thing, which no one else noticed, was that the unusually old witch bobbed her a curtsey before closing the door.

“Oh, look, I got Morgane le Fey!” Lisa exclaimed, sounding quite excited, as she showed everyone her Chocolate Frog Card. 

“Nice, those are pretty rare,” Tracey said, looking at the one she found. “Dumbledore again, another duplicate.”

Morgaine took a small chocolate bite out of a leg and asked, “May I see?”

“Oh, you don’t collect them? You can have my Dumbledore if you want.”

The headmaster's card gave a little information on what made him famous, including his alchemic discoveries. He had claimed in the papers that she was safe not too long after that fateful Halloween. So, there was some discussion among the goblins about whether he was the one who gave her to the Dursleys. With a smile, she handed it back. The old wizard was someone that she needed to keep an eye on.

“King Arthur's half-sister, Dark sorceress, and enemy of Merlin. Morgan Le Fay, also known as Morgana, affected many events during the time of King Arthur. She was the Queen of the island of Avalon, and she had great skill as a healer.”

She ran her thumb over the magical portrait, which, of course, looked nothing like her; they didn’t even get the eye coloring right. Before she could return the card, the door slammed open again.

“I heard that Rose Potter was on the train; have you seen her Greengrass?” A towheaded boy announced. Accompanying him was a pug-faced girl and two rather large boys who stood menacingly, or at least they pretended to be behind the pair.

“No, Draco, so go away,” Tracey sighed, slumping back in her chair.

“Wasn’t asking you, half-blood.”

The girl who arrived with the boys stepped forward, looking annoyed but not at those in the compartment. “We're looking for her, Daphne; have you seen her anyplace.”

“Can’t say that I have, Pansey,” she replied. 

“Oh, you get any decent cards, Tracey?” One of the boys in the hallway asked, noticing what they were eating.

“Dumbledore for like the millionth time, but Lisa got Morgan le Fey,” she said with a grin.

“Cor, can I have a look at it?

Lisa nodded with a smile, and it was passed to the front.

“Pansey,” the boy called Draco, let out a small whine.

“Oh hush, we’re socializing,” she said, then looked up. “Oh, you have a raven familiar just like her. I’m sorry, my mother would get on me for my manners; my name is Pansey Parkinson, this one is Draco Malfoy, and the other two boys are Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance; my name is Morgaine Rheged, and sitting next to me is Lisa Turpin. I assume that you already know Tracey and Daphne.”

“You have an accent…” Draco began.

“It’s pretty,” Vincent murmured, then turned beet red.

Morgaine musical laughter filled the compartment. “I thank you, good sir. And I am from Cornwall before you ask.”

“Fine, whatever, let’s go,” Draco turned around, grabbing the two other boys who waved before they left.

Pansey cringed. 

“Sorry about that, our parents, you know. Maybe we'll be in the same house,” she said with a hopeful smile before running off. 

Chapter Text

Lisa suddenly jumped as the door closed and began murmuring, ‘Rose Potter.’ 

Opened her book bag and pulled out a newspaper; she said, “OK, so this is going to sound weird, but I think there is a reason why the ‘Girl Who Lived’ might not be on the train. I mean, I hope not, but still.”

“But she’s supposed to be in our year,” Daphne said.

“Right, but let me explain. My parents own a bookstore; Dad runs the magical side, while Mum runs the Muggle side. And we get like every paper in the world.” 

She then folded the newspaper in half and pointed to an article about a missing child. “They know I collect the Rose Potter books, considering they’ve bought half of them for me.”

“So do we,” Tracey pointed to herself and Daphne, then looked over to Morgaine.

“I have read a few but don’t own any.” Reaching her hand out, she asked, “May I take a look at the article.”

“Of course,” Lisa said, then continued. “Mum tends to read the newspaper cover to cover every Sunday; it’s a thing. In last week's paper, she noticed a missing persons case in Surry. Dad pointed out, however, and he looked it up, there are some thirty thousand Potter’s in the UK, so chances are that it’s her was pretty slim.”

“Wait, ‘The ‘Girl Who Lived’ is missing?” Tracey gasped in shock.

Lisa shrugged. “Maybe; I mean, her first name is pretty common, too, so I imagine there are quite a few Rose Potters running around. “

Morgaine half listened to what the girls were saying, surprised it made the paper. According to the article, the Dursleys hadn’t called the police, but it had been one of the teachers when Rose didn’t return on Sunday evening. Interestingly, foul play was now suspected because of a search of her old home, although there were no details given. It seems her disappearance had only become a larger news story because everyone in the community was finger-pointing at one another.

“We should show the article to Susan,” Daphne insisted.

“Susan?” Lisa asked, taking back the offered paper.

“Susan Bones, her Aunt Amelia, is the Director of the DMLE.”

“May I add something,” Morgaine interrupted the conversation. “When did the letters for Hogwarts go out?”

“Well, according to my Mum, a week or so before a person's eleventh birthday, although that’s not always the case. I actually got mine on my birthday,” Tracey explained. “She said there are a bunch of reasons why it might come even later.”

“I mean, if you had accidental magic growing up, you’re going to get a letter eventually,” Lisa said. “If not, then you’re probably not going to get one.”

“Right, but still, plenty of time for them to determine if Rose Potter will be attending Hogwarts.”

“Oh, I see what you’re saying,” Daphne nodded. “Dad hasn’t mentioned anything written in the Prophet about her missing. It would have made the news.”

“And her coming to Hogwarts has been making the front page of the Prophet a bunch of times recently,” Lisa said. “Dad did reckon it was a different Rose Potter, but I thought I would bring the paper to show her. I’m pretty sure she would have found it funny.”

Morgaine smiled. “I’m sure she would have. How about waiting until we know for certain? No need to start unnecessary rumors. And send a message to your father instead of bothering Susan Bones. We're here to learn magic, not be detectives.”

“Boo,” Tracey grumbled. “You’re no fun, but you're probably right. Dumbledore said she was safe, right?”

Thankfully, the rest of the trip had been uneventful, with no one slamming the door open to disturb them. Morgaine learned to play exploding snaps, which she was quite proficient at, and other magical games. She even had time to crack open one of her anatomy and physiology textbooks when the girls, now quite tired, kipped down for a little while.

Hours later, the train dropped them off at a place called Hogsmeade Station. As the returning students went off to take carriages to the castle, the first-year students were escorted by someone named Rubeus Hagrid, the groundkeeper of the school.

“Four to a boat,” the truly massive man bellowed, leading everyone down to the docks. 

Morgaine felt a small hand slip into hers and looked over at Lisa, who was staring at the water in a bit of panic. With a smile, she escorted her new friend down to the water, followed by Tracey and Daphne, taking the nearest boat. And as soon they settled in, it began to move. 

As they sailed across the water, Hogwarts appeared in the distance, and it was truly enchanting in an almost fairy castle sort of way. However, the former Queen of Rheged felt something familiar and welcoming. She then realized that whoever had placed enchantments on the land had been family. These were her charms that she had passed down to her daughter Yvain.

Not wanting to break down in front of her new friends, she closed her eyes and smiled. Her precious child had survived the calamity that had taken so much from her. And by the looks of the beautiful castle, her family had prospered.

“Is that a squid?” Tracey asked nervously, looking across the water.

Wiping her eyes, Morgaine followed the finger. “Could be a Kraken.”

“Mind your heads,” the groundskeeper shouted unnecessarily, as there was plenty of room under the arch that took them to another dock.

As the children gathered on the landing, another adult appeared on the stairs in front of a large door—a grey-haired matron who looked down upon them with stern amusement. However, her eyes were trying to spot something or someone who was not there, and then her shoulders slumped. After the groundkeeper entered the castle, shaking his head, she introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. The speech sounded like one she had given numerous times, covering the houses and what the teachers expected of them.

 “I will return shortly.”

Draco immediately began to wander through the group, followed by his two friends, still looking for the ‘Girl Who Lived.” Then, for some reason, after running into the redheaded boy, the two started shouting. That gave Pansy a chance, much to Morgaine's amusement, to slip away.

“I should have stayed in your cabin, Daphene. The rest of the train ride was dreadful. Teddy kept his nose in his books, and the other boys just wanted to play Exploding Snaps or discuss Quidditch,” she groaned.

“And I know how much you like the game,” Tracey grinned.

“Stupid sport,” Pansey sighed. “So, Draco never found Potter.”

She then noticed the other three girls were looking at Morgaine and whispered, “You know something.” 

“Nothing for certain, and it's not the place for a discussion,” the Sorceress replied as she noticed a new group arriving, ghosts of the castle.

Immediately, the fight between the two boys ended in a squeak, as most of the other children formed into a tight circle. The apparitions just glided past, exclaiming how exciting it was to have new students at Hogwarts, but not before bowing and giving a small curtsey. Most of the children thought it was for them, but Morgaine knew better. The wraiths on the battlefield, the fey spirit that served snacks on the train, and now the ghosts in Hogwarts had acknowledged her.

“Follow me,” a voice called out, interrupting her musing.

They formed two lines, with Lisa standing next to her while Tracey and Daphne followed behind. Pansy, too, managed to slip into line with them, not going back to the boys. 

“I read about it in a Hogwarts a History,” the busy-haired girl said to her companion while looking up at the ceiling. 

Morgaine agreed the enchantments were well done, but then a large, terribly dirty, patched hat sitting on a stool started to sing. 

“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see; I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me. *"

“Merlin, the hat is singing.” Tracey giggled.

“And he’s off-key,” Daphne groaned.

When the musical headgear finished, Professor McGonagall began to call out names. “Abbot, Hannah.”

“My brothers told me we would have to fight a troll,” someone groaned.

“You’re an idiot, Weasley,” came a reply.

The girl who had been called wandered off smiling, making her way to the Hufflepuff table. Susan Bones joined her soon after. Crabbe was called and went into Slytherin. Tracey followed him into the same house with a smug grin adorning her face. Goyle also joined the pair, but the bushy-haired girl, who was named Hermione Granger, ended up in Gryffindor. Daphne was called and took a seat next to her cousin, the edges of her robes and tie turning green and silver.

As McGonagall continued to call names, Neville ended up in Gryffindor, while the dirty old hat didn’t even touch Draco's head before it tossed him into Slytherin. Pansey, after being sorted, sat next to Daphne, and when the name Rose Potter was skipped, the students began to murmur.

“Silence, please,” the Professor called out. “Rheged, Morgaine.”

As the former Queen approached the stool, she finally got a good look at the feast hall. Long tables separated the students by their houses on one side, and the teachers sat at a longer table on the other. The Sorceress noted an old grey-haired man with objectionable taste in fashion in the center of the teacher’s table, sitting on what looked like a golden throne. Much like Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, he looked unhappy and worried.

“Interesting, not charm-based enchantment, blood magic perhaps,” she thought as the hat was placed on her head, then stopped. The magic felt cold and familiar. “One of the Aos sí imprisoned you in this form.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Your descendent, Rowena, interceded on my behalf. This was a better fate than what was planned for me,” it whispered sadly in her head.

“Was the punishment just?” She commanded.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then we shall speak no more of it. Please continue on your appointed task.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. You’re brave, but that’s not your strength. You are loyal to your people and family no matter what history has written. If I placed you in Salazar's house, you would rule it like the Queen you are. However, throughout your life, you have had a passion for learning. To look beyond the accepted norm. You are a seeker of knowledge. However, question, the ‘Girl Who Lived?”’

“She, like the evil Sorceress Morgan le Fey, is a fictional character created by those who have their own agendas. She has never truly existed,” the former Queen insisted. “And it's just Morgaine; my kingdom is no more.”

“I understand, then it better be...” The hat bellowed, “Ravenclaw!”

Stepping off the stool, she returned the hat to the Professor before crossing the room. Tracey gave her a thumbs up, which she acknowledged with a wink. Sitting next to another girl in her year named Padma, Morgaine introduced herself to the others before listening to the rest of the sorting.

Lisa ended up in Ravenclaw and bounced to the table while the red-headed boy, whose first name was apparently Ron, excitedly joined his brothers at the Gryffindor table. The sorting finally ended with Blaise Zabini, the last person to join Slytherin.

The wizard, who she now found out was indeed Albus Dumbledor, stood up from his throne and said, "Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are, Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you. *"

“Odd,” Lisa said, then grinned as hundreds of plates appeared on all the tables laden with food. “I’m going to weigh a thousand pounds if they keep feeding us like this.”

“We don’t normally eat like this,” an older girl laughed. “I’m Penelope Clearwater, a prefect who will be escorting you around the castle for the next few weeks. 

As the others introduced themselves, Lisa leaned over and whispered. “Rose didn’t show up.”

“And neither Dumbledore nor the teachers brought it up, so who knows,” she replied. “Send a letter to your parents, though, and just mention her not appearing. If you need to, have one of the other students make a copy of the article.”

Morgaine looked over to the Slytherin table and noticed that Daphne and Pansey had their heads together. She expected the owlery to be quite busy tonight.

As the full but sleepy first years followed Penelope up toward their new common room, Michael Corner, one of the new Ravenclaws, said, “Really, what is the headmaster thinking? Stay away from the third-floor corridor unless you want to die.” 

“Nope, he said very painful death,” Anthony Goldstein grinned.

“Is the Forbidden Forest really that dangerous?” Padma asked.

“It's not something you First years should be anywhere near. Later, you might go into it depending on your electives.” Penelope warned the group, approaching a door with a raven statue adorning the wall next to it. “All right, this is the entrance; ask the portraits or another Ravenclaw if you get lost. Each house's common room can be entered differently; ours is to answer a riddle.”

The raven opened its mouth and said. “Mirantibus undis: aqua os fiet!”

“Wait, that’s not English,” Terry Boot exclaimed in panic, looking at the others. 

“I think it was Latin, maybe,” Su Li frowned. “Are we going to have to answer them in different languages?”

Penelope shook her head, “No, I have never heard it ask a riddle in any language other than English.”

“You are right, Su, it’s Latin. The riddle is, ‘Wonder-wrought waves: water becomes bone!’” Morgaine spoke up. “I believe the answer is Ice on a frozen lake or, in Latin, Ice in gelida lacu vel littore maris.”

The door then swung open, revealing the Ravenclaw common room.

“Now I know why you’re in our house,” she laughed.

Anthony looked at all of the First year claws, sounding serious. “So, we need to make sure she’s with us when we need to answer another riddle.”

Penelope chuckled. “No, I'll speak to Professor Flitwick. I’m sure it was just a mistake.”

“You know Morgaine, the raven on the door looks a lot like Breuddwydion,” Lisa pointed out.

“I noticed,” she said dryly.

Morgaine, the youngest daughter of Igraine and Gorlois, wife of Urien, mother of Livia, wise healer, and powerful Sorceress, felt like she had just been pranked.

Chapter Text

The Ravenclaw common room was spacious, with a high ceiling and arched windows. Comfortable armchairs and sofas, all adorned with beautiful designs of ravens, were scattered about the room, making it more like a reading place in a library than a school. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting famous Ravenclaws and numerous celestial images. But what dominated the room were the bookshelves stuffed with books of all shapes and sizes.

"It’s very blue,” Lisa whispered wide-eyed.

“Shows Rowena had good taste, as it's my favorite color,” Morgaine grinned, her hands itching to grab a book and sit on one particular comfy-looking sofa.

Penny clapped her hands together, gaining everyone’s attention. “Alright, a few things before I say goodnight. For the first week, we prefects will wake you up to ensure you get to class on time. By then, Professor Flitwick will have taught you the alarm charm, so please be sure to have at least one person proficient with it in your dorm. Because after that, you’re on your own.”

Anthony raised his hand. “Does that mean you're not waking us up?”

The girl prefect smiled. “Sorry, I forgot. Miles Amaury is the male fifth-year prefect; however, he’s currently attending his grandmother’s birthday party. He will be here in the morning to make sure all of you are up on time.”

“Alright,” Anthony nodded somewhat happily.

“Professor Flitwick will schedule a meeting with each of you in the following weeks to see how you’re getting along. You will have another meeting before you select your electives, then a similar one right before OWLs and NEWTs. However, if there is a problem that one of the prefects can’t solve, he is available in his office after dinner or Saturday mornings. If it’s an emergency, grab the nearest professor or a prefect, or even ask one of the paintings on the wall for help.”

With a nod from everyone to make sure they were listening, she continued. “As Ravenclaws, we expect you to do well in all of your classes. But before you go off and do whatever personal research catches your eye, be sure to have all of your homework done. After dinner, a couple of prefects will be in the common room to help. However, some of us do better with one-on-one instruction if it’s something we are having particular trouble with. On the bulletin board behind me, you will find the names, schedules, and prices for older students willing to tutor you on various subjects.”

“I tutor runes,” she said with a grin. “But don’t hesitate to ask if you need help. We also have separate study rooms and a potion lab, all of which can be used; however, be sure to see if someone has reserved the space.”

She then pointed to an older boy off to the side. “Jeremy here will take you boys and show you around. Just one last thing before we get the lot of you to bed. The girls’ dorms are off-limits to all wizards. Don’t try going upstairs; it will be an unpleasant experience for you.”

A boy, Morgaine thought was named Terry, complained, “Seems unfair.”

Penny shrugged. “A witch’s chastity was sacrosanct and still is today, especially with older families. However, Hogwarts was ahead of its time when the Founders roamed the halls, as witches were generally only given a rudimentary magical education. Rowena insisted that both sexes be taught the same, but it was still only in the last century or so that the classes were mixed.”

She then looked at Morgaine and the rest of the first-year girls. “This does not mean you witches can just go upstairs into the boys’ dorms without an invitation. Anyway, if you’re interested, you can find most of this in ‘Hogwarts: A History.’”

The Ravenclaw dorms were found up a spiral staircase of the tallest tower. Each level housed two grades, which allowed the seventh-year students an entire one to themselves. And much like the other houses, Ravenclaw’s were shared spaces, with each student having a four-poster bed, a desk with a small reading lamp, a chair, and a wardrobe. All the bedding and wall hangings were, of course, in blue and bronze, Ravenclaw's house colors. And much like downstairs, bookshelves adorned the walls.

“Comfy,” Sui Li commented, and all the girls nodded in agreement.

“Your trunks are already at the end of each bed. The loo is over there; you share it with the second years. Let’s see what else. I reckon all of you can sort yourselves out if you want to trade places. Oh, before I forget, just tap the bed with your wand; it will lower the hangings so you can have some privacy.”

With most of them dead on their feet, they wasted no time getting ready for bed. Long night talks to get to know one another would come at another time.

Morgaine, however, decided to read a little, looked over her space approvingly, opened her desk drawers, and quickly searched inside her wardrobe. Unpacking would come later.

The following day, the former Queen of Rheged felt something cross her wards. However, its intent wasn’t malicious. Opening her eyes, she found an oddly dressed fey child standing at the edge of her bed.

“Good morning, your Majesty, I be Sunflower.”

“Good morrow to you as well,” Morgaine gave a small yawn, sat up, then began brushing her fingers over Breuddwydion in his feline form.

The fey child stared at the cat for a moment, then looked up. “I be your personal House Elf, miss.”

“A House Elf?” Morgaine frowned. “Not a brownie?”

“Oh no, miss, no one calls us that anymore.”

Morgaine then had a sneaking suspicion. “I assume I am the only one in this room who gets your attention.”

“Oh yes, your Majesty,” Sunflower said proudly. “All royals do; the last was that princess from Germany, and before that, one of the English princesses.”

Rose Potter would have balked at such treatment, finding herself unworthy. For the former Queen, it was how she was brought up, so she didn’t give it a second thought. Plus, she didn’t want to trouble the poor thing, who looked so excited at the prospect of being her personal maid.

“Well then, please just call me Morgaine, as I have no throne.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” the House Elf gave her a smile. “And don’t you worry, none, your friends won’t know I am here. Guthlac said you didn’t want to be announced.”

“Guthlac?”

“The Sorting Hat, miss.”

“I see, thank you.”

When Morgaine returned from her morning ablutions, she found all her clothing put away and the day's outfit sitting on the bed. By the time she slipped on her robe, a couple of other girls were getting up.

“You’re an early bird,” Padma said with a yawn.

“Always have been. I tend to wake with the sun.”

“Oh, I would hate not having a bit of a lie-in on occasion,” Mandy said from behind her, grumbling about the cold floor.

The door slamming open caused all three girls to turn.

“Oh, good. Some of you are awake,” Penny cheerfully greeted them as she entered their room. Then, she proceeded to tap each of the bedposts of those still asleep, producing all sorts of squeaks and groans.

“Good morning, witches,” she announced quite loudly. “You need to be downstairs in the next thirty minutes so we can get to breakfast on time, which starts at seven-thirty and ends a little before nine. Bit of a rush being the first day, so let’s get cracking.”

Morgaine was the first but not the only Ravenclaw sitting in the common room. A smattering of older students were reading or quietly talking amongst themselves, waiting for their friends to join them.

Sui Li came down first, taking a seat before pulling out a small book and beginning to read. Then, slowly but surely, the rest of the girls arrived, but still no boys. Penny, who had finally joined them, looked toward the stairs with a frown, then rolled her eyes as all the First-year wizards came down in one noisy group.

“Glad to see you could make it, Miles,” she said with a slight grin.

“Oh, hush, you know I’d be disowned if I missed the old bird’s birthday. Anyway, morning girls, I’m Miles, as you might have guessed.”

He then did a double-take when he spotted Morgaine. Turning back around, he looked up at Rowena Ravenclaw's statue, then back to the first years.

“Huh, looks like we have a mini-Rowena in our midst,” he laughed.

“She even has the same raven,” Terry helpfully pointed out.

“Yes, yes, we all noticed the same thing,” Penny sighed. “Let’s not dawdle. I’m hungry.”

“Oh, before we can’t get back into the common room,” Lisa raised her hand. “Are we expected to know different languages? I know a smattering of French, but can’t say I can answer a riddle.”

“Different languages?” Miles looked confused.

“Oh, that’s right, the Raven asked its riddle in Latin last night,” Penny replied, perplexed.

Miles just grinned. “So, I bet our mini-Rowena knew the answer.”

Morgaine just sighed.

“So, class,” he then smiled. “What language do you think the original students of Hogwarts spoke?”

“Latin,” Terry said.

“Anglo-Saxon,” Mandy raised her hand right after.

“Exactly, so how does it know today to speak in modern-day English? Magic, right. Rowena Ravenclaw was a brilliant witch, but don’t ask me how it works; it's one of Hogwarts’s mysteries. I do remember those Hanoverian twins who attended during my first year spoke to the Raven in German.”

Penny nodded. “I didn’t know that, OK makes sense.”

“Still letting you answer them,” Lisa slipped next to Morgaine and whispered with a giggle.

“Schedules?” Padma then asked.

“Oh, Professor Flitwick likes to hand them out to all the first years,” Miles replied. “And if you haven’t been told for this week, when your classes are finished, wait outside and one of us prefects will escort you to your next class. And with that, let’s go, I’m hungry too.”

Like most weekdays, Monday morning found the four long house tables—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin—filled with students preparing to eat, with a smattering of latecomers coming in dribs and drabs.

The staff table on its raised platform at the front of the Great Hall appeared to be somewhat empty. By the time the students finally started to dig in, a few notable spots were not filled.

“Seems our Headmaster isn’t going to make breakfast,” Lisa leaned over and whispered.

Morgaine, who had been adding a bit of cinnamon to her oatmeal, looked over and nodded.

Su also noticed and said, “OK, you two know something we don’t.”

Lisa whispered, “There was a Muggle article in a Surrey newspaper about a missing girl named Rose Potter.”

“Surrey newspaper?”

Lisa explained, “My parents own the Owlery Bookstore in Swindon; they carry both the Prophet and some Muggle newspapers.”

“Sounds lovely. Tell us about Rose Potter,” Mandy, who had been listening, insisted.

“Not much to tell, really; we read that a Rose Potter was missing, and there’s a big mystery around it. Since Potter is a common name, we thought maybe it wasn’t her.”

Padma then joined in, “Rose is pretty common, too. But the ‘Girl Who Lived’ didn’t show last night, and the Headmaster is not here this morning.”

Then, a Second-year Ravenclaw asked what was going on, and then another, and soon, the whole table was talking about Rose Potter's disappearance.

“Owls,” Terry pointed out.

“Lots of them,” Lisa smiled as one landed on the table and stuck out a leg. “From my parents.”

Morgaine smiled and took a sip of tea, not expecting any herself. However, a few seconds later, a regal-looking red kite landed gracefully in front of her.

“Oh, aren’t you gorgeous,” Morgaine murmured. “For me?”

After a nod from the bird, she reached into a pouch hanging from his neck and found two sealed scroll cases, both apparently from Gringotts. Then she remembered that the Goblin Clan would first check her mail.

“That’s one ruddy big bird,” she heard a familiar voice say from behind as everyone watched the kite fly off.

“Morning, Tracey,” Morgaine turned. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Daphne and Pansy say hi, too. Here,” she then handed her a letter. It’s from Charline. I'm not sure why she didn’t just send it to you. Anyway, I heard that we’ll be in Herbology together. Seems our Defense Professor got lost or something.”

“Really?” Padma asked.

“Snape just told us. Oh, here’s your Head of House now. I’ll talk to you in class, Morgaine. " Tracey gave one last wave before scurrying back to her table.

“Well, it’s good that all of you are sitting together; it makes this easier,” Professor Flitwick greeted his First-year Ravenclaws with a smile as he began to pass out their schedules.

“Unfortunately, your first class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, has been canceled due to Professor Quirrell still being out,” the diminutive professor explained. “Instead, Professor Sprout has offered to move all of you to one of the larger greenhouses, where she can host all of you First-years. That’s the Asclepius, Miss Clearwater.”

“Yes, sir, we just heard,” Penny said after joining them. “Sir, does this have anything to do with Rose Potter?”

Professor Flitwick sighed. “I see the rumor mill is strong as ever at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, we know very little. The Headmaster has not returned, so we will have to wait until he arrives with news or with our wayward first year.”

“Lisa said that she read something in a Muggle newspaper about Rose Potter,” Michael motioned across the table.

“Is that true, Miss Turpin?” the professor asked.

Lisa nodded. “Yes, sir, I still have it upstairs.”

“Well then, perhaps you will allow me to borrow it later. With that, I hope all of you have a good morning.”

The Asclepius greenhouse currently houses not too many plants, none of which would endanger first-year students. There was plenty of space for the entire class, even if Professor Sprout had to change her lesson plans a little. As it would be a little short on actual herbology, the double class was switched to only a normal length, allowing the first-year students some time to wander the grounds before the third class.

Professor Sprout smiled in amusement. Most of the boys were on one side, and the girls were on the other. Interestingly, the Ravenclaw and Slytherin girls were intermingled and appeared to be having a friendly discussion with a couple of Gryffindor girls and some of her Puffs.

For a moment, she thought she heard Rose Potter, which caused her to sigh. Goodness, Albus had insisted the young girl was safe, although from what Minerva mentioned to her in private, the school’s letter had never been delivered. So, the Headmaster has known for weeks and never said anything.

Actually, she was surprised that the news wasn’t on the front page of the Daily Prophet. She could see Minster Fudge's hand in that. Frankly, Albus would be lucky to keep his job if the poor girl was not found. Maybe tonight, she will reach out to one of her favorite Hufflepuffs and see what’s happening. She was sure Amelia would love to hear how little Susan was doing.

Unexpectedly, the Ravenclaw girls decided to head outside after class since there would only be a limited time before it got too cold to do so. All the Slytherin girls followed, including Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff.

“We have History of Magic with you next,” Tracey pulled out her schedule before joining them on a spot overlooking the Black Lake. “Although, from what Charline told me, it’s a good time for a nap.”

“A nap?” Morgaine, who had her eyes closed, enjoying the morning sun, said. “Oh, that’s right, she said a ghost taught the class.”

“Really?” Padma said, not sounding amused. “My parents are paying for us to be taught by a ghost?”

“According to one of my mother’s cousins, Professor Cuthbert Binns is a leading historian on Goblin Wars,” Daphne gave the others a knowing smile.

Morgaine frowned; she already knew that the conflicts were mainly because the Goblin clan refused to turn over Arthur’s Treasury to the Wand Wielders. And from what she read, it wasn't something that the Wand Wavers were willing to admit.

“And nothing new about Rose Potter?” Pansy asked.

Daphne sighed. “It’s only an hour or so since breakfast. I imagine the Headmaster will make some sort of announcement tonight.”

“So, do you know anything, Susan?” Tracey asked.

“Me, no. Although I did write a letter to Auntie and sent it off this morning,” she explained, setting down her exploding snap card and looking at Hannah, who nodded.

“So, Morgaine,” Susan began, then reached into her pouch and pulled out a Chocolate Frog Card. “We noticed something just this morning. See, we’re both big collectors and, well, we noticed you look a lot like one of the cards.”

Lisa grinned. “Some of us might have noticed that last night.”

“And this morning,” Padma giggled.

Millicent Bulstrode, one of the girls, just introduced herself, looked at the card, and then dropped what she was doing. “Wait, I have the gold-edged one. It’s much better.”

Hannah’s eyes widened, and she quickly moved over next to her. “Really? Those are rare.”

“Yeah, my Papa got it for me last Yule,” she smiled, then pulled out a small deck of cards from a bag. “Let’s see.”

“Oh, you have a Morgan le Fay, too.”

With a grin, Milli found what she was looking for. “Please be careful.”

Morgaine smiled and nodded, taking the card with great care.

" Rowena Ravenclaw was the founder of Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts. Beautiful and intelligent, she was the most brilliant witch of her time."

She then held the card up to her face.

“She does,” Lisa insisted, and Su nodded in agreement.

Daphne tilted her head. “True, I can see the family resemblance.”

Morgaine returned the card, then looked over at her familiar with a huff.

“So?” Pansy asked, scooting on the ground a little closer.

“So?”

Pansy grumbled, then sat back, realizing what she was doing. “Are you related to Rowena Ravenclaw?”

“Yes,” Morgaine said simply, then laughed. “What more do you want me to say?”

Tracey shrugged. “She won’t tell you anything else unless you want to talk about healing.”

“A perfectly good topic,” the former Queen insisted. “Anyway, as I said, there’s not much to tell.”

“Don’t listen to them, Morgaine,” Hannah laughed. “I wish Zacharias Smith was more like you. Last night, he wasted no time bragging to our table that his family is related to Helga Hufflepuff.”

“He’s a bit of a berk,” Pansy nodded, then covered her mouth, looking around.

Chapter Text

Lisa looked up, then scooted over as Morgaine slipped into class and took the seat next to her. After the small break outside, before they wandered off to History of Magic, she mentioned that she needed to drop off paperwork and get her schedule to continue her apprenticeship.

"So, you're all set?" Lisa asked, opening her book.

"Every Saturday, right before breakfast, through sick call till lunchtime,” Morgaine replied.

"Still can't imagine giving up my sleep, especially when I don't need to get up," Mandy grumbled, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small, embroidered pillow.

Morgaine shook her head, noticing that her classmates were not paying attention to the professor. Most of them were just talking to one another, while some were reading something other than history or, like Mandy behind her, napping. A small group of boys were even tossing a small ball back and forth across the room.

Padma and a couple of Hufflepuffs just looked upset as the professor started his lecture in the middle of a paragraph of some random chapter. According to Penny, the ghost mostly read the book aloud, so there wasn't a real reason to listen. Class notes for every year were even available in the Ravenclaw’s common room. 

After listening for about ten minutes, Morgaine couldn’t hide her annoyance. Over the summer, she read several history books, including this one, and found them lacking. No small part was due to how it covered the period of King Arthur and what it said about Merlin and Morgan LeFey. Obviously, whoever wrote those books leaned heavily on her political enemies' narrative. Even then, she couldn’t imagine sitting here for the next few years listening to so-called Goblin rebellions.

"Excuse me, professor," Morgaine called out, and when he didn’t answer, she did it again.

A Hufflepuff across from her said, "He won't listen to students."

Morgaine sat up straight and projected her voice, lacing it with her magic and authority. “Professor.”

The classroom became quiet. The students napping were now awake, and the rest stared at her in shock. 

Professor Cuthbert Binns shook his head, blinked, and then turned toward Morgaine. With wide eyes, he stammered, "Yes."

"Professor, If you're not aware, we have just started Hogwarts," Morgaine sat back, sounding more like a Queen than a student. "Wouldn’t it be better to start at the beginning of the book? You must admit there is more to our magical history than the Goblin wars.”

“The beginning, the beginning,” the professor nodded, looking confused, then looked down at his book. “Oh my, you are correct; I am not sure why I started here, err.”

“Morgaine Rheged,” she insisted.

“Miss Rheged, of course. I do apologize. Let us see; perhaps I will start over, yes?”

With a nod from the former Queen, he continued. “Excellent, class, my name is Professor Binns. I will be teaching the History of Magic and how it has shaped our world. We will start with its earliest usage, go through the rise of the great empires and their fall, and discuss famous and infamous practitioners during that time. At the end of your first year, you will have a good understanding of how we came to be. Now, if you all open your books to the preface, let us discuss the author's notes, and then we will start on Chapter One, discussing early forms of magic.”

Julian Sanders, fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect, leaned on the wall as the firsties suddenly burst out of the classroom, all talking at once. He knew from experience that this wasn’t normal. In fact, he half expected that he would need to go into the classroom to wake a few of them up.

“Ravenclaws,” he called out before they wandered off. “Come with me; I’ll escort you to the Great Hall.”

He only took half a dozen steps to ask, “What’s gotten all of you so excited? It can’t be about Goblin wars.

“Oh, no,” Hannah explained. “We started with that, then the Professor started the class over and taught how the first witches and wizards saw magic and how it was used in their daily lives.”

“I’m surprised by how many rituals they did,” Michael Corner added.

Julian came to a sudden halt. “Wait, he talked about rituals? What else?”

“Shamanism and the first Animagus, but we didn’t really get all that far,” Susan answered. “I think we’re going to discuss the Sumerians and the great Wizard Marduk until the holidays.”

“Should be interesting,” Padma smiled.

The Hufflepuff perfected made a face. “I’m confused; Sumerians, who are they, not Goblin rebellions?”

“Oh, no, Morgaine asked him why he started in the middle of the book. Although she can be a bit scary. He immediately agreed to start over when she pointed it out.” Sally Ann joined the discussion and then grinned at the former Queen.

“And he listened to you,” Julian turned around.

Morgaine shrugged. “A sensible question, don’t you think?”

“Right,” he agreed, still very much confused.

Lunchtime once again brought the whole school together at the Great Hall. Morgaine noted that the food wasn’t too different from what she remembered eating at primary school. Various types of sandwich breads, sausages, onions, ham, and pickles were abundant. The only thing missing were the crisps. Instead, they had thick hand-cut chips but little to no veggies or fresh fruit. At least Sunflower supplied her with a nice cup of tea instead of pumpkin juice.

Chewing on a spicey pickel, Lisa pulled out her schedule. “We have double potions next.”

“With the Hufflepuffs,” Su nodded.

“Oh, you poor girls? You might want to pair everyone up with those who have brewed before,” a second-year girl advised them.

“Why?” Su Li asked.

The older girl shrugged. “Because he won’t teach you anything. He just stands there, speaks about the wonders of potions, asks a bunch of random questions, and then points to the board. Somehow, without ever working with a cauldron, you’re supposed to know how to brew the Boil-Cure Potion.”

“Really, the Boil-Cure Potion,” Morgaine replied, unimpressed. “For our first brew.”

“Yeah, be careful about not overheating the nettles unless you want a face full of potion,” another girl pointed out.

Morgaine thanked them, then stood up. “Why don’t you ladies sort us out? I'll go speak with Susan and Hannah.”

Professor Severus Snape threw his potions room door open with a bang; already in a foul mood at the thought of having to teach Potter’s spawn, he became even more irritated when the girl didn’t appear.

Oh, he had mixed feelings about the disappearance of Lily’s daughter, but it only added to his frustration. Now, he had to teach a bunch of first-year dunderheads.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began to pontificate, then stopped momentarily. 

The students had already paired off, but not in the usual way of only their house members. Even odder, all of the potion stations were set up and ready to brew.

After finishing his speech, he began to ask questions, pointing to a Ravenclaw, “What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“They are the same plant, sir,” she answered correctly.

The second question was given to a Hufflepuff, who, after a few minutes, replied with only half an answer, for which he took point off. He then turned toward the girl Poppy mentioned as an apprentice healer.

“Miss Rheged, where can I find a bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat, although most magical families keep one in their home, and of course, healers have a small bag in their kit as it's effective in countering most poisons.”

With a nod, Professor Snape turned to the board. “You have until the end of class to complete the Boil-Cure Potion. Begin.”

The former Queen was less than pleased. As the older girls said, after a little speech and a smattering of questions, they were expected to start brewing.

Although it had been centuries since Morgaine first learned potion brewing from her mother, the dangers had not changed. Although the recipe itself was a little different, from a quick glance, she could tell the current potion was tricky, much like the one she was taught, and in no way should be their first.

“Go ahead and write it down, Lisa. Even if you know a potion by heart, having a copy handy is better. I’ll go get the ingredients.”

Moments later, she, along with the help of Susan and Morag, who had also brewed before, passed out the ingredients to everyone before returning to their desks.

“Mandy, the snake-fang needs to be a paste,” Morgaine coached.

Several of her classmates, who were also at the step, looked down, noticing that theirs was wrong. 

“Justin, the pungous onions need to be sliced thinner.” Morgaine nodded approvingly as she heard Morag also help those around her.

Throughout the lesson, the three gave out little bits of advice. However, the majority came from Morgaine, who was more or less teaching those around her how to work around a cauldron safely. To no one's surprise, Professor Snape stood in front of Morgaine, watching her brew.

“Pull the cauldron off the flame before you add the nettles, Terry,” she called out before doing the same herself.

“You have experience with this potion?” Snape asked.

Morgaine nodded without looking up. “Yes, sir. Healer Eloise and I often made a batch when we worked in Diagon Alley.”

“I see,” Snape then started to walk away. “Then I expect a perfect potion from you.”

“Of course, sir,” she answered, returning to brewing.

The rest of the class continued much the same, except that Snape began to stroll through the classroom, sniping at anyone’s mistakes. Although not perfect, everyone was pleased with their potions and glad the class was over.

After dinner, it is tradition for the First-year Ravenclaws to sit in the common room to do their homework. However, there was very little to do, only a foot on the potion they had brewed in class. With everyone but Morag, who wanted to rewrite it, done, the group sat around whispering among themselves. Morgaine, though, had her healer's book open, taking notes. 

“Can’t believe he made Sally cry,” Padma huffed. “It's not like her potion looked bad.”

“And she was chuffed to bits that she and Roger hadn’t blown themselves up,” Terry groused.

“Looked alright to me,” Mandy said. “Better than mine; I didn’t even get the right color since I forgot to stir it correctly at the end.”

“We’re just lucky we didn’t cut off our fingers,” Lisa frowned. “That knife was sharp. Still, no need to yell.”

“The man just hated that we all had finished potions. I heard from my brother that he uses his first lesson to humiliate us firsties or some such nonsense,” Morag grumbled.

“Man’s a right twit,” Lisa agreed.

“I assume by your dour faces that you’re talking about our favorite potion professor?” an older student approached with a grin. “I’m Alan, by the way. It's my fourth year; trust me, Snape doesn’t get any better. In fact, he’s pretty horrid in later years to those who don’t do well in potions. No wonder most students don’t bother to continue with their NEWTS.”

“Joy,” Padma sighed. 

“Well, we just need Morgaine to teach us,” Lisa grinned. “The professor seemed irked that our potion ended up being perfect.”

“Oh, I know that name. According to rumors, she’s the one who got Binn’s to teach properly, right?” Alan asked excitedly. “I know the rest of the school won’t thank her, but I will. I love history, and it’s been frustrating that our professor didn’t cover more than the Goblin rebellions.”

Lisa nudged her friend’s foot. “See, I told you that someone else would be happy.”

“I wasn’t concerned,” Morgaine laughed. 

“Oh, you’re her. Well, thanks, and good luck with Snape, everyone.”

Before he could walk away, Professor Flitwick exited the hallway from his office. “Mr. Smythe, can you please get the rest of your fourth years together in about an hour? We will go over the changes in the History of Magic. Apparently, Professor Binn isn’t happy with the current book Hogwarts is using, as it’s a century out of date.”

The young man made a face.

“Yes, I am well aware that not everyone can afford to buy a new edition, so it’s one of the things we will discuss. Miss Rheged, can I also speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course, professor.”  Morgaine smiled, closing her books and placing them in a neat pile.

“You’re not in trouble,” Lisa whispered.

“Doubtful,” the former Queen assured her friend. “I’ll be back.”

The location of the Head of Ravenclaw's office was down a small corridor by the stairs. It looked comfortable and friendly, with several tasteful pieces of furniture, portraits of former heads of House adorning the walls, including a beautiful one of Rowena Ravenclaw and a desk, currently full of papers, of goblin make. 

With the door closed, Professor Flitwick bowed at the waist as privacy wards went up, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“I see you have been speaking with your cousins,” Morgaine sighed. “And please, professor, I am only a simple student.”

Professor Flitwick grinned and sat behind his desk. “Well, hardly a simple student, Miss Rheged. As I am sure you heard, our history professor has determined that the current history book will need to be replaced.”

“Well, it’s rather horrid.”

“Oh, no disagreement from me. However, the problem for the school is that although Cuthbert has acknowledged a student before, he never changed what he was teaching.”

“I see, until now.”

“Correct, so don’t be surprised if the headmaster, once he returns, has some questions. Although perhaps you can lean on your lineage?” 

Morgaine looked up at her many great-grandchild’s portrait. “That would probably be for the best, although that too, I imagine, is not without some complications. Still, there is no need to cause families financial hardship, Professor. I will let my advisor at Gingotts know I will pay for all the new books. If someone in the school can work with whomever he assigns.”

Professor Flitwick pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing a few things down. “Thank you, Your Majesty. If the headmaster asks who is paying for it?”

“Well, the donation can be given anonymously, although if pressed, just explain that the Rheged family is donating the new history books to the school. I do feel somewhat responsible. I have also been told that the current collection of brooms is unsafe.” 

“Well, they aren’t to the point of being unusable, but you are correct. Even so, I am sure Rolanda would be happy if they were all replaced. I know she’s been begging the headmaster for years.”

The former Queen frowned. “Students' safety should come first. Is the school having money problems?”

Professor Flitwick shook his head. “Not that I am aware.”

“Well, I have no desire to try and mount a broom whose enchantments are worn, so it’s not a bother. In addition, I have other concerns about Hogwarts students' safety. First of all, this, although you might have already been told.”

Morgaine reached into her bag and passed him a letter. “Clan Chief Ragnok mentioned that my return had them upgrade the security of all of the vaults and change some of the wards. Our Defense instructor tried to break into one of them with fatal results.”

Professor Flitwick read the letter, his eyes wide, then frowned. “Foolish man, it seems Quintus won’t be returning to school. I will make sure the headmaster knows.”

“Thank you, and my second concern is the safety of the students in potion class.”

The Charm professor looked up from the letter and sighed. “Your Majesty was in Severus' class this afternoon. Unfortunately, little can be done; the headmaster won’t hire anyone else, even with the many complaints from parents and students.”

“I see, even if it’s a safety issue. Professor Snape, so I have been told, is a Potions Master of high regard, but frankly, he shouldn’t be anywhere near children, much less teaching a potion class. In addition, I have been told after taking their OWLs that most students cannot proceed with their potion education due to his disagreeable nature.”

Professor Flitwick nodded. “He only accepts those who earn an Outstanding.”

“Which would be fine if he actually taught everyone to that level,” Morgaine noted with a frown. “Healer Eloise spoke to me over the summer and said the only reason new healers don’t require remedial potions is because of Madam Pomfrey.”

The two sat there silently for a moment before Morgaine sighed. “I have no right to interfere with the teachings of this school. However, as a Healer, I cannot just stand and do nothing.”

Chapter Text

Lisa slipped into a seat at breakfast, pulling her plate closer. “Looks like the headmaster returned.”

Sue looked thoughtful before grabbing the pumpkin juice. “It also seems rumors were true: The Auror at the staff table must be our new Defense Professor.”

Anthony, who sat across from them, leaned forward. “I overheard some of the older years saying she’s on leave because of pregnancy or something. Oh, Morgaine, did you get in trouble for whatever you did to our History Professor?”

After spreading clotted cream and jam on a scone, the former Queen replied, “Not at all. There is nothing really to get in trouble for, as I only asked a question.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. It was a pretty interesting class, wasn’t it? I bet he listened because you’re related to Rowena Ravenclaw,” beamed Padma.

“That’s a given,” Lisa grinned.

Morgaine looked up at the staff table, catching the eye of Madam Pomfrey, who gave her a smile. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure that anything would come of contacting Healer Eloise. Not having seen any of Snape’s potions, all she knew of him was his reputation, but everyone said he was a poor teacher. She couldn’t help but agree.

“Cor, look at this: some duffer tried to rob Gringotts. Got his comeuppance, though,” Terry said, slapping down the Daily Prophet, which had been delivered not too long after they began eating.

“Disgusting, they put his head on a pike,” Mandy pushed the paper away.

“Hey, isn’t Professor Quirrell the name of our Defense Professor?” Terry turned to his fellow Ravenclaws.

“Yes,” Morgaine replied. “May I?”

“Sure.”

Picking the Daily Prophet up, she quickly read the article, noticing that the newspaper had left a few things out or was most likely not informed.

With a shrug, she returned it. “No surprise, Goblin clans have always dealt with thieves harshly.”

“Won’t the Ministry be upset that they executed a Wizard?” Mandy asked.

“No, according to the article, the vault’s wards were what took care of him.”

“Man was an idiot,” Morag commented, taking one last bite of a scone before scooping up her books. “Come on, Penny’s waiting; we don't want to be late for Transfiguration.”

“Did the Prophet say anything about the 'Girl Who Lived'?” Lisa asked, catching up.

“Oh, that’s right. There was something on the second page about her being homeschooled. I’ll let you read it after class,” Terry said.

“Homeschooled?” Padma raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t ask me; I just read it in an article. Maybe the Headmaster will say something.”

“About what?” Susan Bones questioned as the Hufflepuff first years joined the group.

“Girl Who Lived.”

“Oh, I asked my Auntie, but she wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Potter should be allowed to go to Hogwarts with us,” Hannah complained, overhearing, to which everyone agreed.

Morgaine had always been interested in Transfiguration. From what she had read, the theory behind it had not changed too much from when she was first taught. Even Animagus’s core roots were the same, coming from the ancient priests and priestesses who shapeshifted into spirit animals, although it was barely acknowledged.

Interestingly, they found a cat sitting on the Professor’s desk as they entered the classroom. Quickly taking their seats, both houses started to speak to one another quietly.

Morgaine didn’t say anything, aware that the cat was actually their Professor and most likely also enjoyed everyone being surprised. And she, too, was amused as the room jumped when the feline turned into the Transfiguration Professor.

A little later in class, after a short lecture on the subject's dangers, some threats of expulsion, and a display of advanced Transformation, the class set out to turn a matchstick into a needle.

Morgaine thought the Professor would assign something else. Did everyone know what a needle looked like in this day and age? Had they held one, looked at how it was made? Looking back, she didn’t think Rose had ever seen one.

Now, the Professor walked through the steps, turning a matchstick into a needle several times, but seeing the result across the room was difficult. Well, those who haven’t will see enough examples today.

“Now that’s pretty,” Lisa said, looking down at Morgaine’s bronze needle, which had earned five points for their house.

“Thanks,” she leaned over and said, “Don’t force it. Close your eyes and picture how a needle looks and feels to the touch; remember the color and the details you want to add. Once you have that firmly in your mind, cast the spell. But above all, you need to believe that you can do it. Otherwise, let your magic do the heavy lifting.”

After the third try, Lisa got a nice-looking needle, although it wasn’t very pointy. “Good job, now do it again. Like many things, Transfiguration gets better with practice.”

“Miss Rheged, that was a well-thought-out explanation. Another five points for helping your classmates as well.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Secretly, Professor McGonagall was thrilled. It was not unusual for Ravenclaws not to want to help others in their own year. It was expected of the Hufflepuffs, who could be seen with their heads together, but it was nice to see the new First-year Ravens were now all supporting one another.

After the excitement of turning a matchstick into a needle and a small break, the rest of the class was a lecture on theory; by the time it was done, everyone was ready for lunch.

Later, they attended a brief Defense class that had been postponed the previous day. As expected, the Auror who appeared at breakfast took the lead. With Professor Yuna expecting her baby soon after the holidays, one of her colleagues stepped in to assist with lessons and prepare to take over entirely.

Given the limited time, they focused on revisiting key concepts first years needed to grasp and outlined the topics that would be covered for the remainder of the year. Once the class concluded, the Hufflepuffs dispersed, while the Ravenclaw girls headed to the library to dive into their homework.

Morgaine looked up shortly after, surprised when Tracey, Daphne, and the other Slytherin girls joined them at their table.

“Don’t you have class?”

“Potions with the Gryffs was canceled,” Daphne replied, looking into her book bag.

“Do you know why?” Padma asked.

“Not really,” Tracey answered. “But Snape was really grumpy today.”

“Tracey,” Pansy sighed. “We were actually in the middle of brewing when he was called away. Soon after, one of the Seventh years came by, vanished our potions, and handed out homework.”

Millicent looked up from setting out her Chocolate Frog Cards collection. “Oh, and don’t forget that Longbottom blew up his cauldron and was sent to Madam Pomfrey.”

“Bet that was it,” Mandy pointed out.

“Sounds like he didn’t take the cauldron off the flame before he added the nettles,” Padma explained. “What’s odd, that wasn’t mentioned in the instructions.”

“It wasn’t. However, it is written somewhere in our Potions book,” Daphne said. “But someone, I think Granger might have mentioned it during class, but was told to be quiet.”

Morag, who had pulled out her own Chocolate Cards collection, commented, “I knew it because I brew with my Mum, but if it weren’t for Morgaine, most of the class wouldn’t have known.”

The former Queen sighed. “Yes, well, Susan also made everyone know, but still. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey is here to look at those splashed with the potion, as overheated nettles will cause some really uncomfortable boils.”

“So, do you think that’s why Professor Snape was pulled out of class?” Mandy asked.

Everyone turned their heads toward Pansy, who huffed. “I know as much as you.”

It was then repeated as the First-year heads turned to look at Morgaine, questioning.

When she didn’t say anything, Tracy almost shouted. “You do know something.”

Lisa then proved why she was in Ravenclaw, giving her friend a thoughtful look. “This happened the day after we had our first potions class.”

“True.” Padma nodded.

“I bet she sent something to Healer Eloise last night,” Lisa insisted.

“Who’s that?” Millicent asked.

“It’s one of the Healers that Morgaine works with,” Tracey answered, then gave her a sly look. “Lisa’s right, you little troublemaker.”

“Well, it’s to be expected. Look what she did to our History Professor,” Morag laughed.

Mandy grinned. “And our Defense Professor.”

Tracey raised an eyebrow, then nodded sagely. “And why the Cannons lost last season.”

“Exactly.”

Morgaine just sighed, ignoring her friends, and returned to her homework.

&

As soon as the school's curfew began, which forced all students into their dorm rooms, Professors began to wander into the staff room. The first to enter were Aurora Sinistra, Hogwarts’s Astronomy Professor, and Septima Vector, the Arithmancy Professor, who grabbed a butterbeer off a table laden with snacks. Bathsheba Babbling, the Runes Professor, and Professor Kim Yuma soon joined them. Three of the four Heads of House and the Muggle Studies Professor, Charity Burbage, arrived later.

While drinking Butterbeer and munching on various confectionery, they talked among themselves, waiting patiently for the rest of their colleagues.

Finally, a smug Madam Pomfrey entered the room, followed by an angry Professor Snape and a tired-looking Headmaster.

“Good evening, everyone,” Albus Dumbledore began. “This shouldn’t be too long, as I know some of you need to get home. First, I want to introduce you to Kim Yuma, who will teach Defense until the end of the year. She’s been an Auror for the last five years and is a welcome addition to our school.”

After everyone greeted her, he continued. “Secondly, there have been a few changes since school began, not just with our Defense position. If you are not aware, Professor Binn has decided to change how he will teach History. However, he also insists on not using the current textbook. Thankfully, the new ones have been graciously donated to our school by the Rheged family and will be available for each student starting Friday.”

“Rumors say that Morgaine Rheged was the one who got the old ghost to teach more than goblin rebellions,” Aurora said approvingly.

“Insufferable brat,” Snape grumbled.

Madam Pomfrey chastised the Potions Professor. “Severus, she did nothing wrong.”

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore intervened, holding off an argument. “Before we get into that, everyone should know that we also have new brooms on the way. Which will include some of the older ones used for Quidditch,”

“About bloody time the governors listened,” Burbage grumbled. “Rolanda had a fit a few weeks ago when she had to toss half a dozen of them into the bin.”

“Yes, well, it’s not the school’s governors but the Rheged family donating them.”

McGonagall blinked, surprised. “That’s awfully gracious of them, Albus. Although unfamiliar with the family name, I had her in class today, and she has a good head on her shoulders. You might like to know, Filius, that she managed to get all her classmates to work together.”

Professor Flitwick gave a small smile, well aware of how hypercompetitive his Ravens could be. “I have a good batch this year.”

“Next, I wanted to let you all know that we will be adding a second Potions Professor starting next week. She will be responsible for teaching the First through Fifth years. Professor Snape will continue to teach NEWT-level potions; his other responsibilities have not changed.”

“Was this also something that Morgaine Rheged caused?” Septima inquired with a slight grin.

“Before you start, Severus, I have known Healer Eloise for thirty years. She most likely instructed Miss Rheged to report back on all of her classes. Of course, it didn’t help when the two auditors from Saint Mungos, looking over my Healer’s logs, noticed that Longbottom and Finnigan entered the hospital covered in boils. So, it’s no one’s fault but your own.”

“Holy shit, she was involved,” Septima held back a laugh.

“Wait, Hogwarts was audited?” Charity looked around the room, surprised. “Why are we just hearing about this now? And I didn’t know they had the authority.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded. “They do when it comes to the safety of the students. There have been concerns about the lack of new Potion Masters in England and the need for extra potions training for both Healers and Aurors before they begin their jobs. Unfortunately, the School Governors haven’t been particularly helpful.”

“No surprise. Two of Saint Mungo’s healers also walked around our greenhouses,” Pomona added. “It would be lovely if I could get extra hands, especially in the two Seventh-year greenhouses.”

“No disrespect to Potions Master Snape,” Kim said. “But I was surprised that some of my colleagues needed additional potion training when I became an Auror. I graduated from Beauxbaton, and Professor Lefroy was a good teacher. I’m well aware that teaching the little ones can be challenging, so this can only be a good thing, yes?”

“So, do we know who the new Professor will be?” Charity asked.

“Andromeda Tonks,” Albus replied. “She has been working as a Potions Master for many years. Most of you will also know her daughter.”

That caused a round of laughter around the room.

“Well, even Severus will admit that, beyond her usual unique style, the young woman was a good student. Which included potions,” Pomona said with a smile, giving Snape a look.

The Potions Professor just frowned but didn’t disagree.

“Thankfully, both Saint Mungos and the DMLE will contribute to Mrs. Tonks’s salary,” Dumbledore explained. “I also spoke to the school’s Governors before dinner to discuss the situation, although they were not particularly pleased; they had no desire to confront unhappy Healers.”

“Unusually smart of them.” Flitwick chuckled.

“That’s all I wanted to discuss this evening; thank you for staying; we will go back to our usual day next week,” Dumbledore concluded, and in no time, the room was cleared.

Only Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape remained; however, she stopped the Headmaster before he could leave. “Rose Potter. And don’t you start with the nonsense of homeschooling? What happened, Albus?”

The ancient Headmaster rubbed his eyes. “No one knows for sure, Minerva. And the investigation has been taken out of my hands. The DMLE is working with the Muggle Police to determine what happened to Miss Potter.”

“We should never have left her with those people. I knew from the start they be trouble.”

“And the goblins?” Snape inquired.

“Exceedingly unhelpful, stating that we should look after our children better.”

“At least that’s something we can agree on,” McGonagall continued her tirade. “Ye better hope they find her, Albus. The whole school is talking about it, and if you didn’t know, there’s a Muggle newspaper circulating about her disappearance. The whole thing is disgusting. I have half a mind to go speak to these people myself.”

“I’m doing all I can, Minerva,” Dumbledore raised his hand in surrender.

“Do better,” she challenged him, storming out of the room.

Chapter Text

The Charms classroom was a little larger than most, with its arched ceilings and walls covered with charts and images of famous Charms Masters, including Rowena Ravenclaw. At the back of the room stood a large blackboard, and at its front, standing on a stack of books, Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw and Charms Professor, began calling out the names of the children in the class.

Morgaine gave a small smile; the diminutive Professor’s energy was infectious. Her classmates were literally bouncing in their seats, ready to do magic. Much like Professor McGonagall, after taking roll, he displayed his skills with some excellent Charm work. Flitwick worked his way through the First and second year curriculum in a flash, then touched the third and fourth. Just a taste of the magic they were to learn in the coming years.

The young sorceress also approved of the first Charm he taught in class, Lumos, which lit the end of their wands in a soft light, then Nox, which extinguished it.

Morgaine, however, waited until someone lit their wand first before casting her own. The Professor shook his head, which she returned with a smile.

“Five Points, Miss Bones,” he called out before walking among the other students. “If you would be so kind to help the others.”

Morgaine did the same, turning in her seat to help the other Ravenclaws. As it was a simple charm, with little to no wand work, it was no surprise that everyone in class managed to cast both before the break.

Once they returned, the remaining time would be lecture; however, Professor Flitwick started with the Alarm Charm, something everyone needed to know if they expected to wake up on time. 

“Miss Rheged, can you approach the front of the class and show how the Charm works? If you’re unaware, class, Morgaine here is a Healer’s apprentice. Which is quite an accomplishment for someone her age. However, before you object to her already knowing some magic, we Professors will be grading her at a higher standard. In fact, she will be given additional homework in certain classes like mine. And if I am not mistaken, she will also be working with Madam Pomfrey every Saturday morning.”

Most of the class didn’t look surprised at the mention of her being a healer; giving additional homework didn’t seem to excite anyone, well, except for maybe some Ravenclaws. However, the thought of having to work every Saturday stamped down on what little jealousy remained.

“That’s lovely,” Flitwick commented as Morgaine pulled a small silver pocket watch from her robe, looking at the time.

“Thank you. It was a gift from Healer Eloise, and although it already has an alarm enchantment, she insisted I know the Charm as we used it quite often when working at Diagon Alley.”

The Professor nodded before looking around the room. “As you might have guessed, the Charm must be cast on an object. It can be a pocket watch, like Morgaine’s, the lamp by your bed, or even your pillow if you are so inclined. You will find how to cast it in your book in Chapter One, and I expect at least a foot on its history and examples of how it can be used to be turned in next week. We will spend all of the next class learning to cast it.”

Turning to the former Queen, he said. “Now, if you’re ready? Let's set it for ten seconds.”

“Yes, Professor.” She then cast the Alarm Charm with expert wand movement; however, the incantation was not in the fake Latin they used earlier.

“There she goes again,” Michael laughed.

“What language was that?” A Hufflepuff boy called out.

Another one replied. “Sounded Welsh, maybe.”

Moments later, the pocket watch began to chime.

With a smile, Professor Flitwick raised his hand. “Settle down. Excellent Charm work, Miss Rheged; five points to Ravenclaw for the bit of cheek.”

As the former Queen found her spot, the Professor continued. “The incantation, if I am not mistaken, was in Brythoneg. Which is a wonderful segue to what we will discuss for the rest of our time today. Since you have already attended Professor Cuthbert’s new history class, you’re well aware that ancient Witch and Wizards did not speak English, much less Latin. In fact, only in the Western world today is spellcasting done in Wizardry Latin. Now, if you open your book to Chapter Two, let’s discuss Charm theory and how it changed throughout history.”

& 

“What’s with the funny looks you were given the Raven, Terry?” Sue asked after they dropped off some of their books. The group had just finished Defense and had time to do something else before dinner.

“Don’t trust it not to start speaking some ancient language none of us but little Miss Ravenclaw understands.”

Lisa giggled. “I haven’t heard it speak anything but English. But Morgaine did tell me that the couple of times she approached alone, it changed languages. She complains it reminds her too much of her own familiar.”

“Speaking of,” Michael nodded down the hall.

Morgaine stood off to the side, and it would be hard to disagree with Terry’s nickname. Standing there, with her familiar on her shoulder, she looked like a miniature version of their house’s founder. Even more so, as she was surrounded by the Slytherin girls, almost as if holding court.

“The charm work, I have been told, isn’t too difficult; you just need to ensure that the person doing it knows what they are doing. Unless you want to see your things suddenly explode all over the hallway.”

“You didn’t do the enchantment yourself?” Pansy asked as if half expecting a first-year to know a NEWT-level charm. 

“The embroidery is mine; however, Tracey’s cousin did the charm work,” Morgaine explained as all the girls looked over the former Queen’s book bag. 

“Charlene, really?”

Daphne leaned forward. “Oh, that's some beautiful chain stitching.”

“Merlin, what’s that?” Tracey asked, pointing at a flower. 

“Woven wheel stitch,” Pansy murmured, appreciating the work.

“My mom wants me to learn, insisting that every witch should know how to embroider. However, I’m pants at it with my fat fingers,” Mellicent complained.

“If Tracey can do it, Milly, then you can too,” Daphne insisted, earning her a squawk from her best friend. “Between Morgaine, Pansy, and myself, I’m sure we can teach anyone interested in learning.”

The two other girls nodded in agreement.

“And on that note, we’re out of here,” Antony announced, looking at the other Ravenclaw boys who agreed.

“Oh, hello all. You’re not joining us?” Morgaine asked, returning her book bag to her shoulder. The group was planning on heading to the library to do their homework.

Terry shook his head. “One of the Griffs has a football; I figure we would kick it around before dinner.”

As they watched the Ravenclaw boys leave, Daphne said, “Draco and the others are talking Quidditch in our common room,” 

“Football sounds better than Quidditch,” Tracey mused.

“You can catch up to them if you want; it won’t hurt my feelings,” Daphne pointed out.

“I’ll only play if Pansy joins in."

“Not bloody likely,” Milly giggled.

Finding a table at the back of the library, Padma asked, “So, how was the new potions professor?”

“Brilliant. As we were just telling, Morgaine, much better than Snape. The first thing Professor Andromeda did was discuss safety,” Tracey explained. 

“Without McGonagall’s threat of expulsion,” Milly added.

Which caused Tracy to grin before continuing. “Afterward, she discussed what seasonal changes need to be made to some potions. Moon and sun positions, that sort of thing, plus dozens of others that the books don’t mention or explain well. Couldn’t believe how much we learned for our first class.”

“And we’re not expected to brew at least for another week, then it’s going to be the Belfrey Elixir,” Daphne recalled while setting down her books.

“Good choice.” Morgaine nodded. 

There were similar elixirs in her time that would extend the shelf life of certain potions. However, it was considered a neutral recipe; the worst that could happen would be a cauldron full of sludge.

“What do you expect.” Pansy sniffed. “She’s one of the famous Black sisters.”

Morag tilted her head. “I have heard of the Black family, of course, but not the sisters.”

Pansy listed them. “Andromeda, Narcissa, and Bellatrix. All three went to school during my mother’s time at Hogwarts. All three Slytherin witches, of course.”

“Narcissa’s Draco’s mom,” Tracey pointed out.

Morag made a face. “Ahh that Bellatrix.”

Morgaine listened quietly. Beyond her reading, the goblins had given her a thorough education of the history of Wizardry Britain for the last decade and a half, which included politics and a list of important individuals involved with the conflict on both sides. 

As a former Queen, she had little sympathy for those who sided with Voldemort. In her time, such an insurrection would have been brutally put down, with all of those captured executed. From what she learned from the goblins about Azkaban, that would have been merciful.

“Yes, well, even if the Professor married a mu…,” Pansy coughed, looking embarrassed. “A Muggleborn, she’s brilliant.”

Mandy gave the young girl a sympathetic smile, then pulled a newspaper from her bag. “So, did you see that Morgaine made the Prophet?” 

“Not quite.”

“Your family, but close enough we know it was you. It’s on the third page, nicely written,” she grinned, passing the paper to the Slytherin girls.

“Obviously not Skeeter then,” Daphne commented. “On, you’re the one paying for new brooms.”

Tracey snorted, and Pansy began to grumble.

“We're missing something, aren’t we?” Padma asked, looking around the table.

“When the older years mentioned getting new Quidditch brooms yesterday, Draco more or less admitted that it was his father who paid for them,” Daphne chuckled.

“Can we borrow the paper, Mandy? Maybe we can leave it in our Common room.”

“How Slytherin of you, Milly,” Tracy said approvingly.

With everyone working on the homework, it didn’t take all that long to finish. The Ravenclaws admitted that they would probably revise it after dinner, but for the most part, they were done.

“How did you know so much about the history of the Alarm Charm, Morgaine?” Sue asked.

“Healer Eloise, the one who gave me my watch, enjoys reading about history and doled out little bits of trivia while we worked. So, when we talked about the added enchantments, she explained how much the Charm had changed throughout the years, especially with the invention of the watch, which happened sometime in the 1500s, well before the Statue of Secrecy was enacted.”

“I bet she knew you were going to be learning that Charm the first week,” she pointed out.

Morgaine nodded in agreement. “Most likely.”

“So, what are we doing tomorrow?” Padma asked while putting her books away.

“Sleeping,” Mandy smiled.

“Working with Madam Pomfrey until lunch,” Morgaine said.

“Afterward?” Tracey asked, looking at Daphne, who shrugged.

“How about a walk around the lake? Take a peek into the Forbidden Forest; spend some time outside.” Morgaine asked the others. “The Wind tells me it’s going to be a nice weekend.”

“The wind,” the group could hear a disdained snort from several tables away.

“What do you mean by that, Granger?” Morag challenged surprisingly with some heat.

The young Muggleborn looked embarrassed. “Err, sorry. I mean, it’s just listening to the wind to tell the forecast. “

“It's an ancient form of Divination, Granger,” Daphne explained.

“Not so ancient,” Morag insisted. “All the farmers where I live come to my grandma when they want to know when it’s going to rain. She’s closer to the spirit world than most, a touch of the fey my mum says. Gran might not be right all of the time, but better than most. And considering Morgaine’s family, it’s no surprise she might have some of that gift.”

Lisa, who felt sorry for the girl and had never heard of it before, said, “It’s not like they can turn on the telly, Granger.”

“Sorry,” Hermione whispered and started to put her things away.

Ignoring the Gryffindor witch, Mandy asked. “Doesn’t that Gillian, what’s her name on WWN, give weather reports? She’s usually on right before my mom heads to the ministry.”

“Woman’s a hack,” Morag grumbled.

Padma smiled. “We have similar ways at home, my sister’s quite enamored with divination. She would know better than me.”

“My mum speaks to Old Boothe around harvest time,” Daphne explained. “A lot of the apples you eat are from our orchards.”

“Lots of apples,” Travey chirped happily.

Morgaine watched Hermione leave the library as if the furies were chasing her.

“Bit of a twit, that one,” Pansy said. “And it's not because she’s a Muggleborn.”

“My sister thinks she’s trying too hard.” Padma, too, watched the girl flee. “Most of her house treats her rather poorly.”

“We’ve only been here a week,” Lisa said, surprised.

Tracey sighed. “She’s a bit of a know-it-all. I mean, she earns them a lot of points in class, but still.”

Morgaine then suggested, “We should invite her tomorrow when we walk around the lake,” 

“Really?” Pansy asked, shocked.

“She’s new to our world. Plus, she looks lonely. If you haven’t noticed, she’s been sitting by herself every time we’ve been in the library together.”

Millicent nodded. “I agree.” 

Pandy then spun around. 

“I hate bullies, you know that.” Milly insisted, crossing her arms. 

“But she a Gryffindor,” Pansy whined.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning started for Morgaine like any other day. She woke before the others, got dressed, and left the dorm room. Since there were no classes today, she let her friends sleep, except for an alarm charm that would go off in a couple of hours so they wouldn't miss breakfast. 

“Good morning, Madam Pomfrey,” she greeted the Hogwarts’s nurse as she entered the hospital.

“Ah, Morgaine, and a good morning to you,” the older woman smiled. “I see you're up and early.”

“I’m pretty much of a morning person and not one who has to have a lie-in on the weekends. Or what was it that Morag called it? Hurkle-durkle.”

“Ahh, good morning, Gemma,” Madam Pomfrey called out to another student as she entered the hospital. 

Morgaine also greeted the seventh-year prefect, Gemma Farley. The tall brunette with her hair put up immaculate school robes trimmed with green, over fashionable witch’s casual wear gave her a professional look. According to the former Queen’s friends, although not a politically powerful family, the older girl was considered one of the leaders of their house.

The Slytherin witch was also intrigued by the eleven-year-old Ravenclaw standing beside the school nurse. The girl wasn’t even in her house, but somehow, her presence could be felt in the snake pit. And it wasn’t just Malfoy’s stumble the other day. The child of Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) should have known better than to claim something so publicly before confirming its truth.

Somehow, three different factions formed in the first years. Malfoy, who only Goyle and Crabbe followed, and reluctantly at that, was one. The second, Nott and Zabini, although willing to spend time in the common room with the boy, remained neutral. The girls, including Parkinson, which was a surprise, had formed a strong third group. Parkinson or Greengrass were the most vocal, but Gemma had a strong feeling that the little raven-haired witch was its true leader.

This was only reinforced when girls from different houses stopped for a quick hello. Madam Pomfrey was both amused and annoyed. Poor Morgaine appeared fondly exasperated. Finally, when Davis cheerfully skipped into the hospital, she asked her to pass the word that she would see them all at lunch.

“What was with the muggleborn?  Gemma asked as the two started to clean the room.

Some students, especially first-year muggleborns, had been stopping by for their pixie flu and dragon-pox potions. It should have gone smoothly, as every new student should have visited a healer before school started, but that was often not the case.

“Oh, you mean Granger? Her parents didn’t have her visit the healer stationed at Diagon Alley for some reason. Seems a few of those with her didn’t either. Must have been especially busy that day, but not sure.”

“No, she apologized to you for some reason.”

Morgaine nodded. “My friends made plans for this Saturday for us to take a walk around the grounds, visit the usual spots, and the like. I mentioned that the Wind told me it would be a nice weekend. Granger was, well, wouldn’t call it rude, but unbelieving what I said.”

Gemma’s interest was piqued quite a bit by that claim. “Your family has the gift?”

“All the women do to some degree. Useful when I need to tend to my witch’s garden,” she said with a smile, then sighed. “Granger needs to understand that magic is more than just wand waving and what can be found in some dusty old tome.”

Before Gemma could form a reply, a raven suddenly startled her; for the creature to land gently on the first year’s shoulder.

“Breuddwydion, you do know I’m working,” Morgaine admonished her familiar, who unceremoniously dropped a letter into her hands.

“Silly bird,” she murmured, slipping the letter into her robes and pulling out a small bag. 

“Candied fruit?” she offered.

As the Slytherin witch slipped the dried fruit into her mouth, she realized she had seen this scene in a sculpture of a certain founder feeding her familiar.

“Morgaine Rheged,” Gemma mused. “Aren’t you an interesting person.”

&

Morgaine was surprised at how many of her classmates joined their little outing. At first, she thought it would only be the girls in the library and maybe Granger if agreeable. However, every girl in their year decided to attend. Even two second-year Hufflepuffs, Emily and Alyssia, were included after Susan asked her for permission (which she didn’t need) and offered to show them around. So, to the amusement and wonder of many, twenty girls headed off to wander the school grounds. 

“So, you’re not angry with us, right?” Tracy asked as the ponderous group moved toward the Black Lake.

Morgaine chuckled. “No, although it would be appreciated, unless you’re not feeling well, of course, not to come in and talk to me during sick call.”

“See, I told you,” Pansy huffed. “Plus, you don’t want to get on the bad side of Farley.”

“She seems like a formidable witch,” Sue said.

“Most definitely not one to trifle with.” Daphne agreed. “Some people need to learn that.”

Tracey sniffed dramatically. “Not my fault she has no sense of humor,” 

“Sorry,” Susan soon joined them. “I figured it would be okay if we escorted Salley-Anne to the hospital.”

“Did you disturb Morgaine too?” Lisa asked.

“Too?” Hannah looked surprised.

“Glad I wasn’t the only one,” Tracey chirped. “Seems we all had the same idea.”

Salley-Anne whispered, “Madam Pomfrey did look a little annoyed.”

The former Queen gave her a smile. “It’s not your fault. You had an actual reason to be there.”

The rest of the girls just giggled.

Weather permitting, the Black Lake or Lochs was a popular place for Hogwarts students to congregate. Already, dozens of witches and wizards were outside enjoying one of the last few days of pleasant weather. One group of boys was even trying their hand at fishing while a couple of others were skipping stones. However, most students either were leisurely walking around the lake or sitting by its shores.

“I heard all sorts of creatures swim in it,” Mandy leaned over.

Emily nodded. “The merpeople can be a bit unfriendly, but definitely avoid the kelpie.”

Fay Dunbar, one of the Gryffindor girls who joined, said, “So, not a place for swimming?”

“Can’t even see the bottom. But you're right, Lavander, it is pretty here,” Eloise Midgen, another Gryffindor, nervously pointed out.

“I know, right,” the bubbly blonde grinned. “Thanks for inviting us, Morgaine. I was surprised you all wanted to spend time outside since you always seem to be in the library.”

“We are at school,” Lisa said.

Tracey then asked. “When do you do your homework?”

The four Gryffindor girls looked at one another and giggled.

“Usually at the last minute, unless your Granger, then she spends all night revising it,” Lavender explained.

“Oh,” Parvati, Padma’s sister, whispered. “Thanks for inviting her, Morgaine. I know she’s a bit of a clever clog. Goodness knows why she isn’t in your house.”

“So, where to next?” Susan then asked Alyssia, who had been speaking to Sally-Anne and Hermione about the plants found in the Black Lake.

Deciding on what to visit next, the group began moving towards the path that would take them around the lake and close to the Forbidden Forest. For the most part, the girls moved within their houses. The Gryffindor and Slytherins were on the opposite side of Morgaine, while the Hufflepuffs seemed to wander back and forth. The older girls walked to the front, pointing things out like the Grounds Keeper’s home, its little garden, and the two entrances the students used to safely enter the forest.

“I was told that in our third year, the Professor for Care for Magical Creatures brings out different animals to study,” Emily said.

“My sister says there are unicorns,” Alyssia squealed in excitement, which was picked up by most of the girls, and it didn’t matter which house.

Morgaine broke away from the group and moved a little closer to the forest. She could feel its age; many of the Yew trees probably existed in her time. However, there was also something sinister, as if a sickness had spread through the lush woods. 

“Be sure not to enter,” Emily called out.

The Sorceress wasn’t listening upon recognizing a field of plants growing on the forest's edge. One that some poor, unexpected students would curse themselves if they came in contact with. Slipping on her calfskin gloves, she pulled out her short seax, a beautifully gilded knife given to her as a present from her late husband.

“What’s going on, Morgaine?” Daphne asked, looking at the blade.

Tracey, who had been close, ran forward. “Oh, those are big blackberries.”

“Not ones you want to eat,” the former Queen stopped her, then quickly crossed into the forest, kneeling next to a three-foot-tall bushy plant with broad oval-shaped leaves. Moving her knife around, she cut off one of the deep-purple fruits, studying it.

Emily frowned and then approached from behind. “Merlin, that’s a lot of nightshade.” 

“You recognize it.”

“Yeah, herbology is one of my best subjects,” she looked around. “Does it normally grow like this?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Morgaine replied before moving to another plant.

Fay pointed at the berries, looking concerned. “Aren't those poisonous?” 

“Yes, but it can also be used in potions,” Morgaine explained. “Good for all sorts of ailments, such as pain relief to stomach issues. You’ll even find it's one of the main ingredients in Witches Relief.”

“Really,” Padma said interested.

“What’s that for?” Sally-Anne asked.

Parvati answered, “Menstrual cramps.”

“My mom said that her great-grandmother used belladonna to make her pupils bigger or something,” Lavender said. 

Mandy made a face. “Why?”

“It was considered attractive,” Lavender smiled.

“I think I’ll pass sticking a poisonous berry in my eyes, thank you very much,” Tracey chuckled.

Hermione bit her lip in concern. “Are we going to get into trouble? Weren’t we told to stay away from the forest?”
 
Morgaine stood up, ignoring the muggleborn. “Alyssia, didn’t you say that the school has a groundskeeper? He should be cutting this back.”

“Well, his idea of what’s dangerous I heard is different from most people,” the second year shrugged.

“I need a house elf,” the former Queen said to no one in particular.

A sudden pop, then shouts from the muggleborns, caused her to look down.

“How may Buttercup help you, my lady?” 

Ignoring the snickers from her friends, she said, “Can you please inform Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Spout that there is, well, I guess you can call it, an infestation of nightshade plants at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.”

“Yes, my lady.” And with a pop, the house-elf was gone.

“What was that?” Hermione squeaked.

“Brownie,” Morgaine made a face. “Daphne, please keep anyone from following.”

The blonde Slytherin gave her a small curtsey. “Yes, my lady.”

“Funny,” the Sorceress sighed, disappearing amongst the tall trees.

She returned in time to meet Professor Spout at the edge of the woods.

“Miss Rheged, you have something to show me?”

“Yes, professor, follow me.” Morgaine then slipped her knife into a sheath before pointing out all the nightshade plants growing as far as the eye could see. “I am a bit concerned this hasn’t been cut back.”

“Oh my,” the herbology professor looked around at the field of poisonous plants.

“Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey could find use for quite a bit, but this is disturbing. Some students not knowing any better will make themselves sick or worse if these aren’t taken care of.”

“Well, I now have some interesting work for my OWL and NEWT students, but you are correct,” Pomona frowned. “This is too much.”

“Unnatural,” Morgaine nodded.

“Fifteen points of thinking of your fellow classmates, then another ten for informing us, Miss Rheged,” she whispered. “I would also make sure you put that knife away. You won’t get in trouble for owning something like that, however.”

The Sorceress nodded.

“Well, go back to your friends and enjoy the rest of the day. And thank you for pointing this out to me. It is indeed troubling.”

&

The once beautiful days were in short supply while the girls learned magic, how to brew, and the history behind it all. Although rumors of what they discovered in the Forbidden Forest ran through the school, the staff made no announcement other than that the third-floor corridor and the Forbidden Forest were out of bounds for students again.

For Morgaine, she found little interest in the current magical classes, having learned to cast most spells long ago, even if they were a bit different. Still, she was incredibly thankful for Professor Flitwick, who assigned extra coursework well beyond the first years.

However, what excited her the most was learning about the advances in the art of healing. Healer Eloise kept sending her books, which the Sorceress devoured at a fantastic rate, much to the amusement of her friends. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey must have seen something in her and slowly gave her more responsibilities.

On an especially cold day in October, with the trees turning wonderful colors, the girls reluctantly retreated indoors, heavy rain having thwarted their plans to enjoy a wonderful afternoon outside the castle. Tracey, who had an awful week fighting with some of the boys, declared they needed to find a place for themselves.

The first-year girls had continued their ritual of walking around the Black Lake every weekend, although the excitement of finding a field of nightshade wasn’t repeated.

Their numbers also diminished, with some witches having to do other things, especially the Gryffindor girls, who flitted in and out of the group like bees, sometimes joining and sometimes not. But the core group from the library was always there, especially the Slytherin witches, who found it a much-needed break from the Snake Pit.

So began a search for the perfect empty schoolroom. There were many, long abandoned, as the magical population of Great Britain had diminished quite drastically in the last eighty years. But Morgaine, feeling a slight pull on her magic, discovered something between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Common rooms on the second floor.

“What did you find?” Lisa asked, noticing her friend standing in front of a portrait.

“Something interesting, I’m thinking,” Morgaine replied before returning to study the painting, which depicted a raven-haired witch sleeping soundly in a field of pumpkins in the middle of a forest clearing.

Suddenly, the painting’s eyes snapped open, causing the rest of the girls who joined them to squeal, disturbing a murder of ravens, unseen in the painting until now, to fly around before settling back on the pumpkins.

The painting's eyes widened when Breuddwydion appeared and settled on her shoulders. There was no mistake that the stately witch in the painting bore a resemblance to Morgaine as she studied each girl one by one before returning to the Sorceress. 

Finally, she spoke. “Do you wish access to the room, Raven’s child?” 

“I do.”

Then, a door appeared next to the painting.

Chapter Text

Hidden behind the portrait of the pumpkin witch lay a forgotten professor's office. Its tall, arching windows were draped in deep blue curtains, and its stone walls were lined with tall bookshelves overflowing with tomes, scrolls, and spell diagrams.

At the room's heart stood a rosewood desk buried beneath a pile of parchment, empty ink bottles, and used quills. On the other side of the room, next to a cold fireplace, was a sitting area with a loveseat and an assortment of armchairs.

A silver tea set atop a large table, while several smaller tables with small lamps came alive with a soft glow as the students entered. Combined with the colorful rugs on the floor, it reminded the girls of the Ravenclaws' Common Room.
 
For Morgaine, the air buzzed with ancient magic, feeling familiar and comforting as it swirled around her playfully like a long-lost companion. To her friends, the room felt as if the owner had just stepped away, but the sorceress knew better. This magic was old, and as it settled over her, it claimed her as its own.
 
Tracey, who followed closely behind, asked, "Is this Professor Flitwick's office?"

"No, but I don’t think it’s someone teaching here now," Morgaine replied.
 
The sorceress looked up as bright globes hanging from the ceiling descended to illuminate the room before cautioning her friends. "Be sure not to touch anything on the bookshelf." 
 
Half the girls halted mere feet from the shelves, looking both disappointed and embarrassed. Still, hands tucked behind their backs, they curiously scanned the titles.
 
"Look. I've found the lavatory!" Tracey cheerfully called out from across the room before shutting the door.
 
"Me next!" Padma insisted.
 
Milly looked around the sitting room and asked, “Morgaine, is it okay if I sit down?"
 
"Oh sure, that's fine."
 
"Thank Merlin,” she sighed, collapsing into the loveseat and untying her boots.
 
"What do you think you're doing?” Pansy frowned disapprovingly at her friend.
 
"What does it look like?”
 
"Those are some wicked boots,” Morag said, skidding into a nearby chair. “I love the color."
 
"Common Welsh Green,” Milly explained with a grin. “My Nan mailed them to me the other day, and I wanted to break them in. This weekend seemed like a good time as any.”
 
"Can't you just use magic to soften them?" Lisa asked.
 
Morgaine shook her head. "No, dragon hide is naturally resistant to magic. Using spells would ruin them. You have to break them in the old-fashioned way.”

Lisa then pointed out. "We didn't have to do that with our gloves.” 
 
Now perched gracefully on a nearby chair, Daphne replied, “That’s because they are enchanted with a dozen charms. We'll be lucky if we don't have to replace them every few years."
 
Her comment drew a few grimaces. Dragon-hide gloves for potions and herbology weren't cheap.
 
Pansy let out an admiring sigh as she sat next to her friends. “This is lovely furniture, Morgaine. My grandmother has similar pieces in our drawing room. What are you planning to do with it?”
 
Morgaine noted. "Well, they're hardly mine to decide about.” 
 
"Would you mind if we used this room?” Morag asked, looking around with growing excitement. “It’s very comfortable."
 
"We should ask Professor Flitwick first."
 
Pansy gave an approving nod. ”Morgaine, you should put most of this furniture in your vault. It's too exquisite to leave here."
 
Lisa glanced around. “I bet you could get one of the castle's house elves to find some nice, comfy replacements for us."
 
Morgaine sighed. Apparently, no one was listening to her anymore. “Why does everyone assume this is my office? And those aren't my books to lend out, either."
 
"Because,” Mandy called from across the room, “Besides all of the charm books, there's an entire collection of healer books here."
 
"Must run in the family,” Padma teased.
 
Lisa cheerfully added, “Since you're related to Rowena Ravenclaw, you had to have other relatives at Hogwarts. So, whoever's office this is must be like a grandfather-uncle or something."
 
Su Li nodded sagely. “And the witch outside called you 'Raven's child, which obviously makes you part-owner of Hogwarts."
 
The absurdity of the statement sent the group into a fit of giggles.
 
Tracey excitedly ran up, holding a crumpled newspaper. “Hey, listen to this! The Minister of Magic is being forced to step down because he has three mistresses!"
 
"Fudge?” Pansy asked, horrified at the thought of him having multiple, much less one, mistress.
 
"Oh no, Owens,” Tracey replied, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “And I mean, look at the front page; he is pretty hot."
 
"Who's Minister Owens?” Padma asked as she leaned over for a look.
 
Su Li snorted. ”That’s from 1854.”

"Oh,” Mandy giggled, pointing to another part of the paper. ”Flourish and Blotts is having a Yule special, and there's even a coupon. Do you think it's still good?"
 
&

It was late, well past curfew, when two figures strode through the quiet halls of Hogwarts, their destination a forgotten portrait: the Pumpkin Witch.
 
"So, after all these years,” mused Professor Flitwick. “I believe everyone has forgotten about this office. Professor Abner Sheridan, Charms Master—long before my time.”

"Eighteen fifty-four?” Morgaine ventured.

Flitwick nodded. “That sounds about right. He left for the winter holidays and never returned. Dragon Pox, I believe, though I can't be certain. After news of his passing reached the school, the headmaster and the Ministry tried to access his office—not to settle his daughter's inheritance, mind you. She was a Squib. No, they sought his private library, which was rumored to hold the personal writings of Rowena Ravenclaw. The Minister even enlisted curse-breakers. The goblin ward master, however, took one look and refused outright."
 
His grin widened as he continued. “Hogwarts’s house elves were also unable to enter. Rumor has it they didn't try too hard. It was said that the castle itself safeguarded Sheridan's legacy, as he was a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw."
 
Morgaine tilted her head toward the painting. “What happened to his daughter?"
 
Flitwick shrugged. “I don't know. The story ends there. Most Heads of the House of Ravens make it a point to introduce themselves to Agnis.”
 
"Agnis?” the sorceress frowned.
 
"The one you call the pumpkin witch. No one knows for certain whether that's truly her name. She has never spoken until now. May I?"
 
At Morgaine's nod, Flitwick approached the painting. “Good evening, Agnis. Might I come in?"
 
The witch in the portrait responded with nothing more than a kind smile and a shake of her head.
 
"Hello, Agnis,” Morgaine greeted the painting. “May I enter?”
 
"Of course, Raven's child."
 
The former Queen watched the diminutive professor excitedly bounce about the room as soon as the painting swung open, though he moved no farther than the bookshelves. Unlike her classmates, Flitwick kept his hands carefully to himself, marveling at a particular stack of handwritten journals.
 
Morgaine pointed to another painting of a ruined castle surrounded by pumpkins. "There are more of those concealed behind that frame.”
 
"Hopefully, some of Rowena’s work,” Flitwick smiled before gesturing to the stack in front of him. “May I?”
 
"Of course."
 
Selecting one, he carefully flipped through its pages. “Would you mind if I copied these? It's a tradition for departing professors to donate their notes to the library."
 
Morgaine sighed. “I don't mind, Professor, but are you positive I have the authority to grant permission?"
 
Flitwick kindly pointed out. ”If not you, then who? Sheridan claimed descent from Rowena Ravenclaw's brother. And you're the first person granted access to this room in over a century.”
 
The former Queen finally relented. “Then that's fine."
 
The professor grinned as he inspected the titles. “Excellent, now these books are unsuited for first-year students, even NEWT level ones. Present company excluded, of course.” He paused, looking at his student with concern. “Miss Rheged, are you finding your studies at Hogwarts challenging enough?"
 
The sorceress's laughter rang bright through the room. “Challenging? Hardly. Before I could walk, my mother began to teach me our ancestral magic; my father ensured I had the best tutors, all learned men of philosophy, rhetoric, mathematics, law, and languages. Merzhin had me master a wand by thirteen, and I passed the trials of a Sorceress by sixteen. Even so, there's much for me to learn here. Healing arts have evolved since Galen's time, potion varieties have multiplied tenfold, and your runes are fascinating."
 
She then looked a little lost. “Filius, where else would I go? I am a woman out of time; So, I must learn to live in this one.”
 
“I understand, Your Majesty.” Flitwick nodded sadly before motioning to another shelf. “These books would be a great addition to the charm section of the library."
 
Morgaine took a deep shuddering breath, then smiled, finding Breuddwydion perched on her shoulder.  
 
Reaching to scratch her familiar’s chin, she said,” Of course, professor. Copy whatever you wish.”
 
"Thank you. However,” Flitwick pointed out to a couple of titles higher on the bookshelf concerned, “the Ministry restricts many of these books, which makes them illegal to own.”
 
"Illegal? Really?” the sorceress groaned, rubbing her temples. “Ridiculous wand wavers."

The professor helpfully suggested, “Have one of your elves move them to your vault, and then we can pretend they don't exist."

When the discovery of Sheridan's journals was revealed, Morgaine and her companions once again became the talk of Hogwarts. Rumors swirled of a secret chamber brimming with forgotten treasure, the tale growing wilder and more fantastical with every retelling.
 
&

It was late at night when the headmaster's heart roared to life with emerald flames. Moments later, two figures appeared stepping out of the fire: the beautiful raven-haired witch Hestia Jones, cousin to the famous professional Quidditch player and now a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and the not-so-pretty, battle-worn Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, legendary Auror and dark wizard hunter.

Professor Minerva McGonagall glanced up with a gentle smile as her former student approached and greeted her warmly, “Hestia.”

The younger witch gave a cheerful grin before taking a seat beside her. “I hear that the last few weeks have been exciting. The Prophet mentioned something about a treasure trove of books that a group of students discovered inside an old office.”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, the Abner Sheridan collection, although you'd best ask Filius for the details. Thankfully, the professor’s family was generous enough to donate part of it to the library.”

Privately, she knew that the Hogwarts governors had been eager to confiscate all the books. Not that they could have entered the office, its formidable protections were still in place; Agnis had denied them access, like all others before her, even turning away the headmaster.

However, the stern glare from the little eleven-year-old Morgaine Rheged, which caused the older wizards to back away embarrassedly when they confronted her, made McGonagall’s day.

Surprisingly, Lucius Malfoy acknowledged the girl's right to the collection and graciously thanked the young witch for the donation.

“That's not why we’re here, lass,” Moody's gruff voice interrupted the conversation. “Where’s Albus, Minerva?”

Before she could answer, the door swung open, revealing the headmaster, accompanied by Professor Snape.

“I do apologize for our tardiness,” Dumbledore said, settling into his chair with a twinkle in his eyes before giving a grandfatherly smile to those in the room.

Professor McGonagall frowned disapprovingly, aware that the two had been doing something with the protection around the stone. Why it was still here, she didn’t know. Any objections she and the others had were ignored.

“Thank you for coming. So, I hope there is good news, Alastor?”

“None, Albus; the Muggle authorities have decided to cease investigating the Potter girl’s disappearance.”

“But why?” Professor McGonagall almost cried out.

“Because there is little to nothing to be found,” Moody replied. “The teachers can’t even agree that she was on the bus the morning of the day they believe she vanished, even though they marked her as present.”

Dumbledore frowned deeply. “What about Rose’s friends? They must have been able to tell the teachers something.”

“Friends, Albus? What makes you think she had any?” Mad-Eye snorted. “You can thank the Dursleys for that, by the way. They ensured she was isolated; if any classmates befriended her, their boy Dudley made sure they didn't.”

“Albus,” Professor McGonagall heatedly began.

“I find that hard to believe.” Snape sniffed. “Whatever trouble she had at school, it must have been the brat's fault.”

“Believe what you want,” Moody glared at him. “But you met Petunia Dursley? Horrible woman. She didn’t even bother reporting the girl missing; it took a teacher who ended up losing her job because of doing the right thing, poor woman. The headmaster of Potter’s primary was a school chum with Vernon Dursley, so he had been covering the bullying. Because of this, he and Vernon will be lucky enough to avoid a long prison sentence.”

“They must have found something?” the headmaster insisted.

“Don’t know what to tell you, Albus. The leading theory is that she was abducted or the girl ran away, not that I blame her. They even searched the area with cadaver dogs, but turned up nothing.”

“Sweet, Merlin,” Professor McGonagall whispered, then nodded thankfully as Hestia reached over and squeezed her hand. “What about the DMLE, Alastor?”

“Amiee’s still cooperating, but isn’t happy about it. She had a few Aurors she trusted to follow up, but found nothing. It doesn't help that no one knows where Potter vanished, and the ancient magic in those places makes things even more complicated.”

Hestia, who had heard this all before, spoke up. “Trying to gather information from my contacts without giving a name or a decent description of the girl makes it almost impossible.”

Dumbledore nodded. “But have you heard anything?”

“Nothing about the Girl-who-lived. Whoever you convinced to keep it secret has kept it quiet for now. There have been no rumors of her disappearance among the non-human residents in the London enclave.”

“The goblins?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Unchanged, sir. You know how much they don’t involve themselves with us if they can help it. At least I haven't burnt any bridges asking about the Potter’s vaults, but I won't risk being banned if I push. Now, Black Daisy and her sisters—"

“But they’re Hags?” Professor McGonagall interrupted.

Hestia sighed. “Yes, Minerva, but they work hard to keep children out of Knockturn Alley. If one were missing, they would know about it. Merlin, no wonder most residents don’t trust us so-called wand-wavers. But something’s going on-ancient magic stirring, oaths renewed, all sorts of things they speak about, but I don’t understand.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Are you positive it has nothing to do with Rose’s disappearance?” 

“Not entirely; mostly, they live in their own world. Even if some might consider me a friend, I am not one of them, so they don't truly trust me,” Hestia admitted with a shrug. “If I hear differently, I'll let you know, but without revealing who is missing.”

"Regrettably, it must remain a secret."

“I understand, sir, but that limits my ability to help,” the young witch replied regretfully. 

Dumbledore gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, Hestia. If you hear anything, please let me know; it would be appreciated.”

Alastor leaned forward, almost accusingly. “Your old friends and classmates know anything, Snape? Malfoy, perhaps?”

The potions professor held back a sneer. “No, the dark families believe the ridiculous story of Potter being tutored somewhere private. Mostly, they are preoccupied with pushing legislation and preparing for the upcoming seasonal gatherings.”

A smirk curled Snape’s lips. “Incidentally, some influential women are amused and intrigued by how much influence Morgaine Rheged has on their children.”

“Rheged? The family who donated the books, right?” Hestia asked curiously. “They are somehow related to Rowena Ravenclaw? I don’t think I have ever heard of the family.”

“No one else has either,” Snape replied drily.

Dumbledore interrupted somewhat impatiently. “Yes, yes, it's delightful to see an old family with connections to the founders has returned to Hogwarts. And from what I have been told, she is an exceptional student. However, Rose Potter’s disappearance is still our priority; if any of you hear anything, please let me know.”

As he stood up, Moody gave his old friend a stern glare. “Amiee still has questions for you, Albus, about how the girl ended up with the Dursleys, among other irregularities. If you want her to keep silent, you need to speak to her; no more pushing it off.”

The last to leave was Professor McGonagall, who had given Hestia a warm smile and Dumbledore an angry one.

Now alone, the Headmaster of Hogwarts rubbed his temples. Turning to his phoenix familiar for support, the bird turned away as if saying, "You made your bed; now lie in it."

Chapter Text

Halloween was full of parties and fun, especially for children, whether in the magical or mundane world. At Hogwarts, the excitement for the day had been building all week. Everyone knew that there would be a great holiday feast for dinner. 

And the school went all out in decorating the Great Hall with floating jack-o'-lanterns, conjured bats, fairy lights, and tables heaped with pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and treacle tarts. Although this year marked the tenth anniversary of Voldemort's downfall, the professors did not mention those dark times.

Instead, they simply enjoyed the feast, allowing the students to revel in their childhood. Later, they would gather, sharing drinks and reminiscing about those lost during those dreadful years.

However, hours had passed, and the adults and students had long retired to bed, leaving the school grounds empty and silent. Inside the Forbidden Forest, a hooded figure cloaked in shadows moved like a ghost. Suddenly, it stopped, and a small hand appeared to press against the rough bark of a tree. With a satisfied nod, the figure continued.

Beneath the cloak, Morgaine quietly headed toward the forest's heart. She had enjoyed the night's festivities, but right now, instead of sleeping, she had other plans. For her, today was the end of the harvest time and the beginning of the darker half of the year. 

Feasts, like the ones she had just experienced, were just as common back in Arthur's time as they are now. Besides the hearty food and drinks, bonfires, or coelcerth, were lit to protect the revelers from the wandering spirits. Afterward, round oatmeal cakes would be drawn from a bag, and whoever jumped over the fire three times would be chosen to receive a good harvest. 

Divination was also common; lots were thrown for all sorts of reasons. As this was also a sacred period when the boundary between the physical world and the spirit realm grew thin, perhaps those who came before would share their wisdom and knowledge. 

The Sorceress, the last true Druid of England, stood before a moonlit clearing, its borders framed by ancient oaks. She could feel the magic in the air: raw, natural, and pulsing through the open space.

Morgaine doubted those who lived in the castle or Hogsmeade were aware of the Sacred Grove deep within the Forbidden Forest. She had felt its presence the moment she first walked beneath the canopy of its trees.

Now, with staff in hand, she cast off her shadowy cloak, revealing herself dressed all in white. With a wave, she began to sing softly, her voice weaving through the grove as she circled its perimeter, slowly moving inward.

Now, in the grove's center, she reached into her robes, withdrew a bag, and pulled out a handwoven blanket of blue and silver, which she spread across the ground.

Kneeling, she retrieved two wooden plates, a pair of brass goblets, and a bowl filled with seasonal nuts and fruit. Finally, she brought a fresh loaf of crusty bread, a small bowl of honey, another salt, and a bottle of spiced mead. 

Humming a cheerful tune, the Sorceress began arranging the food, placing portions onto her plate before setting the empty one across from her on the blanket. Uncorking the bottle of mead, she smiled and poured herself a cup, then put the second empty goblet beside the other plate.

With the preparations complete, she picked up her drink, took a sip, and began to sing once again, a song lost to time. Around her, mists began to form, and within them, shadows, who seemed to be joining in a dance.

Morgaine felt her familiar land on her shoulder as she took another sip. "It's been almost six months and fifteen hundred years since we last spoke, Arthur. I do miss you so. The Moirai have pulled me into their games again, and I don't know what to do. I could use your counsel and wisdom right now."

"Urien, my husband, I know you would all find this situation amusing. You would laugh that I might be partaking in your wisdom, but perhaps you have the right of things. I am overthinking all of this. You never looked back once you made a decision; you stuck to it. Circe knows that could be infuriating. And even though I despised you when we first married, you wore me down. In the end, I might not have said it often enough, but I did love you." 

Wiping her eyes, she took a sip of mead and continued, "You would be proud of what our daughter's children have accomplished. That castle, it's a wonder."

Suddenly, she reached up and scratched her familiar's neck.

"Breuddwydion, I believe we have company. Why don't you come closer? It's only right that you introduce yourself, as I have felt you watching me since I entered the castle."

A young woman, a ghost, appeared from the mists. Her figure was delicate, and her faded gown still bore traces of finery as she floated above the forest floor. With her dark hair and high cheekbones, she bore an eerie resemblance to one of the school's founders, one Morgaine shared. But her eyes stood out the most, dark and sorrowful.

Silently, the ghost approached, frowned for a moment, then knelt on the ground. "Grandmother."

Morgaine snorted unwittingly, then sat back and took a long sip from her goblet before refilling it. "I imagine there are numerous greats in front of that. You're Rowena's child?"

"Yes, my name is Helena, and you're Morgan Le Fey, " the ghost said in awe and wonder. Or perhaps you would prefer Queen Morgaine."

"If you must, I insist you call me grandmother or Morgaine. I am no longer a queen, even if a chocolate card says otherwise. And that other name was something some non-magical author made up five hundred years ago."

Helena nodded thoughtfully. "When I was growing up, they still told stories about you and King Arthur—how you betrayed Merlin and sided with the Saxons so your son could become king. But my mother always said those stories weren't true."

"They needed someone to blame, and Merzhin—or Merlin's followers—were eager to oblige. As I was asleep, I had no way to defend myself. Nearly fifteen hundred years later, those lies have been repeated so often that they've come to be accepted as truth."

"What was he like?"

"Merzhin? He was a prat," Morgaine smiled fondly. "Brilliant, courageous, he never knew fear—his love for learning and wanting to know the why pushed him beyond the impossible. He had a charisma that would allow him to quickly dominate a room and make friends, whether it be a pig farmer or a king, it didn't matter."

Taking a sip of mead, she continued, "He taught me how to use a wand, pushing me to the point of excellence. He drove my husband insane. Merzhin traveled the world, learning as much as possible, and then he would suddenly appear at the strangest times bearing gifts. Afterward, the three of us would share a drink or a meal; he would flirt outrageously with my attendants, then disappear again. He was my best friend."

"Then what happened?" coaxed Helene, leaning forward.

"Our world was changing and not for the better. But it was little things that all added up: battles won, some lost, alliances were made, some were broken, marriages between great families, and the like. Merzhin saw it all before any of us, as if it were some great puzzle. Our way of life was coming to an end; it was inevitable. He didn't believe that. He felt that if he could go back and influence specific points in time, he could stop it all."

Morgaine didn't see the surprised look on her granddaughter's face as she continued, "I was always the better enchanter. He didn't have the patience for it. So, one day, he showed up with a handful of scrolls. From his travels, he discovered something that helps keep track of time, and he wanted me to enchant it. I know now that it was an hourglass, but back then, it was new. It wasn't until he was ready that he told me what he planned to do. The hourglass would fuel the ritual, allowing him to travel back in time. We argued, and I told him that it was foolish, then one day he disappeared."

Morgaine filled her cup again but didn't drink. "Can you tell me a little about your mother and how this school was created?"

Helena gave a small smile and began the tale of Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin's vision to build a safe place to learn magic, no matter the student's station or gender—a place of learning away from the dangers of the outside world. All four were raised in different magical traditions and leaned heavily on them. Godric was a Norman, Helga a Norse seidr from East Anglia, Rowena a Briton from Cumbria, and Salazar an Anglo-Saxon from London. 

Morgaine noticed throughout the tale that although her great-granddaughter spoke of her mother, she tended to shy away from her accomplishments.

Afterward, the two sat silently before Morgaine asked. "You don't have to tell me, but why do you still walk these lands?"

Helena turned away, her eyes full of pain. "I always found it difficult to live under my mother's shadow, coveting her power, her knowledge. I was just a stupid child who stole something precious from her and ran away. That sin cost me my life, so in penance, I remain."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, grandmother. I'm sorry, I must be such a disappointment," the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw cried in anguish, then faded away.

"Hecate's breath," Morgaine closed her eyes, then felt her familiar rub his head on her cheek. "I know Breuddwydion, I know."

&&

The rest of the week returned to normal, but the excitement began to build once again because Friday was the start of the Quidditch season. All over the castle, staff and students began to talk about it; even the resident ghost historian had spent a day talking about its history.

Growing up playing field hockey and football, Lisa always considered the whole sport ridiculous, although her father loved it. But this morning, it was not Quidditch that got her all excited as she skipped down the hallway looking for her best friend. Morgaine had spent the usual Saturday mornings working at the infirmary, and she wanted to catch her before they headed off to lunch.

"So, it's November," she announced as Morgaine appeared.

"Have you been waiting the whole time?"

"No, I just got here. Anyway, so what are you doing for the Christmas hols?" Lisa chirped.

"Which is like seven weeks from now." Morgaine frowned as the two headed toward the Great Hall. "I haven't made any plans,"

"Not spending it with your mom?" 

"Probably not."

Grabbing her friend's hand, she asked excitedly, "Do you want to spend some of it with me? My parents just wrote back and said it was OK. Dad said he would pick us up from Kings Cross that Saturday, and then you could spend the next few days with me. We're going to my grandmother's house in Southampton on Tuesday, so I won't be able to see you for the rest of the holiday. And I want to show you around."

Morgaine laughed. "Alright, alright, sounds fun,"

After lunch, those not interested in Quidditch, or the match-up between Slytherin and Gryffindor, disappeared as the rest of the school headed toward the pitch. Most of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-year girls decided to finish up their weekend homework. However, Morgaine didn't get too far as her Slytherin friends suddenly surrounded her.

"You got it," Tracey called out, then nodded as Pansy handed her a green scarf.

Wrapping it around Morgaine's neck, she stood back, beaming.

"Today, you're an honorary Slytherin," Daphne announced, which caused a lot of giggling.

Pansey then slipped her arm into the former Queen's and led her away. "If I have to suffer going to this thing, so do you."

Morgaine smiled. "So, I guess we're not helping Sally Anne study?" 

"We'll take care of it," Susan giggled. "Granger gave us the book they were working on."

Although from different houses, the two became friends after spending time walking outside. Hermione discovered that Sally Anne struggled with reading while the two discussed popular movies. They had gotten close, especially after Halloween, when Ron Weasley insulted Granger and made her cry. Her Hufflepuff friend was the only one she listened to, and she managed to get her out of the bathroom and to the Halloween feast.

"You know I am standing here," Sally Ann pouted as the rest of the girls dragged her off toward the library, leaving only Padma and Su Li.

"You're joining us?" Theodore Nott asked, one of the two boys who were also part of the group.

"Yep, I like watching Quidditch; I don't care who's playing," Su answered. "Marietta's dropping off her things, so we need to save an extra seat."

Padma shrugged. "I promised I would sit with my sister."

"Great, let's be off," Pansy called out,

Chapter Text

The London Enclave lay in silence. The shops had long since closed, leaving few to see the robed figure stepping out of the moonlight. With a subtle nod to the guards, who responded with silent salutes, the figure slipped through a private entrance into Gringotts Bank.

Morgaine’s glamour slowly faded as she strolled down the hallway, heading toward a section few non-goblins had ever entered. It wasn’t the first night she quietly slipped away from the Ravenclaw tower. With the winter holidays almost upon them, she had spent weeks wandering the Forbidden Forest ever since she detected something wrong. Discovering the source had been an unpleasant surprise.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” Director Ragnok greeted, rising from his desk as she entered.

“And how are you, Clan Chief?” Morgaine asked.

“Good, good,” he replied with a smile, motioning toward a table where they took their seats.

Several guards who had trailed her assumed their posts against the wall as a cart of tea and snacks was wheeled in. The former Queen had inquired about the peculiar girl dressed in a Victorian maid outfit, only to learn she was related to a bank manager who had acquired her father’s debts.

She insisted on the outfit, and the goblins had no objections. Though she worked as a servant, she was also learning financial trade from her cousin, who had taken over her contract. In the spring, she would attend a mundane university.

After idle chatter, Morgaine turned to her troubling discovery in the Forbidden Forest.

“Acromantulas,” the director grimaced. “They are highly intelligent and illegal to own without a license. Their venom and silk are valuable and highly sought after, but they are also known as dangerous man-eaters.”

“Vile creatures. Charms or other magics should keep them contained, yet I found no protection in place. With Hogwarts so close to their nest, I refuse to believe that no one in the castle is aware of their presence, especially given the value of their venom and silk.”

Ragnok frowned. “I’m unaware of Hogwarts profiting from Acromantulas, but I’ll speak with Manager Lockjaw in the morning. He oversees all their financial dealings.”

“Thank you. Honestly, I’d prefer they were removed or eliminated. They are disruptive to the harmony of the forest.”

Ragnok considered. “We could acquire a few specimens for ourselves and the crown and deal with the rest, if you wish. I know of two suppliers on the continent who might be interested. The winter holidays are the best time, with most students being away. And as the spiders prefer a tropical climate, most will burrow deep into the earth to sleep through the winter.”

The former Queen nodded. It had been an exceptionally cold night when she discovered the nest. The sentinels she dispatched had barely reacted to her presence.

“I have no objections if you remove a few, as long as they are taken from the forest. The safest method would be sealing off the area and letting them starve. Any survivors could be dealt with afterward.” Morgaine tapped her lips in thought. “These are not creatures I’ve had much experience with. Perhaps I should revisit Merzhin’s writings. Circie knows he left me some of the oddest spells.”

Ragnok sat back in surprise. “You have original works from Merlin?”

The sorceress laughed. “Works, if you mean his random scribbles on tablets, scrolls, or parchment, then yes. Much of it was unfinished or written in an unknown language. Eventually, I had two apprentices work on deciphering his horrendous handwriting and had a scribe compile it all into several books.”

“Amazing.”

She smiled softly. “The wand-wavers’ deification of Merzhin is strange. He would have hated it. He often felt uncomfortable around his so-called disciples. I wonder if the Wizarding World would think the same if they knew the number of alehouses he was tossed out of or women’s beds, which included several Queens.”

Ragnok laughed, then asked, “Did he actually create the Order of Merlin?” 

“Absolutely not, how absurd.”

“He’s also known for proposing fair laws among both magicals and Muggles.”

Morgaine looked thoughtful. “That’s mostly right. Merzhin offered advice to anyone who would listen, being aware of how other magical communities ruled. In Briton, influential magical families, mostly old Roman ones, controlled how things worked between them. For the non-magicals, he would offer the same advice. Although, except for the magical enclaves that governed themselves, magicals and non-magicals lived together and were subjected to the same mundane laws.”

Ragnok, seeing that the Queen was becoming melancholy, set a folder down in front of her labeled Professor Abner Sheridan.

“Oh,” she said with a smile, opening it. “So, let's see, Professor Abner Sheridan was born in 1824, married to Emma Wright, and both attended Hogwarts as Ravenclaws. One child named Agnis, oh, that’s who the Pumpkin Witch was named after. And I also see that she had low magic. Dislike that name, squib. Those children still have magic and can accomplish many things. Throwing them out of the magical community is distasteful. I am happy to see that she married and had a couple of children. Her son Phillip married Olivia Gaunt. You added a notation next to the name?”

Ragnok nodded. “The Gaunt family was considered the heirs of Salazar Slytherin. They were known for many of their children having low magic.”

Morgaine smiled as the director didn’t use the word squib and continued. “So, both Ravenclaw and Slytherin families, interesting. Let's see, Phillip had a daughter, Sophia, born in 1935, who married one Harold Evans.”

The Queen sat back, staring at the following names, almost whispering. “Two daughters, Petunia and Lily, one born in 1959, the other in 1960.”

She then looked thoughtful, running her finger over the name Rose Potter. “How strange, so she is my grandchild. I can see Fate's hands in this. Clan Chief, the Gaunts. I overheard that the British Dark Lord was also Slytherin’s heir.”

 “Yes, Your Majesty. Tom Marvolo Riddle was the son of Merope Gaunt, who would eventually name himself Voldemort.”

“So, he is a kinslayer as well.” Morgaine frowned in disgust. “I will think on this. Thank you for the information, Ragnok.”

The family tree, however, was not the only reason she had slipped out of the Ravenclaw Tower. Sitting before her was a list of properties for her to buy. The Goblins would manage all the paperwork, so she just needed to decide where to live. She could live in her Sanctuary for a time. However, she had become quite comfortable with some more modern conveniences.

The director pointed to one particular residence.“I would recommend this place in Hogsmeade if you wish to live in a magical enclave, although I think you might prefer this home in Grosvenor Square in London. It was initially owned by a French diplomat, whose wife was a witch who had attended Beauxbatons Academy. It has magical and non-magical conveniences. It’s a good price, especially for the location, as the family has been trying to sell it for several years. Miss Green has offered her services in either place.”

 Morgaine raised an eyebrow. “The Victorian maid?”

“Yes, she will also be happy to pick you up either that Monday evening or Tuesday morning at the Turpins before they depart. She would also be pleased that she accompanies you if and when you go into either the magical world or the non-magical world.”

The former Queen of Rheged and the Goblin Clan chief stared at one another for a few seconds before she laughed. 

“That’s fine. I will just assume she is in my employment while I am not at school. And you're right about Grosvenor Square; let's pick that residence. There is no reason why I cannot have a second home in Hogsmeade, but for now, the center of London would be preferable.”

#####

Morgaine sat quietly, legs crossed, reading a book as her roommates scurried around like frantic mice. Poor Mandy, half-dressed, was running in circles, desperately looking for her skirt.

“Mandy, do you need help?” she offered, closing her book.

The panicked girl looked up, wide-eyed. “Yes, please.”

With a nod, Morgaine stood and handed her the skirt draped over the desk chair.

Smiling, she gestured toward the mess on the bed. “Is that everything? And that’s your trunk, right?”

Mandy glanced at her bed as she adjusted her skirt. “Yes.”

Raising her wand, she pointed at the pile of clothing and supplies. “Pack.”

In seconds, the spell folded garments, tightened loose bottle tops, ink bottles, and quills, then neatly stacked everything inside the trunk.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Mandy squealed happily, hugging her before straightening her clothes and searching for her robes.

“Ah, Morgaine?”

The Sorceress turned to find the other girls looking at her with hopeful eyes.

Thankfully, with her help, no one missed the train, and soon, most of the school began walking toward the Hogsmeade train station. The youngest students chattered excitedly, eager to see their parents for the first time since September. For many of the oldest students, this would be their last holiday at Hogwarts. Though they, too, were looking forward to going home, many were contemplative, thinking about the remaining days left of school.

The Ravenclaw first-year girls quickly found a cabin, placing their trunks above their seats before sorting out where to sit. Three of the four Slytherin girls joined them soon after.

“Pansy?” Morag asked.

“She was told to spend time with Draco,” Tracy snickered, then turned to Morgaine. “You’re still planning to stay over Boxing Day?”

“Yes. Although I still need to move into my new home, most of it's already done. The Floo should be connected over the weekend, at least, that’s what I was told.”

“That’s exciting,” Mandy said.

Padma confirmed. “It's in London, right?”

Morgaine then explained a little to those who hadn’t heard about her move and asked, “Lisa, did your parents ever get back to you about next Tuesday?”

“Yes.” Lisa excitedly pulled out a letter and handed it to her friend. “It didn’t arrive until this morning. Sorry, I just got around to reading it. Dad said he spoke to Miss Green, and they’ll meet us at the train station. Apparently, she wanted to put up temporary wards at my parents’ house.”

“Miss Green?” Daphne asked.

Lisa leaned forward and half-whispered. “She wears a maid outfit and is Morgaine’s bodyguard.”

“Hardly. She’s my minder, like Charlene was over the summer.”

“She’s putting up temporary wards,” Daphne pointed out.

“Miss Green takes her job seriously,” Morgaine shrugged.

“Unlike Charlene,” Tracey giggled.

The two exchanged knowing grins before Padma asked, “Your mom’s not going to see you for Christmas?”

“It would be a pleasant surprise, but I’m not expecting it. You never know, though.”

“That’s sad.”

“It’s fine, Millicent.” Morgaine waved it away, unaware of the looks her friends exchanged.

The door suddenly opened, revealing two Hufflepuff girls, forcing everyone to make room.

“Sally-Anne’s sitting with Hermione,” Susan explained.

Hannah pulled out her deck of cards. “Anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?” 

Lunch had long since passed, and Parvati and Lavender had replaced Susan and Hannah, followed later by Hermione and Sally-Anne and an unhappy Pansy, numerous others, including several boys, to trade Chocolate Frog cards with Millicent and Morag. Teddy Nott stayed the longest for the boys, discussing charms and potions with the Ravenclaws.

The biggest surprise was the upper-year girls who visited, wishing Morgaine a Happy Christmas or Yule. Many had received her help in the infirmary for one reason or another, but not all.

“When did you become friends with Emma Campbell?” Morag asked as the seventh-year Ravenclaw exited the cabin.

“She shares a room with Charlotte Wilson, you remember, the one who broke her arm in the last Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match. Emma had questions about becoming a healer when she brought Charlotte to the infirmary. I recommended a few books and gave her some names to contact at St. Mungo’s.”

Mandy shook her head. “You know everyone, don’t you?”

“Well, not everyone. But a lot of students come by on Saturday mornings for one reason or another, and I end up talking to most of them.”

“Tracey, we’re all still meeting for New Year’s Eve?” Mandy then asked.

“That’s the plan.” She grinned, pulling a list from her bag. “And it’s called a slumber party.”

Padma frowned. “And you said we’re not going to sleep?”

“Oh, we might eventually. We’ll eat, drink things we probably shouldn’t, play games, and welcome in the New Year. My cousin invited me to one for her birthday last April; it was fun. I’ve got a list of things we can do.”

Lisa leaned over to look. “Probably not going to watch anything on VHS.” 

“Yeah, no. But I did get to watch Heathers at my cousin’s,” Tracey explained.

“VHS?” Millicent asked. 

“They use them to watch Muggle movies. You will have to play Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board,” Lisa insisted.

“You’ve been to a slumber party?”

Lisa nodded. “I went to Muggle primary and was invited to a few.”

Tracey grinned. “Perfect. You can be my second-in-command if you can join us. Daphne’s being all mardy about it.”

The blonde crossed her arms. “I am not. I just don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. You sleep at my house all the time.”

“True, but not with twenty girls.”

“Did you invite our entire year?” Morgaine asked.

“Of course! Well, not the boys obviously. But it’s not going to be twenty. Let’s see who said yes so far… Although Lisa's a maybe, Lavender and Parvati from Gryffindor, the rest of you Ravenclaws, and all of us Slytherins, though we might need to kidnap Pansy. And the usual three Puffs.”

"And the pipsqueak."

"Whose that?" Morgaine asked.

Tracey replied, "Daphne's sister."

"I hope I can go." Lisa sighed. “I still have to talk to my mom about it.”

“Okay, well, explain that you have to come since you have been to one of these things before. It's not like I can expect this one to help,” Tracey said, pointing to the girl next to her.

Daphne just rolled her eyes.

“Maybe Morgaine can get her bodyguard to pick you up.” Morag giggled, which caused the rest of the room to smile.

“Still not my bodyguard.”

Chapter Text

The platform filled with a billow of smoke, swallowing up the crowd waiting on the platform as an old steam engine slid into London's hidden platform 9¾, its whistle announcing the arrival of the Hogwarts Express. 

Inside the compartments, Morgaine and the girls scrambled for their belongings. Everyone was buzzing with excitement as they wrestled their trunks from above the seat.

"Careful," Pama called out.

 "Looks like it's going to take a second or two." Morag looked out the window at the queue that was already forming.

Tracy dropped back into the seat. "I'll grab mine when we leave."

The other girls nodded, as there wasn't enough space to drag all their trunks down at once. After sitting back down, they spoke among themselves but looked to Morgaine for guidance on when to depart.

With a sigh, the former Queen finally opened the door. 

"Let's go."

Already, the platform was filled with calls from parents as children rushed forward. Some of the greetings were simple and somewhat stiff, such as 'How was your year so far?' and 'You're ready to go home.'

Other greetings were more exuberant as parents grabbed their children and wrapped their arms around them. 

The oldest students, who were leaving Hogwarts at the end of the year, looked around with a fond smile before disappearing. Some have already learned how to Apparate.

"There he is!" Lisa squealed with delight, rushing up to her father and giving him a warm hug. 

"You've grown!" he exclaimed with a grin.

"Where's mum?" she asked, looking around.

"At the store, she'll meet us at home."

Morgaine, who had been moving with stately grace across the platform a few steps away from her friend, greeted Lisa's father and then the young woman standing next to him.

Miss Green said in a refined manner. "Good afternoon, Miss. Rheged. Did you have a pleasant trip?" 

"Hello, Katheryn. It's good to see you again. I did have a nice trip, although it was rather long."

Much to Lisa's disappointment, Morgaine's minder wasn't in her Victorian maid outfit. Instead, she was dressed like many others for the season in a long wool burgundy coat, jumper, slacks, and leather boots. A black and yellow scarf wrapped around her head looked strikingly familiar to the ones her Hufflepuff friends were wearing.

An excited Lisa was introduced, but before they could leave, another group of children and parents intercepted them.

"Morgaine, I thought you ran off already," Tracey rushed up, dragging Daphene in tow.

Behind her was Gwendolyn Davis, the first to arrive, grabbing the former Queen in a hug, much to her surprise. Still, then again, that's what her daughter had done earlier.

"Oh, look at all of you," the older woman sniffed.

"Mum," Tracey rolled her eyes.

When another group arrived, Lisa's father, Richard, and Miss Green were introduced to Daphne's parents and Tracey's dad, and then to the others.

Padma and Parvati's parents were also present, and slowly, the others whose children were part of the library group formed around Morgaine.

An older, red-haired woman greeted the former Queen warmly. "Hello, my name is Amelia Bones, Susan's aunt." 

"Pleasure to meet you," Morgaine offered. 

She was glad to meet the older witch, as Susan never stopped talking about the woman who raised her.

"You're right; she does have a lovely accent," she said, looking down at her niece with a smile. "I heard you have quite the study group."

"We do," Susan beamed.

"We even study on occasion," Hannah replied with a laugh, standing in front of her mom.

The Head of the DMLE then looked surprised as she recognized someone in the group. "Miss. Green, always a pleasure."

"It's good to see you again, ma'am," she said, giving a respectful nod.

Morgaine raised an eyebrow, wondering about their connection, but didn't press as this wasn't the place.

Lisa turned around. "Dad, do you think Mom will allow me to go to a sleepover for New Year's?"

"It's at my house, Mr. Turpin," Travey offered.

"We would love to have her, if possible, but we know how busy the holidays can be," Gwendolyn Davis said, joining her daughter in the discussion.

Richard Turpin, who had been speaking to the dads off to the side, looked thoughtful. "I don't see why not, other than the logistics of getting there."

Edward Davis, who had been listening, offered, "If you have a floo connection."

"Unfortunately, we will be in Southampton, but let me talk to my wife. We do have one at the store."

Lisa gave Tracey a grin and a thumbs-up.

The other parents whose children were going to Tracy's house confirmed the time before wandering off with a greeting of Happy Christmas or Good Yule. Some parents would be reunited at various New Year's parties, especially the one held at the Ministry of Magic.

"That was fun," Lisa grinned, then turned to her father. "How are we getting home?"

"Apparation, of course," he replied, shrinking their trunks, then turned to Morgaine. "I assume you have side Apparated before."

"I have."

"Good, I took Katheryn to our home and the store earlier, so if you go with her, we can go ahead and leave. My wife shouldn't be too far behind."

The first thing Morgaine noticed was that Lisa's home in Swindon was one of those 1930s Semi-Detached houses with its brick exterior, wide bay windows, and a large garden at the back, where they landed. 

However, the biggest difference between Rose's old place in Surrey and this one, besides being a little bigger, was that this one actually felt like a home, with its sign in the garden, "Beware, Bibliophiles," and rooms crammed with bookcases of all sizes. 

The furniture was also warm, a mixture of old and new: a sofa set from a grandparent, a new VCR and television, a cabinet filled with knick-knacks and souvenirs, and a breakfast table bought when the parents first married. Photos, some old, some new, covered the floral-papered walls. 

Morgaine thought it was a lovely place and said so.

"Fancy a cuppa?" Robert offered to Miss Green as Lisa started to pull her houseguest up the stairs.

"Yes, thank you," she then called out. "My Lady, when do you want to set the wards?" 

Morgaine looked thoughtful. "When Lisa's mom gets home. Mr. Turpin, we will need your permission to cast the one I am thinking of."

Robert, a Ravenclaw at heart, was intrigued and said, "I didn't think you would." 

"It is your home, and as I will not be putting in a ward stone, it will be connected to Miss. Rheged," Miss Green explained.

"Can I watch?" Lisa said excitedly.

"If your father has no issues with it, I will be casting it from the center of the living room," she said, turning to Mr. Turpin.

"Of course, of course," he smiled. "What will it do?"

"It's an alarm charm with an intent piece to it. This means that if someone enters and wishes to harm Miss. Rheged or this family, everyone will be alerted, even if you are asleep. It will also inform certain parties that are concerned with her safety."

Morgaine had a bit of an argument over it, as she did not want any wards placed during her visit. She was overruled as it concerned her safety. However, a troop of goblin warriors appearing in the Turpins' backyard would be amusing.

Miss. Green explained further. "Worst case, I believe you might get some clicking sounds on the house phone. Maybe a little static on the TV."

Mr. Turpin looked thoughtful. "Is it something I can learn? The few that I know interfere too much with our homes' electricity."

Lisa snickered. "Grandad Michael broke one of our televisions when I was little."

"As it's one of Miss. Rheged's family spells, no, this particular one will not work for you."

The two Turpins turned to her.

Morgaine smiled. "Which is another reason I need your formal permission, Mr. Turpin. However, I believe that Kathryn might have something similar that she can teach you."

As the adults had their cuppa, Lisa dragged her upstairs, showing off the rest of the house. Her parents' office and bedroom were pointed out, along with the bathroom, but she really wanted to show her friend her bedroom.

Morgain smiled. 

The room was much like the rest of the house. On the far wall, bookshelves lined the wall, filled with books, including the 'Girl Who Lived' series. Posters of Madonna and Queen, as well as one with an endless book-filled library, which she quite liked, could be found.  She knew it was Lisa's bed because, much like the one at Hogwarts, it was covered with sorts of stuffed animals.

Rose would have loved to have grown up in a bedroom like this.

"Find a seat," Lisa said with a grin, plopping down on a bright pink beanbag chair. "Oh, you can just put that stuff off to the side and put the cassette player on top of the dresser."

Morgaine shook her head in amusement, dropping a stack of notebooks on the floor. "Now I see why your side of the dorm is just as busy."

"Do you like it?"

"It's very you."

Lisa frowned, fiddling with a cube that had a lot of different colors. "Miss Green keeps calling you My Lady."

"Yes, well, everyone's already aware I'm from a really old family, so you shouldn't think too much of it, please."

"But you're like nobility," Lisa leaned forward with a sparkle in her eye.

"Something like that. Miss. Green's employer’s very insistent on certain forms of address. I have asked Katheryn if she could call me something else. We are still trying to work out a compromise," Morgaine grumbled, grabbing a stuffed teddy bear off the bed.

Lisa gave a pretty good curtsey, being stuck in a beanbag chair, and proclaimed in a posh voice, "Your Majesty."

The bear flew across the room.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, the house was thick with the warm scent of spices. Morgaine sat at the breakfast table, casually dropping pieces of dried fruit into a bowl of porridge while flipping through the Daily Prophet. Nothing exciting today, just pages full of high-society holiday fluff. Not much different from when she was Queen.

Whatever panic the disappearance of one 'Rose Potter' seemed to have died down. One had to wonder what would happen when the fiction of the 'Girl Who Lived' being tutored in magic was found to be false.

Over by the sink, Katheryn, in her Victorian dress, came over and placed a steaming cup of strong breakfast tea in front of her charge. She had agreed to watch over the two as Lisa's parents were busy with last-minute holiday prep before their big trip.

"More porridge, my Lady?" she asked politely.

"Just a bit," Morgaine smiled, looking toward the staircase. "It's getting late."

"I'll wake Miss Turpin if she's not up soon," Katheryn nodded.

"Last night was fun," Morgaine mused aloud.

"Indeed. Her father seemed quite taken with the wardings."

"Definitely a Ravenclaw at heart."

"And your friend's explanation of Muggle rock music was fascinating. I now understand Queen much better."

That made Morgaine giggle. Lisa's dad had lamented over his missing vinyl collection, while Lisa and her mum introduced their magical guests to the wonders of their new CD player.

"I told you," Morgaine said, "she absolutely adores Freddie Mercury."

Just then, Lisa stumbled into the kitchen, half-awake, before collapsing into a chair with a groggy wave.

"Good morning, Miss Turpin," Katheryn greeted cheerfully, placing a colorful plate of sliced fruit on the table.

"Porridge again?" She peeked at Morgaine's bowl and snuck a handful of apples.

Morgaine slid a plate of rashers toward her. "I don't need much more for breakfast."

"Your loss." Lisa munched happily and glanced at the clock. "Mum and Dad already gone?"

Katheryn nodded. "They'll be back by dinner."

Lisa grabbed another rasher. "Probably stocking books for the Boxing Day madness. Glad I didn't have to go; otherwise, they would have had me dragging boxes everywhere."

Katheryn placed a plate of eggs and sausages on the table. "Any plans for the day?"

Lisa shrugged. "Not really. Thought we'd veg out and dig through my movie stash until dinner. Mum has every hour planned for tomorrow."

She turned to Morgaine excitedly. "Why? You got anything in mind?"

"Your dad mentioned a holiday market on the magical side of York last night."

Lisa perked up and looked down at the Daily Prophet, which had been pushed toward her. "Oh, that's right! Brill—can we go?"

"Breakfast first," Katheryn insisted, gesturing toward the plate.

Not long after, the trio stepped into a windswept field. Nearby, the holiday market buzzed as witches and wizards strolled past stalls lined with enchanted mistletoe, colorful ornaments, and thick knitted woolen scarves and gloves.

Lisa, who had been looking around, clutched her satchel before stepping onto the cobbled path, dragging Morgaine behind her as music floated from a nearby shop, drawing them in.

"I remember that song being popular when I was at Hogwarts," Katheryn said, pausing as a group of young witches sang about figgy pudding and holly fairies.

Morgaine grinned. "Bet we won't find that one on a CD."

Lisa suddenly ran off toward a candle stall. "Oooh! Something for mum."

Katheryn greeted the seller, looking over the labels. "Yule Flame's popular, but I quite enjoy Winter's Breath."

Lisa sniffed "Granny's Kitchen" and wrinkled her nose. "Different."

At a stall packed with dried herbs and garlands, Morgaine's fingers pushed aside small stacks of lavender and sage. Her breath caught at the aching familiar scent. The delicate, silvery Fairy Breath was hidden among them, quite out of place. A plant only found among the fey mounds. 

Suddenly, she found herself in a similar market, lost to time, in the verdant fields of Cornwall, Meliora, her nursemaid, haggled with a hedgewitch.

That look she gave the young Morgaine, who had vanished into the crowd, drawn by something unseen earlier. The same magic had tugged at her even then, as it whispered across time.

"Morgaine?" Lisa's voice pulled her back.

"Yes?"

Lisa offered her a gingerbread man with a grin. "This one's yours."

As they wandered deeper into the market, Katheryn looked at an enchanted snow globe for her mum, while Lisa fretted over another—Hogwarts in miniature, which included flapping owls.

Morgaine reappeared with three cups of hot apple cider. "Thought you might need these."

"I wondered where you vanished to. Come look at the castle! So pretty."

"The charmwork's impressive," Morgaine agreed, leaning in for a closer look.

"But way too expensive," Lisa sighed, sipping her cider before moving toward another stall.

Katheryn, who had finished her purchases, nodded at Morgaine in understanding, pointing to the snow globe.

By midday, they returned home with bags full of trinkets, candles, and enchanted odds and ends. Standing on a quiet street in a mundane neighborhood, Morgaine realized that those memories of a happy time had been so lost during the dark days before the fall. Looking back, she was surprised that it no longer caused her grief; instead, it was comfortable and nostalgic.

"I needed that," Morgaine whispered, then turned toward the others. "Let's do it again sometime."

Later, Lisa's parents returned with plenty of time to spare before the dinner reservation. She had offered her own clothes, expecting Morgaine only to have wizard robes in her trunk.

However, much to her surprise, her friend had a hidden mundane wardrobe. Tracey's cousin had apparently taken her shopping during the summer, so she had no problem fitting in just fine as a typical pre-teen headed to a casual Saturday dinner.

Lisa's plans to introduce her friend to the Muggle world was thwarted again, as Morgaine had been in a car before. However, the dinner at the Bengal Lantern made up for it. She had never had Indian food before, and Lisa was delighted to see her friend's first taste of curry.

Many hours later, Morgaine once again vanished from the bedroom as her friend slept. The ever-helpful Sunflower had informed her that many of the Professors, including Dumbledore, were absent from the castle.

What was the reason for her visit to the school? Two red-headed Gryffindors stumbled into the infirmary one Saturday morning, looking a little worse for wear, the weekend before the students left for the holiday.

The one called Fred explained that he and his brother had been exploring the castle's third-floor corridor. Most of his House had decided that the little speech from the headmaster wasn't as much of a warning as a call for a quest to discover why it would be considered dangerous.

Typical Gryffindors.

However, the former Queen of Rheged was livid that a guardian of the Underworld, a Cerberus, a creature that could bite a child in half, was in the school. Worse, it was hidden behind a doorway that any first-year student could pass through.

Her great-granddaughter, who had been slowly visiting her since Halloween but always late at night, confirmed that Dumbledore hid something inside the room.

With the full moon illuminating the Forbidden Forest, a score of heavily armored goblin warriors shifted as she suddenly appeared, dressed in long, vibrant green and gold wizarding robes with Breuddwydion on her shoulder.

"Here," she said, tossing a red stone at the nearest goblin.

With a frown, the warrior flipped it over, looking at the jewel.

"Wand wavers," she said in disgust.

"Your majesty?" he questioned.

"It's a fake, of course, Bagrod. I would be surprised if Dumbledore didn't know.  I have also removed the Cerberus from the grounds. Griphook will be delighted when he discovers the new creature, defending the vaults in the morning."

"Aye," he agreed with a toothy grin, while a few of the other goblins chuckled.

"If you would be so kind as to return it to the rightful owners, such a thing, even if a fake, doesn't need to be in a school full of children."

The Sorceress and her goblin guards didn't react when a half dozen shadows suddenly appeared from deeper in the forest.

"You're far from home, children of Chiron," Morgaine called out in Greek.

That caused the group to stop and challenge, "Why is a witch and a group of goblins in our forest?"

 "Hardly yours, centaur," Bagrod called out.

"How did they get here?" Morgaine commented in the goblin language.

She had only met one centaur before, a seeker of stars who had been one of Merzhin's companions for a short time. She noted that the hunters were all armed with bows and short swords and wore heavy furs to protect themselves from the cold.

"We believe several mated pairs were brought to the Isles by a wizard sometime after the Normans arrived," Bagrod explained.

"To answer your question," the former queen replied in English. "We are here to deal with your spider problem."

Then Morgaine reacted—no wand movement, no words, just a lazy flick of the wrist—and a murderous black lance flew through the night, impaling a spider hidden among the shadows.

The monster didn't scream; it just fell from the tree.

"Help would be appreciated; extra eyes will be useful." She nodded, then tossed a bag of stones hidden in her robe to her goblin companion. "We need to start placing them around the perimeter."

As the centaurs cautiously approached, the eldest, a female with arms as thick as Morgaine's waist, said, "Who are you?"

"A friend of the goblin nation," Bagrod stepped forward, motioning to the others to spread out.

When the apparent young witch produced a staff, the centaurs watched in quiet awe as a small stone table rose from the ground.

Another goblin produced a map as they watched the staff-wielder pull out a bag and carefully empty its contents onto the stone: bones immediately recognized as divining tools.

Those who stood beneath the trees that night would say they could feel the magic as the staff-wielder picked up the unfamiliar bones and cast them. Studying how they fell for a moment, she produced a quill, making a note on the map. Again, she cast the lots and made simple notes.

Afterward, with a wave, the table returned to the forest while the bones were back in the beautifully embroidered bag.

"Come, we need to finish this before sunrise."

Chapter Text

It had already been a long day, stretching into an even longer night. Morgaine wasn't hurrying to finish her work in the Forbidden Forest because the Turpins might notice her absence, but because the Winter Solstice—Yule—had begun. And why is this specific night of all nights to deal with the spiders in the forest? The deep magic in the air would help contain the evil and speed up their demise.

Yet when the task was complete, the former Queen didn't return to bed. Instead, she appeared in a clearing near a place of power in Cornwall.

The Turpins had invited her to church on Sunday, the night the two girls returned from Hogwarts. Lisa mentioned that her dad didn't usually go, but she had been attending with her mother since she was little. The Turpins didn't push, though; Richard even offered to stay home with her if she wasn't interested.

If it were any other day, Morgaine might have joined them—if only out of courtesy. She had no real issues with Christians. Her brother and other families of the South followed the new Roman god, while many in the North still followed the gods of their fathers—or even a mix of the two.

She even had fond memories of Father Cuthbert, a member of her husband's court, with whom she had many theological debates. However, he was more troubled by the Pelagian Schism than by those who honored other gods. She had been saddened to learn that the gentle man had met his end at the tip of a Saxon spear, defending his flock.

"Good morning." Morgaine greeted her friend.

"Oh, you're up. I didn't wake you, did I?" Lisa asked as she entered her bedroom, taking off her heavy coat.

Morgaine shifted on her cot, lifting Breuddwydion, who had chosen to be a lazy cat and lay sprawled across her chest. She hadn't been in bed long, mostly dozing.

"No, I heard you come in. Did you have fun?"

Lisa began tugging off her shoes. "It was okay. Mum loves the Vicar. We've known him like forever, and Dad says he always gives a good sermon this time of year. Got to see a couple of my friends from school, too. Did you enjoy yourself at…?"

"Boscawen-Un."

"Yes, that's the place you went, right? Mum was worried but understood it was a religious thing. Dad said you had your house-elf with you, so it would be fine. What was it like?"

Morgaine tilted her head. "Quiet. Only the ancient stones kept me company while I watched the sunrise."

Lisa frowned. "I thought it was like Christmas—parties, gifts, and all that."

"It can be—the long night, the Yule log, drinks, prayers, and then welcoming the dawn. But the peace was good too. Anyway, it's just the beginning, really. The season lasts twelve days."

"Wait—like the Twelve Days of Christmas?"

"Exactly. Oh, I do have a Yule gift for you. I already tucked your parents under the tree, but you can open yours now if you'd like."

"Oh, yes, please."

The two were downstairs shortly after. Morgain discovered that while Richard checked on the bookstore, Agatha was busy cooking up a storm in the kitchen.

Lisa leaned over and whispered with a grin. "Mum kind of went all out today because we're having a big Christmas dinner at Nanna's later this week. She didn't want you to miss out."

"That was nice of her."

"Alright, with that out of the way—presents, presents, presents." Lisa's eyes opened wide. "Wait, I have one for you, too."

"I wondered who was making all that noise. Good morning, Morgaine," Lisa's mom said as she watched her child run through the house. "Did you have a good time at your service this morning?"

"I did. It was very peaceful, although a bit cold."

Agatha nodded in understanding after being told it was outside. "Richard tried to explain a few things, but do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"No, of course not." Morgaine wondered if she was about to have one of those theological debates.

"So, the wizarding world still follows pagan gods? From what my husband said, I thought it was mostly secular—sorry, non-religious. There isn't a church in the village near your school. Hogsmeade, right? Or is there some sort of temple?"

Morgaine didn't like the term pagan; it now meant something very different from what it had in her time. But before she could reply, Lisa came downstairs with a package in her hand.

Seeing what was happening—or assuming what was happening—she whined, "Mum, must you?"

"Oh, I'm just curious," Agatha smiled, taking a seat. "I wondered if Morgaine was a neo-druid like your Aunt Shelly was in college. She used to attend their religious festivals every year, even dragging me to a few."

"I thought that she and Uncle Adam were Buddhists?"

"Buddhism isn't really a religion, dear—more a way of living."

Lisa made a face, then plopped onto the sofa next to Morgaine. "If you say so."

"To answer your question, Mrs. Turpin," Morgaine began, "yes, at least those from older English wizarding families tend not to be religious, Christian or otherwise. I can only assume those new to the magical world—or have a foot in both, like yourselves—are different. In fact, there is a small group at school that meets every Sunday for Bible study."

Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"I don't think it's a large group, but they meet outside, weather permitting, or in an abandoned classroom. Esme, one of the fifth-year girls, asked me if I was interested."

"You should join them, Lisa."

"I'd rather sleep in, Mum," she said, making a face. Then she smiled and passed her package to Morgaine. "Here's yours."

"But the wizards still celebrate Christmas and Halloween?" Agatha asked, a little confused.

"Sort of. Samhain has always been respected, and there are some gift-giving traditions, but not exactly religious. What you see today, the garland, the trees, the ornaments like you have here, that's fairly new," Morgaine explained. "Sometime after Queen Victoria, it became more popular, and then the current headmaster started making reforms at the end of World War Two.  Dumbledore believed it would make those new to the magical world more comfortable.

"Well, who can say no to presents?" Lisa grinned.

"There is that. However, as you can imagine, there were issues initially and no small resentment. Though I might be wrong, I doubt you will see a tree at the Greengrass’s home. Today, Diagon Alley's shop owners depend on all the extra sales. But it's all very non-religious even when they wish you a Happy Christmas. From what I read, at least in England before the Statute of Secrecy came into being, it was very different."

"Do you know what happened?" Agatha leaned forward.

"A little. As you can well imagine, the relationship between the church and the magical world has always been complicated. Then the religious wars began on the continent, with certain groups taking advantage of that."

"Witch burnings?" Lisa asked.

"In part, sadly. Wizarding communities that had lived next to their non-magical neighbors for centuries were targeted. But as you can guess, much of it was also political, as monarchs began to pressure their magical subjects to pick a side. In England especially, the noble families were loyal to the crown, while most of the commoners followed Cromwell and his lot."

"Oh."

Morgaine nodded. "Some of the issues today stem from that time. Unfortunately, those who followed Cromwell regretted their choice once the Commonwealth came to power. He was not fond of wizards. Not too long after, the Statute was put in place."

Lisa started to bounce on the sofa. "Are we going to learn all of this in Binn's class?"

"In our fourth year, I believe, although the current book doesn't go into too much detail about what happened in other parts of Europe."

"But you have other books, right?" she insisted.

"I have several. And yes, you can read them if you wish."

"Brill."

Agatha smiled. "I wouldn't mind either. However, on a lighter note, were there many people at your service this morning? I remember going to a summer solstice festival in Wiltshire. It was quite interesting, with everyone dressed in white dancing around."

"Well, Boscawen-Un is a little off the beaten path. There were only two other groups: a husband and wife with two little ones, and a group of about five adults. No one in robes besides me, and it was a little cold for dancing, so we just watched the sunrise."

"Sounds nice," Agatha smiled.

"Didn't you stand out?" Lisa asked.

"No, they didn't see me."

"Right—magic."

She then passed Lisa a small, wrapped box. "Happy Yule. By the way, I asked your mother first."

Now curious, Lisa peeled off the wrapping paper, revealing a pair of silver earrings with her birthstone at their center.

"Oh, they're beautiful," she grinned happily. "Mum, does this mean I can have my ears pierced?"

Agatha nodded. "Yes, dear. I was prepared to find a sharp needle, but Morgaine says she can put them in for you."

"Not funny, Mum."

"That's how my sister pierced my ears."

Morgaine's wand suddenly appeared in her hand.

"Wait, won't you get in trouble?" Lisa asked.

"No, one of the benefits being an apprentice healer." She then tapped one ear, added the earring, then the other.

While her friend ran off to look in a mirror, Morgain explained, "With the spell, her ears are already healed, so there's no concern about the holes closing if she takes them out."

"I noticed they had no clutch."

"Yes, they're enchanted, so they will stay in place. However, if you want to give her another pair, she will need to use them."

Then Lisa returned and hugged her friend. "They're beautiful, thank you."

"You're welcome and Happy Yule. As I told your mom, since I used the spell, you don't have to worry about the holes closing up if you want to take them out."

"Oh, that's convenient. Margaret, who was in my class last year, constantly complained about that and them getting infected."

"Well, you will still need to keep your ears clean," Agatha said. "I'll show you how."

“Now you,” Lisa insisted, pointing at the other package.

“Oh, a book,” Morgaine smiled, looking at the title—Bates’ Guide to Physical Examination and History Taking.

“You don’t have it right? It teaches bedside manner and the like,” Lisa asked worriedly.

“No, I don’t, and it's lovely, thank you.”

“I was surprised when my daughter mentioned you were reading medical books,” Agatha said.

Morgaine sat back. “Well, that’s one of the few places where we try to keep up with non-magical advances. If there is knowledge to keep a patient alive, a good healer won't close themselves off to other methods.”

Lisa looked thoughtful. “I heard rumors that Madam Poppy was a nurse in the Muggle army during World War Two.”

“Yes, she worked on both the magical and non-magical side. Although I'm unsure if she’s still on the NMC register, I know she’s still a member of the Royal College of Nursing. There are actually several Nurse Practitioners at Saint Mungo’s. Master Healer Dankworth, who is currently in charge of the long-term spell damage ward, used to be a General Practitioner.”

Agatha looked at her daughter before asking, “Morgaine, do you plan on continuing your non-magical education after Hogwarts?”

The former queen nodded. “I want to take my GCSE in a few years, and then my A-levels. Saint Mungo’s offers some help for those who want to learn. Unfortunately, Hogwarts doesn’t teach anything as broad as general studies.”

“Mum wants me to take my GCSEs, still,” Lisa moaned when she heard that her friend planned on taking them.

“There is no reason why you should fall behind on your other schooling, just because you're learning how to cast spells,” Agatha insisted.

Morgaine smiled. “You just need to register for elective home education, Mrs. Turpin. The Private Candidate Route will allow her to take the tests. Afterward, you can get all of the textbooks. I even have a list of tutors that will work with students over the summer.”

Lisa looked over at her friend in horror.

Chapter Text

Once again dressed in Muggle clothes, Katheryn adjusted her Hufflepuff scarf against the chill and stepped up to Morgaine’s new townhouse. Its Georgian façade was unchanged since her last visit—iron railings, the same pale stone—but something felt different.

Not wrong. Just...odd.

Reaching up, she gently touched the wreath placed on the door a few days before. But it was no longer the familiar holly, but laurel, bound with red wool and hung with small bronze coins.

She bit her lip. The holly was new; this felt older.

Still, the bottom floor looked the same—a combination of French and English décor, rosewood furniture, expensive brass and gold fixtures, etched glass, and modern amenities were still abundant.

She climbed the stairs while balancing a tin of biscuits and a wrapped book, passed through unseen wards, and stopped.

The air felt different.

It wasn’t negative. She was keyed into the wards. And although her presence was unexpected, it was Christmas, and no one should be alone on the holiday.

Unsurprisingly, there was no Christmas music or scent of cinnamon or cloves. Morgaine didn’t want a tree in her home, even the wreath; she had just looked at it and shrugged. But she had given gifts to her friends, for Yule, so Katheryn wanted to ensure Morgaine wasn’t left out.

However, the hallway to the study was quiet. She paused, then stepped through. Surprisingly, the French diplomat’s room—with its gilt mirrors and velvet chairs—was gone.

In its place, something older, ancient. A room lost to time. The expensive wallpaper had been replaced by painted plaster in deep ochre and rich vermilion. An actual bronze brazier burned in the corner, its small flame filling the room with hints of rosemary and myrrh.

Colorful, tiled mosaics spread across the floor, depicting horses, dragons, and what she believed was Medusa in its center. Katheryn couldn’t tell if it was real or an illusion, but it shimmered faintly.

Along the walls were busts of unknown men flanked by bowls of salt, a sprig of what looked like mistletoe, and a single candle. There was even a miniature painting of three young girls, made in an old style that could only be found in a museum.

And there, standing before what looked like a little shrine, was Morgaine—but not the young Hogwarts student she had left a couple of days earlier.

Instead of her uniform, she wore a woman’s stola of deep indigo, belted with a bronze clasp. Her hair was intricately braided and coiled like a Roman matron’s—Katheryn recognized the style from museum portraits—pinned with bone and jet. Around her neck was an iron and unpolished pendant shaped like a horse.

Katheryn blinked. She wasn’t sure if she should speak or curtsey; all formalities and lessons that the goblins insisted she learn suddenly fled her mind.

“You’ve redecorated, Your Majesty. Sorry—Happy Christmas,” she finally said, finding her voice.

Morgaine turned, her expression warm. “I did. And Happy Christmas to you too—or Sol Invictus.”

“Sol Invictus, right. Ahh, you’re dressed like—”

“A daughter of Rome,” Morgaine grinned, looking down. “Thomas Mallory, right?”

Katheryn didn’t understand what she meant at first, then nodded slowly.

“Of course—shining armor, knights of the Round Table, courtly love, big dresses with pointy hats.” Morgaine laughed. “Just a story. Bad fiction, even.”

“But all this?”

Morgaine spread her hand around. “Truth. Reality. My sanctuary. My mother taught me to sing to the forests and the rivers. My father taught me rhetoric before I could walk. I was raised in a Roman villa, although by my father’s time, those not in ruin were few and far between.”

Morgaine bounced excitedly toward a bust of a stern-looking Roman man. “Let me introduce you to my family. Let’s see. This is my great-grandfather, Marcus Flavianus Maximus—a provincial governor who held a senatorial post in Eboracum and was a full citizen. He and several others even spoke in front of the Senate, asking for help against the Picts and Scoti. Unfortunately, none came. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to; it was explained—they just couldn’t.”

She pointed to another, and her eyes turned warm. “And that, my dear Katheryn, is Quintus Aurelius Varro—my grandfather, born just before the legions left. He taught me how to ride a horse. Fought with my father about teaching me how to use a sword. Explained that philosophy was good and all, but Rome wasn’t around to protect the family anymore.”

She grinned. “Or my virtue.”

Katheryn gave a dry chuckle.

“And of course, my father, Gorlois Dux Bellorum. Also raised in a villa, he tried his best to govern his lands by Roman law. I didn’t see him much, as he spent most of his life dealing with Brittonic tribes or holding back the Saxons.”

Katheryn knew the stories of Arthur and Morgan le Fey and loved them as a child. Even now, part of her still did not quite believe what the goblins had told her: that this young girl was the reincarnation of the famed—or infamous—sorceress.

But as weeks passed, she began to see the real person. Those stories, as Morgaine said, were fables—bad fiction. However, now, the girl she thought she knew was speaking like a daughter of the empire.

Worst of all, Katheryn felt bad. Morgaine was a private person, not wanting to tell anyone about her past for obvious reasons. But it didn’t excuse her. She hadn’t known these people existed or even thought to ask.

Motioning to the miniature painting, her eyes lingered on the young girls’ faces.

“Oh, that’s me and my sisters,” Morgaine grinned happily. “I can see that you, like most people, didn’t know they existed. No worries, let’s see.”

She pointed to the oldest of the three. “Hmm, that’s Morgause, eldest by seven years—Queen of Lothian. Ignore any stories if you read about her; they’re all lies. Unfortunately, I didn’t know her very well. Father was quick to marry her to one of the war chiefs from the border kingdoms, and like so many, she vanished to the Saxons along with her husband.”

She tilted her head, pointing to the middle child. “That’s Medraut’s mum, Helene. We got along like ice and fire. Your typical wand-waver. Stupid bint. She was my father’s favorite while I was my mother’s.”

Morgaine ran her hand gently over the picture, then said softly, “I was living up north when I learned she died giving birth to her daughter.”

Katheryn now felt like an outsider, wondering if the young girl standing before her had ever shown this to anyone else.

“And that’s me,” Morgaine said with a grin.

Wanting to trade presents and dig into the tin of biscuits, the two entered the kitchen. Oddly enough, Morgaine’s outfit didn’t feel like a historical costume, as the young girl moved around in it like a second skin.

Katheryn had to smile, though. Sunflower, who had followed Morgaine from Hogwarts, was now arguing with her mistress.

“No, sit, your ladyship. I be making the tea.”

“I do know my way around the kitchen,” the former Queen insisted, then sighed. “Fine.”

As the two cheerfully demolished the tin of cookies, Morgaine said, “So, my mother’s side—you want to know about that?”

Chewing carefully, she began, “My grandfather married a Dumnonii noblewoman from what is now called Cornwall; however, Mum’s family would be considered Cumbrian—part of Hen Ogledd. Northern England. My father’s grandfather had campaigned up there and knew Mum’s grandfather pretty well, who was actually a Praefectus cohortis equitatae. In other words, a general of auxiliaries.”

Katheryn nodded, getting a better understanding of how things turned out.

“They actually lived in what became known as Rheged.”

“Wait, like—where you were Queen?”

“One and the same,” Morgaine grinned. “I was married back into the tribe. Uther might have been an ass, but he knew his politics. It strengthened ties between our lands. My husband was actually a distant cousin. Hecate’s breath, I hated him at first. I was brought up in the luxury of a villa, then all of a sudden, I found myself stuck in a hill fort surrounded by barbaric round houses.”

“Must have been difficult.”

“Well, at first. The only thing good about Urien was his dry wit—and that he was sexy as hell.”

Morgaine laughed at Katheryn’s face. “It’s true. But most of all, he listened to me. Knew I had been taught law and leaned heavily on that. Between my knowledge and his charisma, we made sure the Kingdom prospered.”

“You sounded like a good match.”

Morgaine said wistfully, “Took me a while to admit it, but yes. We were married for fourteen years before he was killed. I would have stayed with him until the end, but he sent me away knowing my brother would need my skills.”

The two were silent for a moment, lost in thought, when Morgaine said, “Although my father was a Christian, my mother was not. And she taught me the ancient mysteries, the Roman ones that my father’s people cast aside like worn sandals, and those even forgotten by her own people. The women in my family had always lived between worlds and were truly comfortable in both.”

Katheryn almost jumped when Breuddwydion appeared, his presence quiet but confirming the truth of the young girl’s words.

“My father insisted that I learn wand magic, like his father’s before him, but I didn’t pick it up until after his death. Merzhin was a follower of Uther, and that is where he met me. Saw something that I didn’t and took me under his wing. Even then, I continued my lessons with my mother. And when I was sent away, we would still meet in secret. Especially during holy days. My learning only stopped with her after Uther died, and she left me.”

Morgaine’s voice softened. “Even now, I’m still angry that she never said goodbye. She just disappeared. I searched for her, you know, rituals, scrying, but nothing. She just vanished into the fey.”

Katheryn didn’t speak. She didn’t even know what to ask.

“She taught me to read the stars, of hidden things,” Morgaine continued, “to understand the rhythm of the seasons, plants, animals, and that the land itself was part of that magical mystery. That magic is life, it breathes, learns, and most of all remembers.”

She paused and then continued softly, “Arthur never understood that. Even my friend Merzhin, so wrapped up in trying to see through life with logic, forgot that sometimes you just have to feel. Ultimately, I chose the sorceress path, but my mother was one of the last true priestesses of the old ways.”

Chapter Text

The Forbidden Forest was quieter now.

It had been fifty years since something that should never have been introduced began to infest the woods. As the abominations grew and prospered, it was only a matter of time before their threat encompassed the Forbidden Forest and the land beyond.

Now, however, the oppressive feeling had lifted. The wards Morgaine had set earlier in the week had done their work. The Acromantulas—evil creatures twisted by some unknown malice—had died, the magic causing them to sleep and never wake. A powerful charm, created ages ago to combat massive infestations of scarabs in ancient temples, had been modified to address a modern threat.

“Oh, that’s an improvement,” Katheryn chirped, glancing around as they stepped into the clearing.

“Never liked Migratio,” Morgaine replied. “Although the current version’s much better than what Merzhin taught me.”

“Apparition had a different name back then?”

“Different spell, actually—and far less pleasant. You didn’t always end up in the right place; if you hit the general area, you counted yourself lucky. Better than the Greek Metatópisi, where you were fortunate not to leave body parts behind.”

“I’ll have to tell you the story sometime—how Merzhin ended up in the bedchamber of a famous queen instead of the castle’s kitchens,” Morgaine added with a grin.

“I look forward to it,” Katheryn laughed, then asked hopefully, “Your way isn’t something you could teach?”

“Sadly, no. It’s something learned during my trials.”

“Shame. Change of subject.” She glanced down at her charge with a smile. “You seemed to enjoy yourself yesterday.”

Though she knew Morgaine’s true identity, it was nice to see her relax—just a young girl out shopping with friends on Boxing Day.

“I did, although Diagon Alley was a bit too crowded for my liking. Tracey’s mother dragging us into the non-magical world was also a surprise. Good thing, too—I need to put together an entirely new wardrobe. My stola and palla are a bit outdated, as are all the fine clothes my husband bought me.”

A rustle to the left revealed a group of goblins dragging a monstrous spider carcass from the frost-hardened soil. Nearby, another team evaluated the horrors in a clearing before sending them away with a portkey. More disturbingly, a larger pile of much smaller spiders stood off in the distance.

“How terrifying!” Katheryn almost squeaked. “I can’t believe the Headmaster didn’t know these creatures were living in the forest.”

“Oh, I think Dumbledore did—or at least someone inside the school. Maybe not the enormity of the infestation, but the school’s ledgers would occasionally note a significant deposit from the sale of Acromantula venom and webbing.”

“But it’s so close to the school. How have students not been attacked?” she whispered.

“I think they have,” Morgaine murmured.

“What?”

“Three human skeletons have been found so far within the webbing. I’ve been told one was definitely an adult, but the other two were younger.”

“We found another one this morning,” called a voice off to the side.

A goblin, older than the rest, with a scar splitting his brow like a lightning bolt, bowed as Morgaine approached. In one hand, he held a ledger, jotting down details on each spider pulled from the ground.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“And to you, Broadax. You said you found a fourth skeleton?”

“Another adult, on the far side of the nest, closer to Hogsmeade. We’ll contact the DMLE once we finish here.”

Morgaine nodded, scanning the clearing. “And how goes the work?”

“Eighty-three of the larger Acromantula have been discovered,” he said, gesturing toward the pile of smaller ones. “Almost two hundred of the lesser brood.”

“How—” Katheryn began, then continued after Morgaine gave a nod, “How did they have enough food? Why didn’t they attack Hogsmeade or the castle?”

“I spoke with the centaurs. They told us the oldest Acromantula had a deal with the Hogwarts groundskeeper—that as long as he lived, they would never attack him.”

“As long as he was alive,” Morgaine repeated dryly. “They would never attack him.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty. And to answer your question, Miss Green, Acromantula are territorial. They wouldn’t leave their domain unless hunger forced them to.”

“Like when they run out of food during the winter,” she said, glancing around uneasily.

“Exactly. Thankfully, they’re cannibals. Beyond the unfortunate forest animal or centaur that wandered too close, we believe the smaller ones would be eaten by the larger in spring, keeping their numbers down.”

Now surrounded by half a dozen goblin warriors, the group pressed deeper into the Acromantula nest.

“Oh—centaurs,” Katheryn noted, spotting two young stallions helping goblins drag a particularly large spider across the forest floor.

“They arrived this morning and have been of great help,” Broadax confirmed.

“Let’s do something nice for them with the money you insist I keep—food, weapons, or both. Please contact the elders and see what would help them most.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Money forced on you?” Katheryn teased.

“Galleons that will go into the crown’s coffers,” Broadax replied.

“Which we have plenty,” Morgaine mused, then paused. “I believe it would be beneficial if the proceeds from this extermination went toward something meaningful.”

“What would you like the goblin nation to do?” Broadax asked, bowing again.

The former queen didn’t even glance at the ledger. The larger Acromantulas, she’d been told, would fetch a minimum of one hundred and twenty galleons. The smaller spiders would go for far less, but there were many more of them.

She straightened, her voice taking on a regal tone. “Saint Mungo’s needs it more than I do. Katheryn, do you have something to write with?”

From her bag, Katheryn produced a pen and a small notebook.

“Excellent. Please get in touch with Master Healer Euphemia Virell. She’ll know where the money would do the most good. I’d like part of it to go into the fund that helps those who cannot pay for healing.”

“You want me to do this? Of course I will, but…” Katheryn hesitated.

“You’re taking finance this year in college, correct? It’ll be good practice. Broadax, would you mind if Miss Green assists you?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty.”

“Also, can either of you explain why there are only two students from non-magical families in my year? I was told there were only forty-two total at Hogwarts. Where do the other children attend?”

“They attend smaller schools that have opened in the last century for families who can’t afford Hogwarts,” Broadax explained. “It’s an improvement from two centuries ago, when the Hogwarts charter addendum was added—those families new to the magical world who couldn’t afford tuition had their magic bound.”

“Still happens today,” Katheryn noted.

“That’s…” Morgaine frowned. “Are parents made aware of the health problems their children will suffer later in life?”

“Doubtful, Your Majesty.”

“I see. Hermione told me that although the Ministry paid her tuition, her parents were still required to cover books, supplies, and robes—nearly two thousand pounds.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Broadax confirmed. “We believe it’s another way to keep new magicals from attending. Only the wealthy can afford Hogwarts.”

“It’s worse for half-bloods,” Katheryn added. “Unless they get a pure-blood sponsor, they must pay full tuition and still cover supplies. That’s why many of my classmates had legacy wands and reused books from parents and siblings. Most half-blood families—and even some poorer pure-blood ones who aren’t required to pay tuition—don’t attend Hogwarts.”

“It’s as I suspected. I did wonder why Hogwarts, with hundreds of empty classrooms, only has a little over four hundred students,” Morgaine murmured.

“I’ve heard half-bloods call it the Eton College of the magical world,” Katheryn said.

“And the price tag that goes with it. Please contact whoever is in charge of the old Merlin’s Bridge Fund.” Morgaine tried not to make a face at the name, but her old friend would have approved.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that one,” Katheryn said, scribbling notes.

“I found it in my great-uncle’s journal. The Sinclair family created an old endowment to help students afford tuition, books, and robes. Find out why it’s been neglected—and if so, I want it restored.”

Sometime later, the group reached the heart of the nest. Inside, they discovered an enormous spider, some eighteen feet in length.

“My word!” Katheryn gasped, stepping back.

“That’s the patriarch of the nest—Aragog, Your Majesty,” said another goblin, his axe slick with ichor.

“Steel Hand, did it have a mate?”

“Yes. We found her not far from here. She was called Mosag.”

The former queen stared at the corpse, her expression darkening. Then, in a more solemn tone, she said, “Broadax, see if you or the DMLE can determine who the bones belong to. They are owed Éraic. Since I doubt Hogwarts will take responsibility, we will pay it.”

“Éraic, Your Majesty?” Katheryn asked, stumbling over the ancient word.

“Weregild. Man price,” the goblin clarified, his quill scratching the term into the ledger. “I will work with Miss Green, Your Majesty, and arrange the transfers. Quietly.”

Chapter Text

The Ministry lift chimed, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore—Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Headmaster Emeritus of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—stepped out onto the DMLE floor without any indication that he was in a hurry.

With a flourish of his white silk robes, which bore little celestial bodies dancing about, he moved with a purpose toward the back of the room—but not before acknowledging the few Aurors on duty, even stopping at one desk for a brief exchange, thrilling the young man that such an illustrious individual knew who he was and what house he belonged to.

"Ahh, Esmeralda, a pleasant afternoon to you. Can you tell me if Amelia is available?" he asked warmly, offering a smile to the receptionist.

"Hello, Chief Warlock." The older woman, whose opinion of her former headmaster had dulled slightly since her school days, returned the same smile. "I'm afraid she's in a meeting right now. If you'd like to take a seat, I'll inform her that you're here. Oh—did you have an appointment I might have missed?"

"No, my dear. I just have a few questions, but I am in no rush."

Esmeralda nodded, picked up a folder, walked to the door, gave it a single knock, and disappeared inside.

Dumbledore sat back and looked around. A few Aurors glanced his way, amused that the Chief Warlock was being made to wait. He knew his relationship with the Director had deteriorated after Rose Potter failed to arrive at Hogwarts.

She was the reason he wasn't at school when Hagrid was taken away—he'd been questioning Petunia Dursley, who was serving four years at Her Majesty's pleasure for child abuse and neglect. He still couldn't understand how she could do such a thing to her own flesh and blood. Unfortunately, Lily's sister had no answers and didn't seem to care that her niece was missing.

When the Director's door opened, Esmeralda gave a nod.

Dumbledore paused at the threshold.

A portly gent of considerable girth, of middling years, exited the office, his expression somewhat constipated. "Ahh, Albus, good afternoon. Terrible business, terrible business," he muttered.

"Cuthbert, I am surprised to find you here."

The older man in charge of Goblin relations blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He gave a stiff nod and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Dumbledore to wonder precisely what had become so terrible.

Director Amelia Bones was patiently waiting.

"Albus," she said, rising from behind her desk. "Thank you for coming."

"I see I am predictable as ever," he replied with a smile, though concern lingered in his eyes. "Though I confess, I hadn't expected to find my groundskeeper in a holding cell."

Bones gestured to the chair across from her. "He's not in a cell. He's in a secure interview room, although the conversation now—and afterward—might change that."

"Amelia?"

She sat down, ignored the unasked question, and pulled a few pieces of parchment from her desk before picking up a quill.

"Were you aware that one Rubeus Hagrid, in nineteen forty-five, owned a Class A Non-Tradeable Good—specifically, an Acromantula egg—and as a result released a Beast Five-X creature into the Forbidden Forest?"

The two stared at one another before Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, and I am willing to pay any fines Hagrid might have acquired in owning such a creature without a license."

"That's good to know," she murmured, jotting the information down. "At any time, did you think to report such a creature to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—specifically the Beast Division?"

"I trust Rubeus Hagrid implicitly."

"That's nice, but that's not what I asked." She tilted her head. "At any time, did you think to report such a creature to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—specifically the Beast Division?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

Dumbledore sighed again. "No, Amelia, I did not think to report the creature to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. So, I assume he's already told you everything."

"He has," Bones set down her quill, leaning back. "In great detail over a friendly cup of tea. Including the breeding habits of Acromantulas, their dietary preferences, and the name of the one he raised from an egg."

"Aragog," Dumbledore said, confirming what she already knew.

Bones nodded. "Indeed. But he also mentioned a mate."

Dumbledore's smile faltered. "A mate?"

"Mosag," she replied, watching him closely. "Apparently, she lived in the forest as well. Hagrid won her egg over a game of cards in nineteen sixty-one. In fact, the same individual who managed to acquire a Cerberus for him—which is a discussion we will have later."

Dumbledore shivered, as if someone had walked over his grave. "I was aware of Aragog, but I always thought he was alone."

"Interesting. Yet Hogwarts ledger entries show deposits from the sale of Acromantula venom and silk—going back years." She raised her hand. "Hagrid claims he sold the venom and silk to pay for repairs and upgrades to various things outside the castle."

Dumbledore nodded. "I thought he was selling what his friend had freely given him. What is this about, Amelia? This is not just about my groundskeeper owning an Acromantula. I'd be happy to work with the Department to move the colony. I'm sure Hagrid would be of great help in the negotiations."

The Director sat forward and began scribbling something else on the parchment and, without looking up, said, "That is not an issue anymore. Someone—or someones—working with the goblins already took care of your spider problem. At last count, well over two hundred adults and juveniles."

 Dumbledore's eyes dimmed. "I see."

"Do you? Of the ninety-two adults, eight females were of age, I am told, and would have left in the spring to start their own nest. It all depended upon the resources in the area. The Matriarch would kill them if she believed it could not support another. So, the worst cast there would have been nine nests in the Forbidden Forest."

Amelia wondered what was going on in the old wizard's head. The man was so frustrating sometimes, but several things were going on with this investigation that were taking up her time.

Cuthbert had been in her office, concerned about the argument over taxes the Ministry wanted from the goblins, but that was his problem. You can't get blood from a stone. Director Bones also knew the chance of those funds reaching her department was slim.

However, when he informed her that the individual who had exterminated the brood offered custom silk Acromantula vests to all one hundred fifty-one members of the DMLE, she was surprised and thankful. Although not as resistant as dragon hide, the spider silk vests would provide a much-needed extra layer of protection for her people.

"However, luckily, as I said, that is no longer a concern. My issue with the two of you is what the goblins discovered inside the nest," Director Bones said, rising from her seat. "Come with me, Albus."

The room was longer than wide, with nothing on the walls—cold, bare, and sterile. In the center, underneath a bright white light, lay four bundles wrapped in spider silk.

Albus Dumbledore stepped into the room and paused, sensing strange magic in the air and not entirely welcoming. When he noticed the four skeletons, his blood went cold.

Madam Bones gave him a look, then walked past him, followed by a woman with blonde hair and striking blue eyes, dressed in healer's white robes and a blue sash.

Amelia introduced her. "This is Healer Mara Quince. We've been using her as a consultant for the last couple of years."

Shaking off the shock, he gave the healer a grandfatherly smile, "A pleasure, madam. I don't believe you attended Hogwarts?"

She bowed slightly, then walked over to the first skeleton. "No, Chief Warlock. I am a proud alumnus of the Thistlewick Institute. I've finished my investigation, Director, and forwarded the report to your office."

"Thank you."

A door opened from the far side of the chamber, and a figure emerged—a tall, thin, severe-looking older man dressed in robes of deep garnet stitched with silver glyphs.

"Professor Virean," Director Bones said in greeting. "Thank you for coming on short notice."

"A pleasure as always, Director."

Dumbledore's expression remained neutral. Staring unkindly at Hogwarts' former Ghoul Studies professor, he said, "I was under the impression you had retired."

"I only stopped working for you," Virean replied curtly, his heavy Romanian accent obvious.

Bones stepped between them. "He's the only one qualified to perform divination at this level. We need to get an idea of who these victims were, if possible, and how they died."

Dumbledore's gaze drifted to the silk-wrapped skeletons. "Healer Mara should be enough."

"No, I am not," she said softly. "I can give you cold, hard numbers. Between the two of us, we will give them a voice."

She lifted her wand and whispered as she ran it over the skeleton, then peeled back the webbing. "You'll be able to read more in the healer's report, but the first is an adult male between thirty and forty years of age. Good health. Nothing obvious."

She motioned to a small pile of personal items. "From what we can tell, he entered the Forbidden Forest in the late nineteen-eighties but never walked out."

"Quite recent," Amelia looked thoughtful.

"The second skeleton, also male, twenty to twenty-five years of age. He's had a hard life. From the bone stress marks, I believe him to be a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Dumbledore echoed, surprised.

"Yes. The personal items found on his body, however, don't reveal much detail on when he might have been killed."

The healer paused at the next two and then continued in a clinical tone: "Female, under twenty, most likely fifteen to seventeen years of age. Clear marks of spell damage to her skull, looks like a piercing hex. Still wearing her Hogwarts robes, and I have been told Ravenclaw colors. The style's from the seventies, popular among pureblood girls."

"The fourth, male, same age, from the same house." She pointed at a watch on the skeleton's wrist. "Robes don't have the additions that most purebloods love, so either a half-blood or Muggleborn, broken right arm, shattered left leg."

The four stood quietly for a moment, then Virean said, "Thank you, Mara."

The healer nodded and moved to the side.

The former Ghoul Studies professor approached the table, drawing a wand carved from bone and obsidian from his sleeve.

"I find this man distasteful," Dumbledore leaned over and whispered.

"I find murder distasteful," Bones replied.

But Virean didn't wave his wand; instead, he respectfully touched the first skull. Standing there for several minutes, eyes closed, the air becoming thick with magic, he began. "She was young. Sixteen, full of life, of love. Her bones show signs of magical stress. She died afraid."

Dumbledore closed his eyes.

The former Ghoul Studies professor paused, walked over to the young male, and a few minutes later said, "This one was maybe a year older. Male. Defiant. A young warrior. He fought hard and died hard."

"And the third?" Bones asked, her voice growing cold.

Virean nodded, eyes closed, before speaking once more. "This one always felt alone but angry—so very angry—but at the end, terrified. Mara, your theory that he was a werewolf has some merit."

The healer nodded.

"The last was killed with a killing curse," he said distastefully, before stepping back, having only touched the skull for a couple of seconds.

"What? How can you tell?" Dumbledore asked.

"No voices. Nothing. All gone. Simply a void."

Amelia shivered. "Thank you, Healer Mara. Professor Virean."

She waited until the two left the room before stating, "Dumbledore, the last children that went missing was during…"

"The war. I am aware," he suddenly looked older.

In the eleven years of conflict, several students disappeared from Hogwarts. A few they discovered had run away during a Hogsmeade trip, some were taken by their parents, and others just simply vanished.

Bones nodded. "We'll cross-reference the remains with missing persons. Now, let's talk about you and Rubeus Hagrid."

Chapter Text

Evaline Greengrass smiled and tilted her head as her husband, Cygnus, entered the sitting room, kissed her cheek, and collapsed into the old Napoleon III Bergère chair. Despite the expensive antiques scattered throughout—furniture used by generations of Greengrass—it still felt warm and welcoming, never like a museum or mausoleum, unlike most pureblood homes.

Her husband had been pulled into an emergency meeting that had already dragged on for over two days, so she was relieved to hear him exclaim, “Finally.”

He sighed contentedly, glancing around. “The girls?”

“Upstairs packing. I still don’t understand why all of this had to be done now, sweetheart, right in the middle of the holidays. Why couldn’t it wait until after New Year’s?” She looked up from her embroidery, watching him smile as a drink appeared in his hand.

“Thank you, Nibben.” He took a sip of hard cider. “Because if we’d waited, Rubis Hagrid would be sitting in a low-security cell for the next fortnight—if not longer.”

“I see. He’s Dumbledore’s man, isn’t he?” Evaline had barely interacted with the Hogwarts groundskeeper during her school years, but from what she’d heard, the situation with the giant spiders didn’t surprise her.

“He is,” her husband confirmed.

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing he won’t spend a single day in Azkaban?”

Cygnus flicked his wand; a privacy charm shimmered into place. “No, he won’t. The Prophet will report in a few days that the Hogwarts groundskeeper has been offered—and accepted—a post at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Officially, he’s been banished. Ordered never to return. If he does, he’ll be arrested.”

Evaline frowned. “But the bodies?”

She was growing more than upset. Unlike her husband, who had been in Slytherin, she was a Ravenclaw and remembered when the two students had vanished.

Cygnus gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know you knew Selwynna, but the DMLE concluded only one of the four was actually killed by the spiders.”

“And Malfoy and his cronies didn’t care once they learned Selwynna was a McKinnon and Mark was Muggleborn, did they?” She growled and leaned back. “After her poor family was murdered over the holidays, we were all scared for her. Then she vanished, along with her boyfriend. We dreamed she’d found happiness in the Muggle world, but truthfully, we all knew better.”

“The DMLE believes they were killed in the woods and left there. The Acromantulas just came across the bodies afterward.” Her husband reached over and held her hand.

“And the others?”

“Amelia suspects the man slain by the Killing Curse was tied to an old smuggling ring. She didn’t share details but thinks someone was cleaning up loose ends. The fourth was a werewolf.”

Evaline snorted. “Hypocrites. So, they just washed their hands of the whole thing. And Dumbledore? You said he knew about the Acromantulas.”

She’d always had issues with the man, but assumed that, as an educator, he’d prioritise children’s safety. Clearly, she’d been wrong. The idea that he allowed such monsters near the school infuriated her.

“Truthfully, if the Chief Warlock had cut ties with Hagrid, he’d have paid a fine, nothing more. Malfoy’s faction would’ve pushed for censure but lacks the votes.”

Evaline pursed her lips. “I might not like the headmaster, but he wouldn’t do that.”

“No, he wouldn’t. Dumbledore burned quite a bit of political capital to ensure Hagrid wasn’t sent to Azkaban. The price was stepping down as Chief Warlock and paying a hefty fine. I believe that’s all Malfoy and the others wanted anyway. Still, he won’t lose his position with the ICW, especially with everything unfolding among the Bosnian and Croatian wizards.”

Lucius Malfoy may not have a seat on the Wizengamot, but Cygnus knew he was the man behind that faction. Now, there was a chance for them to get someone sympathetic to their beliefs. Not that it would happen—even the traditionalists weren’t particularly fond of him.

“So, Dumbledore will remain Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Yes, but after everything that happened at the school this year—”

“Which the school told us nothing about. We had to hear it from Daphne and the Daily Prophet.” Evaline huffed.

Cygnus smiled. “Indeed. We insisted that if he wants to keep his position, he’ll have to accept oversight. He’s been running that school like it’s his own personal fiefdom for years. The Ministry wanted a full-time post inside Hogwarts, but its charter forbids it. As one of the governors, August Longbottom suggested yearly audits. So, some positions may be rearranged, though I doubt anyone will lose their jobs. Still, I expect some much-needed changes.”

“About time. And Dumbledore has no one but himself to blame if he doesn’t like it.” She nodded approvingly. “So, who did you con into chucking their hat into the ring to become Chief Warlock?”

Cygnus chuckled. “Tiberius Ogden.”

“Poor sod.” Evaline shook her head sadly. “Good choice, though a little too traditionalist for my taste.”

“But not a blood supremacist. He and Abraxas Malfoy hated one another with a passion, so that’s a plus. Ricard Carrow decided to run, which isn’t a bad choice for them.”

Evaline gave an unladylike snort in reply.

“There are worse picks, though not by much. And Amos Diggory has also been nominated.”

“Can’t imagine he’s particularly pleased with Dumbledore, being one of the Department’s senior managers for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

Cygnus shook his head. “No, he’s a Dumbledore man through and through. I doubt he’ll have an original thought in his head. Won’t be any different from how the Wizengamot runs now.”

He then mentioned four more names, from different groups—including shop owners, artisans, and rural landowners.

Evaline noticed her children standing off to the side, aware that their parents were conversing privately. “We’ll talk more later. I’m going to be late for my hair appointment.”

Cygnus nodded, canceling the charm, then said, “Hello, daughters. Excited about tonight?”

&

The town of Redditch in Worcestershire, England, was solidly middle-class—one of those post-war places with semi-detached homes, green spaces, good schools, and a town center that had pretty much everything you’d expect.

But the quiet of early afternoon was gently disturbed when three figures appeared in a small cul-de-sac overlooking a man-made pond and park.

The three might have stood out, but if asked, a passerby would say, “Oh, there was someone out there,” though they wouldn’t be able to recall what they looked like.

Among the three, Morgaine stepped onto the narrow concrete path, with Miss Green and Broadax close behind.

Although Katheryn was dressed in comfortable, non-magical clothes, Morgaine looked neither like an eleven-year-old witch nor a daughter of Rome. Instead, she appeared as herself—aged up to a twenty-something young woman—wearing a deep charcoal wool coat, a plum-colored jumper, a tweed skirt, and soft leather boots.

But it wasn’t Polyjuice or a wizarding charm that altered her appearance. It was a glamour so convincing that one would be hard-pressed to say whether it was illusion or reality.

Wearing a long khaki jacket over a three-piece suit, the goblin gestured toward one of the red-brick homes and approached the door. “This way, Your Majesty.” 

A teenage boy, no older than thirteen, answered. “Hello?” 

From inside the house, a plump, friendly middle-aged woman, wiping her hands on an apron, hurried over. “Kevin, let them in—it’s too cold to be standing about. Hello again, Mr. Broadax. Thank you for coming. You mentioned on the phone that you’ve brought someone who might be able to answer our questions about Mark.”

“Hello, Mrs. Henley. Lovely to see you again. May I introduce my two companions—Morgaine Rheged and Katheryn Green.”

“Welcome, welcome. Please come inside and call me Colleen. My husband Eric’s in the other room. Kevin, love, please go upstairs now.”

“I want to hear.”

She glanced at her son, then reluctantly gave a slight nod. “Alright.”

With a smile, she ushered the group into the house.

Morgaine looked around. Though the wallpaper was faded in places and the furniture a little worn, it was a warm, lovely family home—unlike the sterile house Rose had grown up in.

She also noticed this wasn’t precisely a non-magical household. Their son was magical, and Colleen had low magic—not enough for a wand, but certainly enough to see the Leaky Cauldron.

After a quick round of introductions and a cup of tea placed before her, Morgaine turned to the teen. “Do you go to Hogwarts? Or one of the other magical schools?”

The boy’s eyes widened. “You can tell? I go to the Wyrmfast School.”

“Do you enjoy learning magic?”

“It’s ace. We’re learning all sorts—plus the usual not-so-fun stuff, like math and English.” He pulled a face that made Morgaine smile.

“Well, you should convince your mum to help you with your potions and runes when you start working with them.”

“But I’m not magical,” Colleen cut in. “My mum was a squib, so she left the wizarding world.”

The former queen smiled. “You’re the same. You’ve got low magic—maybe not enough to wave a wand, but you’ll still be able to help your son with certain things.”

“Good Lord.” Eric blinked. “We had no idea.”

It was then that the two noticed Miss Green still standing off to the side, behind Miss Rheged, and that Mr. Broadax seemed content to let her lead.

Morgaine turned to the two adults. “Can you tell me what the Ministry of Magic said about what happened to your son?”

Mark’s parents exchanged a glance before Eric responded. “At first, nothing. We didn’t even get a letter from the school. When my son didn’t arrive on the Express, we contacted my wife’s family—they’d been paying for Mark’s schooling.”

Morgaine frowned and said mainly to herself. “Is that normal? The Ministry not telling them anything?”

“Sadly, for the time, yes,” Broadax answered. “I suspect Mr. and Mrs. Henley weren’t obliviated or given false memories because she went through her family—the Bramblecrofts.”

“They’d do that?” Eric turned to his wife; concern etched across his face.

“It’s part of the Statute of Secrecy,” Katheryn confirmed, then added, “Your wife having low magic was likely another reason.”

Eric nodded slowly. “Winifred, Colleen’s great-aunt, said the Ministry didn’t know anything and that he must’ve run away from school. Which was absurd, but there was nothing we could do.”

He glanced at his younger son, then back again. “I’m guessing Mark got caught up in the war. He wrote that there were some wizarding Nazis causing trouble.”

“We told him to stay away, not to get involved,” Colleen murmured, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Earlier this week, a group of us was in the Forbidden Forest—the woods outside the school—for an unrelated matter when we came across the remains of four people. I asked Broadax to determine as much as possible before turning them over to the DMLE. They were able to identify Mark through the school records of those missing during that time.”

Eric reached for his wife’s hand. “Do you know why he was in the forest?”

“Was he friends with Selwynna McKinnon?” Morgain inquired.

Colleen brought her hands to her mouth. “Oh yes, such a sweet girl. Mark introduced her at the start of the school year, before he disappeared. I heard from my great-aunt that her whole family was killed.”

The former queen nodded, confirming what she and the goblins had already concluded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. Selwynna’s remains were also discovered.”

“Oh, poor girl.” Colleen wiped her eyes. “They were together.”

Eric looked at his wife, then at Morgaine. “Mark was protecting her, wasn’t he? The war... His last few letters said he was worried about her and what was happening at the school, and that it wasn’t safe for him and his friends to wander about alone.”

“We believe so.”

Colleen sniffed. “Did he suffer?”

Eric’s expression tightened as Morgaine turned toward the goblin. The two seemed to be having a conversation without speaking.

“Kevin?” He glanced at his son.

“I’m staying, please.”

The former Queen spoke gently. “You deserve to know. I don’t believe we’ll ever know the exact circumstances, and I can’t say whether he suffered. But I do know he went down fighting. We believe he protected Selwynna with his life.”

Eric sat back. There was grief in his eyes—but also fierce pride.

Katheryn leaned over, interrupting softly. “My lady, time.”

“Thank you.” Morgaine reached into her coat and pulled out an envelope, passing it to the Henleys.

“What’s this?” Eric asked, then his eyes widened as he looked at the bank cheque. “Is this from the school?”

“Not directly, no.”

“Thank you, we appreciate it, but we cannot—” he began, but Morgaine cut in.

“Mr. and Mrs. Henley, my family is old; one of the four who started Hogwarts. My ancestor Rowena Ravenclaw founded the house your son was a member of.” Morgaine smiled. “Although we no longer have any influence on how the school is run, it doesn’t release us from those responsibilities.”

Colleen’s eyes widened. After examining the amount on the cheque, she gave her husband a watery smile.

“Besides, university is expensive. Perhaps this will be able to help.” She nodded toward Kevin.

“Then, thank you.” Eric nodded, his voice catching.

As Morgaine rose from the sofa, she twisted her hand, and a business card appeared. “If you can spread this around—at the start of the next school year, an old endowment will be made available to help pay for children’s schooling. It’s called the Merlin’s Bridge Fund. It’s not just Hogwarts, but any magical school in the UK.”

Eric hesitated before taking the card, looked at it briefly, then nodded.

Before Morgaine reached the door, she was stopped.

“Lady Rheged,” Colleen said. “Selwynna—do you know if there’s anyone to accept her remains?”

The former Queen looked down at Broadax, who shook his head.

“Then, if possible,” Colleen continued, glancing at her husband as he stepped up beside her, “is there a way for them to be released to us? I think it would be appropriate for them to be buried together.”

Morgaine smiled. “I’ll see what we can do.”

Chapter Text

Evaline Greengrass and Gwendolyn Davis watched the crowd attending the Ministry's New Year's Gala with a keen eye. The sudden and unexpected removal of Albus Dumbledore had sent a shockwave that was slowly building into a crescendo inside the room.

Both their husbands stood off to the side, socializing with those in their political group, while others mingled in a similar fashion.

“We should do something nice for Katheryn,” Gwendolyn murmured, sipping her champagne.

Even though the Davis and Greengrass house-elves were available to watch over the sleepover, Gwendolyn thought it prudent to have an adult present. Miss Green had volunteered, as her former Hufflepuff roommates, who she’d planned to go out with for New Year's, were unable to join her at the last minute.

“Please tell me you're not talking politics,” Elizabeth Brown said, sliding in beside them.

The Browns wouldn’t normally attend such events; however, Lavender's mother worked as a fashion reporter for Witch Weekly, and her husband Benjamin as a political correspondent for the Daily Prophet.

“Hi, Lizzy. No, we’re talking about Miss Green. She’s currently watching over the girls,” Gwendolyn replied.

Nodding toward Fay Dunbar's mum, who was approaching, Elizabeth said, “Good. The whole thing’s exhausting.”

“So, what are we talking about?” asked Rachael Dunbar.

“Morgaine Rheged's mysterious bodyguard.”

Evaline smiled, having heard that before. “She’s currently watching over the girls.”

“That’s nice of her. My daughter hasn’t stopped speaking about the sleepover tonight.  Gwen, I heard your daughter’s been planning it for weeks,” Elizabeth said, shifting slightly to allow Rachael into the circle.

“If Tracey spent as much time studying as she did planning for it, her grades would be a lot better,” Gwendolyn noted.

The four women chatted for a few minutes about the evening’s planned activities, when they were joined by another woman—one who seemed amused as her pink-clad stalker darted away as if on fire.

“So, rumors tell me, Evaline, that Dolores is terrified of you,” Amelia Bones said with a smirk.

“Well, Amy, let’s just say she made no friends in the Snake Pit when she went to school.”

The five women chuckled.

“I’m going to assume we were talking about the sleepover. Susan hasn’t stopped going on about it. What are they doing exactly?” Amelia asked.

The small group of women didn’t garner much notice until Beatrice Brocklehurst and Ethel Bulstrode joined them.

“My, my, what an interesting group,” Narcissa Malfoy said as she approached, followed by Gladys Parkinson.

“Hello, Narcissa. We're just talking about what our daughters are up to tonight,” Evaline replied in greeting.

“Mrs. Malfoy, your outfit’s exquisite,” Elizabeth Brown offered. “It looks like a Hermès original.”

“You have a good eye, Mrs. Brown,” Narcissa said with an obvious air of superiority.

“Have you heard anything from the girls?” Gladys asked.

“I’m sure they are having fun,” Gwendolyn replied.

“I’m surprised that some of you allowed your daughters to attend such a… Muggle thing,” Narcissa sniffed, with no small amount of disdain in her voice.

“That’s not exactly true, Cissy, it being Muggle,” Pansy’s mum objected. “Reginald was against it at first, until Mother explained that it was not too different from what she and her classmates used to do. They didn’t have a name for it, but she had twelve girls in her year back then, and they often slept over one another’s houses over the holidays.”

Narcissa Malfoy's façade didn’t break, but a few could tell she was surprised at Gladys' reply.

“I see. Well, it is unusual that it has crossed over houses. From what Draco tells me, it's Morgaine Rheged who's most likely the cause.”

The three mothers whose daughters were in Slytherin caught one another’s eyes, but Elizabeth Brown chirped, “Oh, Morgaine—such a sweet girl. And well dressed, too. Surprising for one so young to have an eye for fashion.”

Amelia Bones tried not to smile. She, too, knew that Morgaine Rheged was a mystery, but after speaking to the goblins, the Director of the DMLE knew better than to poke that dragon.

“Well, yes, I’m sure. It's just that I have never heard the name before.”

“You might as well say Morgaine Sinclair,” Rachael Dunbar suggested.

“Or Ravenclaw,” Ethel Bulstrode pointed out.

Beatrice Brocklehurst, who worked for the Ministry, jumped in, “I can't say I wasn’t curious myself, and I ended up looking at the Sinclair family records after our girls discovered the Professor’s old classroom.”

She then grinned. “You can fine me if you want, Amelia. I know I was being nosey.”

The Director of the DMLE waved it away. “Try not to make a habit of it, Bea.”

“Anyway, from what I read, after going back to old Prophets,” Beatrice was now in her element as an old Ravenclaw herself. “The Sinclair family was not without its enemies. The Auror report wasn’t sure if Abner’s death was actually Dragon Pox.”

“How can they not be sure?” Amelia Bones was now interested.

“The Healers were being cagey about it,” Beatrice shrugged. “The papers also claimed that his daughter was a squib. What if she wasn’t? What if she changed her name to something else and disappeared?”

“Why would she do that?” Gwendolyn asked.

“If your family was being hunted down for what they know? Look at the Peverells. See, there is a belief that Rowena Ravenclaw was a direct descendant of Merlin.”

Narcissa blinked. This was not the conversation she expected. “I never heard that before.”

“It’s common knowledge among the older Ravenclaws once they start studying runes. Some of the original enchantments at the Ministry—even the wards that protect Hogwarts—are supposedly his work, or his family's,” Beatrice explained.

Rachael Dunbar looked thoughtful. “Then it sounds like Morgaine is taking a page out of her ancestors' book and bringing all four houses together.”

Elizabeth Brown jumped in. “Yes, yes, as I said, she’s a gem. Now, let’s talk about Tea Parties.”

All the women blinked at the sudden change of subject.

“So, assuming this all goes well tonight, I’m offering the next sleepover at my house. Sounds like a lot of fun. However, I’m also thinking of a mother–daughter tea party. See, I just attended one of Mabel Ashcombe’s granddaughters' last week; she just turned sixteen. And it was fabulous.”

“Tea Party?” Rachael Dunbar raised an eyebrow. That was the last thing she expected coming from her friend’s mouth.

“Yes, a mother-daughter one. If the girls are going to get together anyway, why don’t we join them?”

“I think Susan and Hannah would love to do something like that. I know I would, and so would Lisa Abbot,” Amelia offered.

Evaline Greengrass looked thoughtful, and Gwendolyn Davis grinned. “Tracey hates tea parties. Let's do it.”

That caused a round of laughter among the women.

Narcissa Malfoy suddenly felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on her. Her plan on learning more about Morgaine Rheged had gone awry. From the sound of it, the family was hiding all this time in plain sight.

No, it was because she now felt like an outsider. Even her friend Gladys was discussing a tea party with the group—a get-together with their daughters. Narcissa loved her son but desperately wanted to have a daughter; however, she would never get the chance as her husband got his heir.

“There are a few places I know that cater beautifully to young women’s tea parties. I helped Myria Grimsley with her daughters over the summer,” she said, all thoughts of Morgaine vanishing as the offer slipped out before she’d decided to make it.

“Oh, that was you, wasn’t it. I think we should take her up on it,” Ethel Bulstrode said approvingly, looking toward Evaline Greengrass.

“Thank you for offering, Narcissa,” she said. “What do you suggest?”

Cygnus Greengrass and Edward Davis sipped their whiskey and watched their wives from a safe distance. They had been talking politics all night and were now taking a much-needed break. However, they were surprised when Reginald Parkinson wandered close to them, appearing lost in thought.

“So, what are the wives talking about, Reggie?” Edward asked.

If Reginald Parkinson minded being called something he disliked, he didn’t show it and simply replied, ‘Tea Parties.’”

“Oh, so it has begun,” Edward said in a deep, ominous voice.

Which caused Cygnus to snigger.

“What do you know about Morgaine Rheged?” Reginald suddenly asked.

“She’s a good friend of my daughter’s,” Cygnus replied truthfully.

Reginald nodded thoughtfully, “Mine too, apparently. Do you know the Sinclair family did most of the enchanting work you see in the Ministry, from the flues to the lifts? Absolutely beautiful work. I always considered Marlborough Stadium, where the Tornadoes play, their masterpiece.”

Edward shook his head, “I had no idea.”

Reginald nodded. “My family has been proud of its enchanting work through the years. All the work in Diagon Alley, including smaller family work and larger ones, such as some of the newer stadiums. But if you asked my grandfather, he would say if you wanted something that would last forever, you had a Sinclair do it.”

“Better than the goblins?” Cygnus asked.

“In some ways, but then again, they always seemed to work together,” Reginald said thoughtfully, then looked back to where the Malfoys, Notts, and Carrows stood, then turned back. “What do you think of the earrings that Morgaine gave your daughters?”

“They are nice gifts, but honestly, I don’t know much about jewelry; that would be a question for my wife,” Cygnus replied.

Reginald leaned in and half-whispered, “You know they are enchanted, right?”

Both men nodded, as they had been told that Morgaine had contacted each of the mothers before sending the gifts.

“Pansy got angry that I wanted to examine hers a little closer. I used some of our family spells,” he then whispered. “It's not normal silver.”

Cygnus looked confused. “Is it Goblin Silver?”

Reginald shook his head, looking as if he was in awe. “It’s Enchanted Silver. Runes carved on regular silver will last a few decades, Goblin Silver a handful of centuries, but the Egyptians used Enchanted Silver in their tombs. Some of the items uncovered still function.”

Edward blinked, stunned. “So, a really nice gift.”

Reginald gave a soft snort. “The birthstones will make sure that only the girls for whom they were made can use them, and I imagine will be able to be passed down to their daughters.”

Cygnus nodded. “So, Morgaine is a Sinclair.”

“There is no doubt. I would love to speak to whoever made the earrings. Truthfully, it's knowledge we have lost throughout the years.” Reginald then turned away and looked at Malfoy and his group again.

“I think Morgaine’s a good influence on Pansy. She seems,” Reginald paused. “Happier maybe.”

He looked embarrassed and began to walk away, “Sorry, have a Happy New Year…”

“Hey, Reginald, Marcus Kaplin's injury, you think it will keep him out of the next game with the Falcons?”

“No, I think the Wasps still have a good chance of beating them with Lumpkin taking his place,” he replied, a little confused.

Cygnus Greengrass smiled softly as his friend drew Reginald into a friendly conversation. Edward, like his daughter, was good at that, and you could see the tension leave the man’s shoulder as he spoke something he was passionate about.

“I thought the two of you were taking a break,” Benjamin Brown asked, coming up from behind.

“We’re talking Quidditch.”

“Oh, jolly good. So, still harping on the Magpies, Edward?” he called out.

“Hey, so they had a few rough games, but they are still winning their league. Reginald here was talking about the Arrow’s chances.”

Benjamin nodded and held out his hand, introducing himself. Then, he got into a serious discussion about their favorite sport.

And much like the wives on the other side of the room, the husbands whose daughters were having fun at a sleepover soon joined them.

Those who stood outside this circle could almost feel a shift. Something they didn’t understand was taking place, all due to an eleven-year-old girl having fun with her friends.

Chapter Text

Morgaine opened the cabin door and stepped inside, settling into the seat beside the window. Behind her, Lisa, Tracey, and Daphne followed, chatting away about what they did for the rest of the time after the sleepover.

"I can't believe you watched movies and ate junk food all night," Tracey groaned, flopping into the seat across from her and pouting.

Lisa and Sally-Anne had spent the night at Morgaine's house before heading to the train station. Lisa's parents, expecting a large shipment of books in the morning, were grateful. Miss Green had suggested the same to Sally-Anne's mother, a nurse at a hospital in Manchester, after picking up her daughter so she could make it on New Year's.

"We didn't stay up all night," Lisa protested. "Morgaine made us go to bed."

"I hardly made you," Morgaine laughed. "You and Sally-Anne were already falling asleep on the couch."

Tracey leaned in, surprised, well, mostly. "I still can't believe you haven't seen Star Wars, Morgaine."

She'd been dragging her best friend to Muggle movies for years, but most magicals never entered the non-magical world and looked down upon those who did. The Davis family, who distributed the Greengrass's apple crop to the outside world, had feet solidly planted in both.

The former Queen shrugged. "I told you—the first time I ever watched a movie was when I moved in. Katheryn insisted I watch The Princess Bride."

"Great movie. What else did you do?" Tracey asked, curious.

"Not a lot. We didn't get there until late," Lisa began. "After Sunflower made us dinner—"

"Sunflower?" Daphne interrupted.

"Morgaine's house-elf," Lisa explained. "We sort of flipped through the telly before Miss Green suggested watching a movie."

"Glad she was there," the former Queen muttered. "I still have no clue how all those buttons work."

"Isn't it your house?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you remember me telling you the home came furnished?" Morgaine replied. "The entertainment center was included."

Lisa shook her head. "No, don't listen to her. It's not just an entertainment center but an entire room with a huge projection screen."

Tracey grinned. "So next time, we're having a sleepover at your house."

"I thought we were doing it at Lavender's?" Lisa asked.

"Then your place afterward."

"Sometime over the summer," Morgaine agreed. "I need to move a few things out of the bottom floor."

Lisa smiled. "Yeah, I mean it's nice and all—but not very you."

Morgaine nodded. "I can deal with the upstairs; some of the non-magical gadgets downstairs confuse me."

Although Rose was forced to work in the Dursleys' kitchen from age four onwards, the most modern appliance was the Microwave. Anything else in the house, she wasnt allowed to touch

"Well, that too," Lisa giggled. "I mean, but it's all filled with ultra-modern furniture."

Morgain raised an eyebrow. "Ultra-modern isn't me."

Lisa grinned. "Not really. Does your mom like that stuff?"

"My mother, no." The former Queen tilted her head. "Maybe, not sure. Anyway, I do plan on moving most of it out. I haven't had a chance to look through what I have stored."

She'd been surprised when the goblins said everything in the Sinclairs' home had been moved into a vault after Abner passed away. His daughter had picked a few pieces but never returned for the rest.

All four girls looked up when the door opened, revealing the three missing Ravenclaw girls.

"Budge over, Lisa," Morag said, pushing her things onto the overhead shelf. Then she noticed there were only a couple of trunks up there.

"Where's all your stuff?"

"Miss Green shrunk it for us," Lisa replied, scooting over so the others could find seats.

"Where's Millicent and Pansey?" Mandy asked, putting her stuff away.

"Millie will be by in a bit. Pansey, running late again." Tracey replied, looking out the window and onto the platform.

"Should've asked my mum to shrink mine," Su commented, then grinned as she noticed Morgaine already had her wand out and had helped put her trunk away. "Thanks."

"We'll learn the shrinking charm next year," Susan pointed out, entering the cabin with Hannah in tow.

"I thought you two were going to spend time in Hufflepuff land," Mandy remarked, pulling out her pillow and setting it on her lap.

"The boys are being right muppets, so we decided to come and find you," Hannah complained as she sat down.

Susan noticed the lack of seats and plopped onto her friend's lap, prompting a round of giggles.

"Sally-Ann went off to find Hermione, so we want to hear about this sleepover you had last night," she said, giving Lisa a nudge.

"They watched movies," Tracey declared, pointing at Morgaine accusingly.

"And ate junk food," Daphne cheerfully added.

Lisa snorted, then leaned in and began to tell her tale.

&

In the crisp, cold air of a Scottish morning, eyes unseen watched as an intruder moved through the ancient woods. It had taken Dumbledore several days to locate the former spider nest, as though the forest itself wished to keep it hidden. Aside from bits of stray webbing clinging high in the snow-covered trees, there was little evidence that the Acromantulas had ever existed.

Unfortunately, he had little time to linger; the castle was waking beyond the forest. Students were returning from the winter holidays, and the never-ending work of keeping Hogwarts running had resumed.

At least that responsibility had not been taken from him. His enemies within the Ministry had acted swiftly, stripping him of his title as Chief Warlock and citing negligence—but he remained Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Sadly, he couldn't dispute their accusations. Though he hadn't known the full extent of the infestation, ignorance was no excuse. Now, Hagrid was banished to Romania, far from the school he loved. Dumbledore had lost an ally and a friend who would have been invaluable in the dark days he knew were coming.

He wasn't seeking compensation from those who had done this, even if their motives were for the not-insubstantial amount of gold they would make from killing the spiders. No, he was here to understand. It felt as though he were chasing shadows.

Dumbledore knew Tom Riddle still existed, and that his return had been prophesied. But were these people hindering that return—or helping it? Or was this simply another coincidence?

The goblins had refused to name names, reminding him that Hogwarts had never owned the forest—and neither did the Ministry nor Hogsmeade, no matter what anyone claimed.

Various headmasters and ministers had tried to assert control over the forest throughout the centuries—many with unfortunate results—but the truth remained: the forest tended to itself. Still, the Ministry demanded oversight, dealing harshly with creatures that roamed the woods if they caused trouble, and taxing anything taken from its interior.

Frustratingly, the spells he cast revealed nothing. Whoever had done this remained unknown. So, there was little he could do. Instead, he would need to reach out to his allies to see if a large amount of gold was quietly making its way into the hands of Voldemort's supporters.

But Dumbledore was not alone in the forest this morning. A palomino-colored centaur with white-blond hair and bright blue eyes stepped from the snowy underbrush.

"Headmaster," Firenze greeted, his voice calm as he approached. "You are far from the castle."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Just seeking answers."

Firenze glanced up at the cloudy sky, as if the planets were still visible. "And I have none to give you. An evil has been removed; you should be pleased."

"Hagrid will not be returning," the headmaster replied, hoping this would sway the centaur into giving him a clue.

"Many found him to be a friend," Firenze said evenly, "but he, like you, was a wizard—and only listened to what he wished to hear. The elders warned him many times about the dangers of the Acromantulas, but still, he did nothing."

"Did he not protect the unicorn and thestral herds?"

"In his own way, yes," Firenze admitted. "He kept safe something that should never have needed his help." His expression softened. "Headmaster, I am sure Hagrid was a good groundskeeper, but he was never a friend of the forest."

The centaur began to turn away. "You'll not find your answers here. Return to the castle. Pretend those who did this acted out of greed."

"Did they not?" Dumbledore called after him, but Firenze was already trotting away.

Then came one final remark, drifting through the snow-covered trees: "Know this, Headmaster—Jupiter has ascended behind the moon, but will not remain there long."

&

Because there was no sorting ceremony, the time from getting off the train to sitting down for dinner was relatively short. Once the girls entered the Great Hall, they went off to their tables, with the Ravenclaw girls finding their usual spot.

"Looks like we're missing a groundskeeper," Mandy pointed at the head table. "New people, though."

"I read in the Prophet that Hagrid's not working here anymore. He got a new job at one of the Dragon Sanctuaries," Lisa replied.

"Maybe new professors?" Sue leaned over to get a better look at the others at the end of the staff table.

"I'm sure someone will tell us," Morag said with a shrug.

"Professor Henly's still here, so that's good. Although I liked Professor Yuma better," Lisa said, making room for the others.

"We won't see him next year, though," Mandy added with a shrug.

Padma, who had been listening in, leaned forward and asked, "Why? Sure, the guy's a bit dry, but at least he seems to know what he's talking about."

"Curse," Morag muttered in the middle of a yawn. "They say the position's cursed. My cousin had a new professor every year."

"Why would someone curse the Defense class? And better yet, why hasn't anyone—like a defense professor or the headmaster—done something to break it?" Padma asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Oi, don't have a go at me—I've no idea," Morag said with a shrug. "It's just what my cousin told me. Maybe Morgaine can sort it?"

The girl in question, who had been speaking with two seventh-year Slytherin girls, came over and took a seat.

"What am I sorting out?"

"The Defense of the Dark Arts class," Padma replied.

"What's wrong with it?" she said, looking up at the staff table and noticing their professor sitting there. "Might want to ask Professor Henly about it, whatever it is."

"Morag says the position's been cursed, so that's why the school can't keep a Defense professor."

Morgaine nodded. "I think Charlotte mentioned something like that. We should still ask the professor about it. Or we can talk to Professor Flitwick about why they haven't brought in curse breakers if there is really a curse."

"Sounds like a good idea," Padma said approvingly.

"I'm starving," Lisa murmured, then jumped back as dishes began to appear on the table.

"Food first, clearly," Morag said with a grin, grabbing a platter of chicken.

After the Treacle Tart, Jam Roly-Poly, and Pumpkin Pasties had been happily scoffed, Dumbledore rose from his throne.

"Good evening, children. I hope each and every one of you had a most pleasant holiday. As you might have noticed, we've had a couple of staff changes. Professor Henly will now be here full-time until the end of the year, replacing Professor Yuma, who is expected to give birth in the next few weeks."

The professor gave a friendly wave before Dumbledore carried on.

"Rubeus Hagrid, our very own groundskeeper, has accepted a position at the Munții Umbrei Dragon Sanctuary in Romania. We wish both of them the very best in any and all future endeavors."

He smiled at the small round of applause, then gestured to the end of the staff table.

"To my left, I have Mister Grim Farley and Mister Osric Bellwether, who work for our esteemed Ministry in the Accounting Division. They're here for our yearly audit. They'll mostly be working with me and Professor McGonagall. Although they won't be speaking to students, we'll have members of the Education Department arriving later this week, and I expect them to interview both fifth and seventh years.

And with that, I wish you all a good night."

Chapter Text

The extra adults at the school did not affect Morgaine or the other first-years; they simply continued learning magic. That said, she also fully committed herself to her non-magical studies.

Rose Potter had taken the new National Tests before that fateful day. Morgaine still carried that knowledge—math, history, English, and science—up to the sixth year of schooling and added everything she'd picked up growing up in Cerniu almost fifteen hundred years ago.

She wasn't sure whether that helped or hindered her chances of taking the GCSEs. Still, what she needed to learn would at least help her keep her sanity, given Hogwarts's curriculum was hardly taxing.

Over the break, Morgaine heard about a business catering to those wanting to continue their non-magical education after Hogwarts. It wasn't a large organization—mainly doing business through word of mouth. Morgaine learned about them from one of the healers who had earned her BSc in Nursing.

With Katheryn away at university, Mr. and Mrs. Turpin were more than happy to contact them and set up a summer tutor for the two girls. But before that, they would need to take a few tests during the spring holidays to see where they were in their education.

No matter how much she moaned, their daughter was eager too. She was more put out about losing some of her precious summer holidays to tutoring sessions than she was about the actual learning.

Their friends—and a few others—watched them both with mild amusement. 

Unknown to Morgaine, her medical book reading, work in the school's infirmary, and the professors' extra assignments, in addition to her regular school work, was like throwing down the gauntlet to her fellow Ravenclaws, who were now scrambling to keep up with the former Queen.

When it came to more mundane knowledge, however, most of their friends just shook their heads and muttered, "Ravenclaws."

Hermione Granger was not one of those people.

She stood frozen, then said—somewhat accusingly— "That's a chemistry book."

The library group, or Morgaine's girls, as some began to call them, had taken to using the office behind the Pumpkin Witch as an unofficial club room, especially on Saturdays when it was too cold to wander about the school grounds.

"And this is a geometry book," Lisa agreed, pulling it from her bag and adding it to a few others.

"Why don't I have those books?" Hermione looked around, beginning to panic. "Is this a Ravenclaw thing? Am I missing classes? Why weren't we told?"

"Calm down, it's nothing to do with Hogwarts," Lisa laughed.

Morag picked up an English Composition book from the table and wandered to one of the couches. "Morgaine and Lisa reckon taking their GCSEs is a grand idea."

"Because they're both completely barking," Mandy called out as she followed them into the room.

After that, Hermione Granger became the third member of their summer study group. Her parents, who'd felt a bit left out of their daughter's new life, were thrilled to speak with the Turpins. Having a set of adults who understood both worlds was a godsend.

Eventually, Morgaine had to step in and reclaim all her non-magical textbooks from Hermione that she had borrowed. Her roommates had approached the former Queen, begging her to do something, as the poor girl was running herself ragged.

"Hermione," Morgaine said gently to the young girl on the verge of tears, "you've got four years. You won't be left behind. Here…”

The Gryffindor wiped her eyes and, with a sniff, asked, "What's this?"

"It's a book on the Norman Conquest. You and Lisa would've covered it if you were in school. Why don't you read it, then you can quiz the two of us."

Although Morgaine had put the additional adults out of her mind, she wasn't unknown to them.

"You've got a student who isn't a fifth-year student who expressed interest in one of our proposed OWL introductory classes," said Alaric Thorne, one of the Ministry's educational auditors.

Professor Flitwick, who had been sitting with them, nodded. "No surprise. Most of my Ravenclaws study ahead."

"She's a first-year."

Flitwick smiled. "Morgaine Rheged?"

Griselda Marchbanks nodded, though Flitwick could see she wasn't upset—more curious. "Although she's not the only one, she's the only first-year student given extra assignments by her professors. She normally sits off to the side during your class."

"Morgaine's already learned most of the first-year curriculum. She's free to work on other things as long as she keeps up. My colleagues and I also grade her to a higher standard."

"She's the alleged apprentice healer, correct?" Alaric frowned, scanning the list of first-year students.

"More than alleged. If you have any questions, you can contact Master Healer Eloise Hollow at St Mungo's or Madam Pomfrey," Professor Flitwick interjected.

"Miss Rheged also works in the infirmary every Saturday, according to what I've got listed here," Marchbanks added with an approving nod.

"I'm not sure who thought making someone her age an apprentice was a good idea," he said disapprovingly. "But be that as it may, the girl needs to focus on what she's learning now—not what she'll be doing four years from now."

"She'd be the great-granddaughter of Professor Abner Sheridan?"

Professor Flitwick smiled. Griselda had been a Ravenclaw herself. "So, we're led to believe. She's the only one who's been able to enter his office, and I'm sure you read that her family donated quite a number of books to the Hogwarts library."

Griselda glanced at her colleague, then back at the Charms professor. "My mother had fond memories of Professor Sheridan. She was sad to hear of his passing. Alaric, let Morgaine Rheged take the class. I'm curious to hear what one of his descendants thinks about what's taught now—and what was taught back then."

The Ministry of Education auditor sniffed. "Classes were removed for a reason."

"Which apparently was the wrong thing to do, which I might've pointed out before. That's also why we're here now, isn't it? To make sure we're aligned with ICW standards."

"Do as you will. I need to sit in on the Divination class," the auditor grunted, closed the book he'd been writing in, and disappeared out the staffroom door.

Griselda shook her head. "Don't worry, Filius. That man tends to throw a strop whenever he doesn't get his way."

"I see. Not that we don't appreciate you being here."

The older witch, who had been Dumbledore's OWL examiner, let out a sad chuckle. "But you're wondering if we'll do anything? If I have my way—yes. We're not up to ICW standards in many areas. Merlin knows Hogwarts doesn't have enough staff. But unfortunately, our presence—for some—is just another chance to remove Albus as Headmaster. For others, it shows we're doing something without making any changes."

"So, business as usual," Flitwick muttered unhappily.

"We'll see. It's about time I bothered a few people I know, anyway." She leaned forward with a smile. "Tell me about Morgaine Rheged. Is it true she's the spitting image of Rowena Ravenclaw?"

However, the Ministry's educational auditors weren't the only ones who expressed interest in the young first-year. A few days later, after lunch, Professor McGonagall approached Morgaine.

"Miss Rheged, as you've got a free period, could you come with me and speak to the Headmaster? Oh, you're not in trouble, dear. The Ministry auditors have some questions for you."

"I see—well, not really," Morgaine rose from her seat and said to her classmates, "I'll meet you in the library afterward."

If Professor McGonagall hadn't been so busy, she might have considered approaching the young witch somewhere other than Hogwarts' Great Hall. Whispers soon filled the air as students began to wonder why a first-year would need to be questioned by the Ministry—especially one who was not just popular with her housemates but with most of the school.

Several students pointed out that since she was related to Rowena Ravenclaw, perhaps the Ministry needed her permission to do things in the school.

Everyone knew that her family had bought new brooms, and she'd personally changed how history was taught—something that had been an issue since before their grandparents' time. Afterwards, her family even bought new history books.

The more politically astute found it odd that they would question Morgaine directly rather than contacting her parents or guardians. A few even planned to write letters home, saying that Ministry auditors had no business questioning a member of such an old family—and worse, one who was underage.

'Kinder Bueno," Professor McGonagall announced in front of a stone gargoyle.

Suddenly, it moved, revealing a brass spiral staircase that groaned as it rotated upward.

"Odd password," Morgaine commented as the two continued.

"Yes, well, the headmaster's rather fond of Muggle candy."

At the top, the door to the Headmaster's office opened without a knock, as if it had been expecting them. Inside were high, arched windows that filled the room with afternoon light, illuminating bookshelves packed with all sorts of interesting-looking tomes and strange little instruments—some ticking, some humming, some barking, and others entirely still.

Portraits of what she was told later were former headmasters and headmistresses lined the upper walls. Their eyes followed Morgaine with curiosity—and a few with shock—clearly noticing her appearance. One elderly witch gave a discreet nod, then vanished from her painting.

Three men sat behind a large wooden desk and off to the side. The first was clearly the Headmaster, who looked a bit frazzled. The others were the two auditors he had introduced to everyone in the hall a few days earlier.

"Miss Rheged, I hope you had a pleasant break," the Headmaster said, rising from his seat and greeting her with a smile. "This won't take long; these men just have a couple of questions we hope you can answer."

"Hello again, Headmaster. Thank you. I hope you did as well," she replied, frowning slightly as Professor McGonagall vanished from the room.

Gracefully, she took a seat—and almost jumped when, in a fiery flash, a red and gold bird appeared on her lap.

"Oh, aren't you gorgeous," she purred, stroking the phoenix's chin.

She stifled a small snort when she felt a familiar weight on her shoulder and watched amused as her friend and the Headmaster's familiar stared at one another.

"Extraordinary," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands. "I've never seen Fawkes so interested in someone before."

"He's beautiful, Headmaster. And Breuddwydion, stop being jealous."

"Yes, that's all well and good, Dumbledore," the younger auditor—blue-eyed, dark-haired, and vaguely weasel-like—complained, "but we've other things to do today than watch the two birds stare at one another."

Morgaine sat back. The black raven and the red phoenix flanking her gave the young girl a sudden regal appearance.

"Perhaps introductions are in order first. I know the Headmaster, of course."

"Quite right, young lady," said the older of the two auditors, who slightly resembled someone she knew. "I'm Grim Farley, and to my left is Osric Bellwether."

"Are you perhaps related to Gemma Farley?"

"Indeed, she's my niece," the man said with a friendly smile. "We're sorry for pulling you out of class, Miss Rheged; we just want to understand a couple of things that occurred earlier in the year."

"Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And I'm happy to help, although I don't know how much—I mean, school finances aren't something they teach at our school."

"Is that why you changed what was being taught in History?" Bellwether challenged.

"No, I simply asked an honest question. It was my first day of class, and a ghost of all things was teaching. He started in the middle of a paragraph and just began talking."

Farley made a face. "I remember that. I imagine you do too, Bellwether."

"And realizing his error, the good professor formally introduced himself and started over," Morgaine elaborated.

"Cuthbert has, on rare occasions, answered a student's question before," Dumbledore noted, "but he always returns to what he was teaching. I imagine her relationship to one of our founders might have caused this."

The two men then noticed that the young girl's appearance looked eerily similar to the portrait on the wall behind her.

"And did you not think that some students would face hardships when they needed to buy new books?"

"And that is why my family purchased enough copies for every student in the school," Morgaine agreed.

"And next year?" Bellwether almost sneered.

"Well, they'd have to do that anyway, wouldn't they?" She turned to the Headmaster. "Might I suggest that since the books were donated to the school, everyone turn them in at the end of the year? Only those who damage the books from misuse would need to buy a new one."

"A capital idea," Farley chuckled. "Don't you think so, Bellwether?"

"Headmaster, I assume there are plenty of extras—since, if I'm not mistaken, there are only three post-OWL students for History?" Morgaine asked. "So you can easily replace ones that are lost or damaged."

"Indeed, we can, and perhaps Professor Binns changing how he teaches, we will have more NEWT-level history students."

The former Queen nodded. "Was that the only question? Or did you want to ask why my family bought the school new brooms?"

Bellwether leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled."You understand, of course, that your family's involvement in school affairs raises questions. Many are concerned that you have made changes, even if they were unintentional. Miss Rheged, we respect the founders and their work; however, they no longer run Hogwarts."

Dumbledore smiled, then nodded. "Osric, I am sure she is aware."

"I am just here to learn like every other student."

Fawkes then gave a low trill, and Breuddwydion shifted his wings.

Farley laughed. "Good, good. And as for the brooms, thank you. I have another niece who will be attending next year. The blasted things were a hazard back when I was a student."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Surely they were not. However, if the Ministry can open its purse strings a little wider, perhaps we can ensure they are replaced when needed.

Bellwether hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "I expect the Ministry will expect donations; however, we will add it to the report."

The three men then started discussing some other financial issues, ignoring the fact that she was still sitting across from them.

Amused, Morgaine finally stood, smoothing her robes. "Gentlemen, if you need anything else, I'll be in the library."

As she turned to leave, her familiar launched from her shoulder, circled once overhead, and settled on the windowsill beside Fawkes.

"Have fun, Breuddwydion," she called out as she descended the stairs.

Chapter Text

The side door to Paris Gringotts was carved from blackened oak, veined with silver runes that shimmered faintly in the morning sun. It was not the usual entrance; only those who knew of its existence could find it.

An elderly couple stepped through the heavy doors: a wizard in deep purple robes and his wife, in a black dress, with a bright red shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders to keep out the morning chill.

The goblin guards at the threshold didn’t move but frowned, acknowledging their presence without approval. As the pair crossed the threshold, however, the air shifted. It wasn’t wizarding magic, but something older—long forgotten by time.

The glamour surrounding the man faded, filling the hallway with sparkling light, like stars in the sky. His hunched posture straightened. Wrinkles eased, and the gray in his hair gradually disappeared.

Nicolas Flamel stretched, his eyes bright with humor, his balding head now crowned with deep red hair.

His wife of centuries sighed, then brushed her glamour away as if it were dust from her dress.

“Quit scaring the children?” Perenelle murmured.

“The newer ones need reminding that we were old before their clans dug the first vaults,” Nicolas replied, his voice low and amused.

They passed through the marble corridor, discussing current magical trends, ignoring the stares of younger goblins who scurried past.

At the far end of a darkened hallway, a door opened with a single knock from the famous alchemist. Inside, a goblin—his desk carved from ancient oak—looked up from a ledger.

“Nicolas.” His voice was tired, tinged with dry amusement. “Must you always cause problems?”

“Pikegrip, we received your package,” the alchemist announced, grinning as he placed the velvet-wrapped bundle on the desk.

With a grunt, the goblin leaned back. “Couldn’t you simply be pleased it was returned?”

Perenelle shook her head as the two stared at one another. Settling into a chair, she smiled as another goblin rolled in a cart filled with coffee and snacks she enjoyed.

Nicolas eyed the tray, then selected a chocolate croissant. “So, who sent it?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” the alchemist pressed, tearing off a piece of croissant and popping it into his mouth.

Perenelle tilted her head. “They’re hiding something.”

Nicolas looked up and grinned. “Or someone.”

“I still find it hard to believe that Albus would keep the stone in a school full of children,” his wife said, clearly unimpressed.

“In addition, the news of that mirror appearing troubles me,” Nicolas muttered, shaking his head. “That cursed thing… it always brings sorrow when it surfaces. How many souls has it swallowed?”

“Too many, and is it really a coincidence that the news of it turns up the same time as the stones return?” Perenelle looked up, her expression hardened. “Our contacts inside the ICW told us that it was destroyed.”

“Yes, my lady. However, as you well know, it will eventually reform,” Pickaxe replied.

“Foolish boy, if he was involved,” she whispered. “He should have known better than to meddle with such magics.”

Nicolas nodded. “At least it was dealt with; it will take time to reappear again.” Then, with a flicker of amusement, he added, “So whoever they are hiding, didn’t try to use the stone.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? They said it was fake,” his wife said, her smile fading into a frown. “Still, I approve, even if it wasn’t real, it had no business being in that school.”

The alchemist grimaced. “I wasn’t aware of what Albus intended.”

“Then you’re both fools. It’s not as if this fellow was the first wizard—powerful or not—to search for us and the stone,” she grumbled. “You don’t play games with children’s lives.”

Pikegrip remained silent, his expression unreadable. He had known the two for a very long time, and when they wanted answers, they operated like a well-oiled machine. One would speak, the other would watch, then they’d switch roles. Silence didn’t always work, but it was the safer choice for now.

“So—a student, a professor, or a third party?” Perenelle asked suddenly.

“I can’t say.”

Nicolas hummed as he stared at Pikegrip. “Apparently, we might have a budding alchemist at Hogwarts.”

“Albus hasn’t contacted us about the stone’s disappearance,” she commented, setting down her empty cup. “Do you think he’s aware that it's missing? It might be wise for us to contact him.”

“I believe you’re right, ma chère,” Nicolas replied happily. “But it would be best to do it in person.”

“True, I have a few choice words I need to share with him,” Perenelle said, clearly unhappy. “We should travel to Hogwarts.”

Nicolas smiled. “Well then, Pikegrip, my good friend—thank you for your hospitality. My lovely wife and I have some things to pack and a portkey to schedule.”

The goblin watched the two immortals leave with grim amusement, then reached into his drawer for a parchment. He had a letter to send to his Clan Chief.

&&

Nine familiar first-years—Ravenclaws, boys and girls alike—drifted into the Hogwarts Library, with its vaulted ceilings and thousands of leather-bound tomes, scrolls, and spellbooks.

Madam Pince, the eagle-eyed librarian, watched them for a moment, but since Ravenclaws rarely caused problems, instead she headed toward a gaggle of third-year Gryffindors who were getting a bit too rowdy near the Restricted Section.

“I'll get the Potions book,” Terry announced, setting down his bag.

Michael glanced around and told the group, “I'll see if I can find the Charms one.”

“I’ll help,” Sue added, and the three set off down the nearest aisle.

The rest of the Ravenclaws settled in, pulling out their quills, parchments, and other books they needed. They had plenty of time before dinner to finish their homework—even though none of their assignments were due. In fact, they had over a week before they needed to turn them in, but Ravenclaws were never ones to leave things to the last minute.

So when a girl with golden-brown curls bounced cheerfully toward their table, a few eyebrows raised.

“I knew I’d find you lot here,” chirped Lavender Brown, plonking herself down with a grin.

“You need help with your homework?” Anthony asked, confused.

Lavender gave him a look, then leaned over to peer at the parchment on the table in front of him. “That’s not due ‘til next Thursday.”

“When do you plan on working on it?” Lisa asked with a grin, already knowing the answer.

“I dunno. Next Wednesday, maybe,” Lavender replied, unconcerned, before sliding into the seat opposite Morgaine.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Defense?” Morag asked.

“Nah, we’re on break.”

The Ravenclaws blinked as Lavender launched into her next thought without a breath.

“But that’s not important. So, Eloise was just telling me she was thinking of you when she spoke to her sister Gemma, who’d been chatting with Margret Titus—the Hufflepuff prefect—who overheard Professor Snape talking to one of his Slytherins.”

Morgaine nodded slowly. “Right. Thank her for thinking of me, but what’s this about?”

“Remember at the sleepover, we were talking about all the classes Hogwarts doesn’t offer anymore?”

“Like horseback riding,” Lisa chimed in.

Michael, who had returned to the table with Sue, looked up from sorting through his bag. “Wait, the school used to teach horseback riding?”

“It’s been ages,” Lisa nodded. “But yes, they did.”

Morgaine smiled, then turned back to Lavender. “I do remember.”

She leaned in. “Well, apparently Professor Snape told one of his Slytherins there might be an Alchemy class.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Seriously?” Anthony grinned. “I’d take that over Care of Magical Creatures any day.”

“Are they adding more classes, then?” Mandy asked.

Lavender shrugged. “I dunno if they’re actually adding it. Snape said it was some special thing. But they’re letting Morgaine sit in on that intro-to-OWLs class, aren’t they? So maybe she could sneak into this one, too.”

Morgaine blinked. “When did you hear about that?”

“Oh, Oliver Wood overheard Professor McGonagall and Flitwick talking. He was worried it’d clash with Quidditch practice. Thought it was odd that a first-year would be interested.”

“And he told you about it?” Padma asked.

“Oh no, he was talking to Fred and George. I was just in the room.”

Padma leaned forward. “Do you know if we can all sign up for the OWL intro class?”

“Why would you want to?” Lavender looked at the group surrounding her, then rolled her eyes. “Ask your Head of House—how’m I supposed to know?”

“And you didn’t tell us,” Lisa grinned, looking deeply offended.

Morgaine chuckled. “I wasn’t told I could sit in on it yet. I just put my name down.”

“You'll share your notes?” Sue asked hopefully.

“Of course.”

“Oops, gotta dash,” Lavender said, hopping up with a wave.

The group watched with amusement as she dodged around Madam Pince and trotted off to her next class.

“Right then, now that’s all sorted, homework’s no gonnae do itself,” Morag announced in a whisper. “Let’s get cracking.”

&&

The three quietly slipped through the school, unnoticed by students or professors, heading to the third-floor corridor. Earlier, Albus had briefly introduced the young couple in their twenties to the rest of the Hogwarts staff, explaining that they were there to teach a special Alchemy class available to all NEWT-level students interested in attending.

Only Albus Dumbledore knew the couple’s true identity: they were the Flamels.

“It’s all on you, old boy,” Nicolas chuckled, his accent shifting from the refined French tone more common in England. However, there was a hint of a warning that the headmaster understood. “You know how my wife is about children.”

Albus gave a silent nod.

Perenelle was widely respected throughout the magical community. She was known for funding orphanages across Europe, especially in the aftermath of the war with Grindelwald.

Everyone understood that even the slightest threat to one of the children under her care, which she took personally, would provoke her unrelenting anger.

“You kept a Cerberus in here?” Perenelle asked, glancing around the room with apparent amusement.

“Hagrid was well suited to care for it,” Dumbledore replied, then frowned. “Although it is troubling that whoever took the Stone managed to remove it from the grounds without anyone noticing.”

“I agree. A creature like that doesn’t simply vanish.” With a flick of her wand, the trapdoor in the center of the room opened.

Perenelle descended into the darkness without hesitation, and the two men exchanged a glance before following.

Nicolas paused, surveying the dozens of brass keys scattered throughout the chamber. With a furrowed brow, he knelt, picking one up to study. “Interesting.”

“Sprout will be pleased, the Devil’s Snare wasn’t harmed,” Perenelle reported happily, entering from where the three had descended, before looking about the room.

“Professor Filius Flitwick enchanted them to fly,” Dumbledore explained. “Only the correct one unlocks the door.”

Perenelle glanced at the brooms, then at the giant hole in the wall that led to the next room. “I think you’re missing something, Albus.”

“The intruder simply vanished the door frame,” he said. “It broke the enchantment.”

The ancient witch just laughed as she passed the two men.

“I doubt it was simple,” Nicolas murmured, clearly impressed, before following.

“A game of Wizarding chess?” Perenelle questioned, picking one of the small pieces off the floor.

“Minerva’s work,” Albus said. “They were life-sized at the time.”

The Flamels exchanged an uneasy glance before raising their wands, scanning the room for any trace of what had occurred.

“My love?” Nicolas asked gently.

Perenelle, lost in thought, shook her head.

“Nothing, Nic. Just the impossible.” Her voice was soft, almost breaking. “Come, Albus. Let’s see the rest. I especially want to visit the mirror room.”

Nicolas examined the flasks sitting on a table. “Your Severus Snape is quite the potion master.”

Perenelle, however, didn’t look happy as her expression darkened. “A riddle, a three-headed dog, strangling plants, poisoned potions, and you said you planned on having a troll in the other room. Really? Did you give no thought to what might happen to a child who might wander in here, Albus?”

The two powerful magicals stared at each other briefly before Dumbledore replied confidently, “Perenelle, the wizard after your Stone would have had little trouble with most of these traps. At best, I hoped to slow him down. A student would have simply turned back long before they got this far.”

“We obviously have different opinions on what a curious child can do, but whoever sent us the Stone didn't seem bothered by these traps either.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, it could only have been an adult; even an upper-year would have been challenged.”

“A professor then, maybe?” Nicolas asked as the three crossed the room toward where the Mirror of Erised had once been.

"That’s what I initially thought. I know Minerva hasn’t been happy with me for various reasons, but I don’t believe she would have gone behind my back—nor would Filius or any of the others,” Albus asserted.

“It’s up to you to continue your investigation, but the Stone was returned,” Nicolas assured his old friend.

The air where the Mirror of Erised was once held was heavy with magic, and it was there that the old alchemist spoke up in anger.

“That mirror is evil, Albus.”

However, it was Perenelle who leapt to the Headmaster’s defense. “No, it’s rather brilliant. I’m still unhappy that the Stone was placed here, but think about it, Nick. A weak-willed magical would have just stood there, transfixed, until Albus arrived. One who wanted to use the Stone would not have been able to retrieve it.”

Nicolas sighed. "Alright, I’m not going back on my promise, old friend. I’m happy to teach Alchemy at least until the break, although we now all agree that a student couldn’t have returned it to us.”

&&

“So, the goblins didn’t tell you anything?” Dumbledore asked as the three entered his office after returning from the third floor.

“Nothing helpful, you know how they are,” Nicolas laughed.

“Yes, I am having trouble with them with something similar,” Dumbledore wearily took a seat. “Perhaps you can help me with it. I am at a bit of an impasse.”

Only then did the two men notice Perenelle standing next to a windowsill. On her arm, a black raven.

“Albus, whose familiar is this?” she whispered.

Chapter Text

“Rheged,” Perenelle murmured, gently stroking the raven’s head.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “Is the name familiar to you?”

“It is,” she replied softly. “One, older than the castle around us.”

He smiled. “Indeed. I’ve never heard of a wizarding family with that name, but by Miss Rheged’s looks alone, one might suspect a connection to Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“Another old name,” Perenelle said with a nod.

“So much remains unknown about the Founders. I was under the impression that, aside from her daughter, Rowena had no other children. If the line continued, it must have been through a sibling.”

She nodded again.

“And then there’s the pumpkin witch,” Dumbledore added with a chuckle.

Nicolas sat silently, listening to their discussion about magical genealogy. Apparently, the girl was related to the Sinclair family, which was believed to be connected to Ravenclaw.

However, it was the name Rheged that caught his attention. He had heard it before but couldn’t recall where. And that bird — he knew wasn’t an ordinary familiar. His suspicion was confirmed when it leapt from his wife’s arm and vanished in a swirl of shadows.

******

Nicolas Flamel rubbed his eyes and turned over, noticing that Perenelle’s side of the bed was empty. Considering the discussion from the night before, it was no surprise he had dreamed of his past.

Although they did not have time to be introduced to the raven's owner, he finally remembered the name. Rheged was an ancient kingdom whose history was nearly forgotten yet intertwined with the legends of Merlin, Camelot, and Morgan le Fay.

Perenelle, his wife, was more than five centuries older, and throughout their travels, she often shared stories from that era—although they didn’t always match the versions he’d grown up hearing.

Born as Maël Riware in a small fishing village in Brittany at the end of the ninth century, Nicolas’s mother was a powerful witch obsessed with the legends of les fées—not the tiny, pest-like sprites, but the ancient beings who haunted forests and danced among standing stones.

Days before her seventeenth birthday, she disappeared while searching for potion ingredients in the woods near the village. The boy she was supposed to marry and his family, like many others, believed she was dead. But Nicolas’s grandparents kept watch over the forest, waiting for her to return.

At sunrise, exactly a year and a day later, she reappeared. However, the daughter they remembered was gone. She was alive, but her grip on reality had diminished. She talked to the wind, described creatures no one else could see, and told stories of beautiful people she had met in the forest. Worst of all, at least to her former betrothed’s family, she returned pregnant.

Luckily, the village was magical enough that his birth was considered special, and although Nicolas loved his mother deeply, it was his grandparents who raised him. But he still had a happy childhood. When he turned sixteen, though, she vanished, said to have returned to the forest.

Years later, after his young wife died from an illness no healer could cure, Nicolas left the village to wander. People whispered that he didn’t seem to age, and he had started to notice it himself.

Since he hadn't learned the art of casting a glamour, he decided to follow in Merlin's footsteps, one of his childhood heroes, and aim to understand the deeper meanings of magic.

Along the way, he picked up other skills—working as a potter, a blacksmith, and even serving as a falconer at a minor noble’s court. It was in Aquitaine, at that same court, where the lord’s uncle—a wizard—began teaching him the secrets of alchemy. Nicolas discovered he had a talent for it, and when the old man died, he inherited his entire library, a goldmine of forgotten knowledge.

But once again, he had to leave. People were beginning to notice that he did not age.

Still eager to follow Merlin’s path, Nicolas continued his search for the old magic. Fifty years later, he cursed his luck while drinking at an inn on Cornwall’s coast. The Norman kings ruled most of England at the start of the twelfth century, but not every region welcomed them. Getting caught up in one of their conflicts forced him to find a healer.

On the moors, he found her—or perhaps she found him. The locals spoke of a powerful witch who lived there and often helped those in need.

“The wind told me you would be here today.”

That was the first thing Perenelle—or Petronilla, as she called herself then—ever said to him.

By the late thirteenth century, they had settled near his old home in Brittany, become part of the magical community, and had no desire to leave. Relying heavily on his reputation as an alchemist, Nicolas announced to the magical world that he had created a Philosopher’s Stone.

Pushing away those memories, he began to move. Unexpected laughter from the next room finally stirred him from the comfortable bed.

As he entered the sitting room, a girl he didn’t recognize, dressed in deep green robes, turned to him with a grin. “Nyneve, you were right—he is cute.”

“I know.” His wife smiled brightly.

“It’s a little early to be in your cups, ma chère,” he said, confused and quick to chastise. “Especially in front of a student.”

After living with Perenelle for many centuries, Nicolas could tell she was quite drunk.

“Maybe a little,” Perenelle murmured, squeezing her fingers together. “Wait—it’s morning?”

Both girls glanced at each other and giggled.

“You didn’t go to bed, did you?”

“I did... I mean, sort of,” Perenelle said with a sheepish grin. “But I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.” She gestured toward her unexpected companion. “Look who I found wandering the woods!”

Nicolas nearly jumped when the stranger rolled her eyes and began speaking in the ancient language of Cambric—a tongue Perenelle only used when she was angry with him.

“Who are you?” he whispered, the question startling him as he had spoken it out loud.

“Oh,” the girl smiled, setting down her cup. She stood and gave a slight but graceful curtsey. “I am Morgaine Rheged. It’s an honor to meet such a famed alchemist. My friends would be jealous; most of them have you in their Chocolate Frog card collection.”

“They probably have yours as well,” Perenelle chimed in as she reached for the cup and poured it into her own. “Hecate’s breath, I missed this.”

“Well, thankfully, I won't be running out anytime soon. I have plenty sitting in my wine cellar at home,” the young girl replied playfully.

“It’s only because your husband spoiled you rotten,” Perenelle teased. “Do you know how much it cost back then to have his wife’s favorite wines imported from Iberia?”

Morgaine’s eyes softened, then she huffed in annoyance. “Yes, well... and please, let’s not talk about that stupid card. It’s full of lies and doesn’t look anything like me. Of course, yours is just as bad—Lady of the Lake, lover of Merlin and mother of Lancelot, Nimue.”

His wife made a face and took a long sip from her cup, grumbling.

Nicolas sat down, brow creased, very confused. “Perenelle, what’s going on? Who is she, really? How does she know your old name?”

He watched as the two shared a glance, then the young girl gave a slight nod, as if granting permission.

Clearing her throat, Perenelle sat up and announced, “May I introduce you to Her Majesty Morgaine, sister of King Arthur, aunt of Mordred, and Queen of Rheged.”

For those marked by the fey—or whose veins carried their blood—the use of fairy magic was easy to discern. Morgaine’s, however, was subtler, whispering like autumn wind. She shifted and aged, and the glamour settled into something impossibly real. In less than a breath, the Hogwarts student vanished, replaced by the infamous Sorceress of his childhood tales.

&&&

Morgaine watched amusedly as the great alchemist grimaced. Surrounded by plates of food, with his wife half asleep and curled into the crook of his arm, Nicolas sampled the strong wine Perenelle had been drinking.

“Quite different from modern vintages,” Morgaine chuckled, then thanked the house-elf who had begun clearing the breakfast dishes.

It was early Saturday morning. She didn’t have to attend class. Most of her friends were still asleep, and she’d already sent a message to Madam Pomfrey asking permission to spend the day with her cousin, which, of course, had been granted.

“Does he know?” Morgaine asked softly. “All of it?”

Perenelle gave a small smile, her eyes settling on her husband. “Mostly everything.”

She then pulled a face. “I was never Merlin’s lover or Lancelot’s mother, by the way.”

Nicolas chuckled, then leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I know, ma chère.”

It was after the Battle of Camlann,” Morgaine hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Aurelia, your wife, myself, and a few others traveled to Insula Pomorum to bury my brother and nephew. We were afraid of what the Saxons might do if they recovered the bodies.

“You were one of the three Queens?’ he said to his wife. “And where is Insula Pomorum?”

“Avalon,” Perenelle replied. “And I told you those were just stories. Of the three of us, only Morgaine was considered royalty.”

“So, Avalon is real?”

Morgaine shrugged. “It’s a rock—one step from the fey—in the middle of nowhere, in what’s now called the Irish Sea.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Perenelle said. “It’s a beautiful island. And you know that Chocolate Frog card has one thing right—you’re still considered a Queen.”

“Of what—bugs and birds?” Morgaine muttered. “Anyway, I never claimed the title.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Perenelle replied with a shrug, though Morgaine caught the slight grin on her lips. “Quite a few English kings recognized you as such. A few French monarchs, too. Even the ICW.”

“Still doesn’t make it so,” Morgaine continued. “We returned as soon as we could. There were still too many bodies to bury and wounded to heal. By then, however, most of my brother’s forces had scattered. Only the warriors from Dumnonia, Siluria, and Gwent remained.”

“And Rheged,” Perenelle added.

“The few of us that were left,” Morgaine said sadly. “I sent Aurelia and her husband to lead the civilians west, toward Land’s End. As one of his healers, you went east with Geraint soon after to make sure the Saxons kept running.”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” Perenelle whispered.

“I didn’t want either of you near what was happening in the camps,” Morgaine said. “It was safer. I was exhausted—too tired to protect myself, let alone the two of you. But in the end, I needed to rest. So once the dead were buried, I ordered Owain to take the survivors, the remnants of Rheged, and my brother’s house guard, and follow Aurelia to Land’s End. I planned to meet them afterward.”

“We thought they killed you,” Perenelle murmured. “Others claimed you ran away. And then all that nonsense about you being responsible for Merlin’s disappearance started up again.”

The former Queen gazed out the window.

“Wizards always need someone to blame,” she said with a soft laugh. “And I was conveniently not there to plead my case.”

“Damn wand-wavers,” Perenelle grumbled.

“My wife has always insisted the stories were wrong,” Nicolas said. “But everyone believes you cursed him.”

Morgaine scoffed. “I’m sure they’ve said or written many things over the centuries. Except the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” Nicolas asked.

“That he was tired. And scared. That our world was ending, and he didn’t know how to stop it. That he told me one day he was going to try and fix things—and never came back.”

“He’d be furious if he knew how you’ve been treated,” Perenelle insisted.

Morgaine smiled and nodded. “Afterward, I went into my Sanctuary and slept. I only woke recently—at the end of this summer, in fact.”

“Almost fifteen hundred years,” Nicolas whispered.

“A long time,” Morgaine agreed.

“And now you play schoolgirl,” Perenelle teased.

With a soft chuckle, Morgaine leaned back. “I’m hardly playing,” she said. “Though it’s difficult at times. You’ll laugh, but I’m trying to earn my non-magical certificates. Besides, you of all people know healing has changed quite a bit since my brother's time.”

Nicolas' eyes suddenly went wide. “You were the one who returned the stone to us.”

The two women looked at one another, grinning.

“Took you a moment, love,” Perenelle leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You’re an alchemist, too?” he asked, impressed that she knew the stone was not real. Of course, he thought that was a stupid question; this was Morgan le Fey.

“I’m much better at enchanting, but yes.”

“And a healer.”

“Yes.”

Several things began to fall into place. The woman sitting before him was King Arthur’s sister, the Grande Sorceress of Briton.

Nicolas then said, “There’s the whole mystery of the Pax. Everyone assumed it was something your brother did before his death.”

Morgaine grinned mischievously. “You were there, Nyneve, who signed the contract with the goblins before Camlann?”

“C’est pas vrai!” Perenelle's eyes opened wide in shock. “You did.”

Nicolas Flemell, the famed alchemist, felt his worldview shift suddenly as the two women drifted into other conversations—about the classes Morgaine was taking and the friends she’d made. He was certain there was more to the story, and although they must have spoken half the night, he didn’t press.

“So, you’ll come home to live with us,” Perenelle insisted. “Nic would love to show you his workshop.”

“I don’t mind visiting, but I do own a home in London,” Morgaine said, smiling.

“Then you’ll come with us to France over Beltane.”

Perenelle looked up at her husband. “Morgaine’s probably the only one who remembers the old rituals.”

“My mother was the priestess.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

“No,” Morgaine said, glancing down into her cup.

Perenelle grabbed her hand, eyes beginning to tear. “And you will spend part of your summer holiday with us.”

Her smile softened. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Fleur Delacour stood before her mirror, brushing out the last wave of her silvery-blonde hair. Though she adored Beauxbatons, being home brought a deep sense of relief. The year had been challenging—not because of classes, but because so many of her friends had turned their backs on her.

Snide remarks had followed her through the hallways: too pretty, stealing boyfriends, and crueler things still, all whispered since her first blush of puberty. It hurt, even though she’d known it might happen.

The boys were the worst. She’d quickly learned several curses to keep wandering hands at bay. At first, the attention had been intoxicating—thrilling even—but now it exhausted her.

Like many of her cousins, she could have joined one of the Veela enclaves to study magic. But she refused to hide. Her maman’s stories of school had excited her—she wanted to go to Beauxbatons. She wanted to live beyond the safe havens, to fly free and choose her own path.

Tilting her head, she inspected the delicate braid she’d woven, then nodded with quiet satisfaction. She knew she was pretty. If her so-called friends couldn’t bear it, perhaps they hadn’t been friends in the first place.

Still, it hurt.

Fleur turned from the mirror and glanced at the clock. It was nearly time.

She padded softly down the hall, finding her parents and little sister, Gabrielle, already waiting near the back door. Her maman, Apolline, greeted her with a warm smile.

“Finally! We’re going to be late,” Gabrielle huffed.

“No, we’re not,” Fleur replied, tapping her sister’s nose.

“You look radiant, ma chérie,” Apolline murmured, adjusting the clasp of Fleur’s cloak. “Are you alright?”

“Just a little nervous,” Fleur admitted. “Will there be many people this year?”

“More than usual,” her father, Claude, answered, reassuring her. “But mostly family.”

Fleur nodded. That was good.

“Is everyone ready? Come—we’ll walk through the gardens,” Claude said, opening the door.

“So, we’re not going to Erdeven?” Gabrielle asked, frowning as she pulled her coat tight against the morning chill.

“No,” her father replied. “The celebration will be in the Forêt de Brocéliande, next to a lake. They’ve arranged cabins for everyone.”

In Brittany, nestled deep within the ancient woods, Fleur knew the place was steeped in legend and old magic. The lake was said to be where King Arthur retrieved his sword, and the forest beyond was the home of his sister, the sorceress Morgaine le Fey.

“Very strange,” Fleur murmured, smiling as her sister grabbed her hand.

She’d been told after returning from school that their usual plans had changed. The Flammels had invited her great-aunt—and naturally, that meant the whole family was included.

Nicolas Flammel’s name was known to every magical soul in France. Fleur knew he’d taught Alchemy at Beauxbatons on and off for centuries. She’d even glimpsed his wife, Perenelle, a few times in her childhood while visiting cousins in one of the enclaves.

Veela, like many beings that wizards called non-human, still followed the old traditions. Even so, Beltane was usually a quiet affair—at least with her maman’s side of the family.

“It’s quite the surprise,” Apolline remarked, exchanging a glance with her husband.

“This is far enough. Everyone ready?”

Fleur stepped forward, her fingers tightening around the handle of the portkey—an old, bent fireplace poker. Her parents and sister placed their hands beside hers, and with a final glance around, her father whispered:

“Beltane.”

And then, with a tug behind her navel, the world spun away.

They landed in a mossy clearing, the air thick with the scent of spring wildflowers. To the right stretched a beautiful lake, its surface like glass, reflecting the morning sun. Mist curled along the water’s edge, giving the entire scene a dreamlike quality.

A narrow stone path wound from the clearing toward a grove of birch trees. Fleur and her family stepped forward. Across the water, she could see other figures—and then remembered that Muggles had a small village on the other side.

“Fleur!” a familiar voice squealed, yanking her out of her thoughts.

“Aurélie,” she said with a smile as two arms wrapped around her.

“So, you’re on portkey duty,” Apolline said warmly as the two girls greeted one another.

“Hi, Aunt Apolline, Uncle Claude,” the young Veela replied cheerfully, glancing around. “Yes, as usual, Grandmama put us all to work. Oh—we need to move another group here in a few minutes.”

She stepped back and whispered, “Sandrine and Céline are already here. We’re going to walk around the lake later. I’ll grab you from your cabin when we’re ready.”

Fleur smiled and nodded.

As she handed Claude the cabin key, Aurélie added, “Papa said most of the men are helping set up the field. You’re in cabin F5.”

“Thank you, Aurélie. I imagine your mother’s somewhere around here?”

“Yes, Aunt Apolline. I think she’s with Grandmama.”

“That’s fine,” she replied. “I’ll go find her after we settle in.”

“Who’s that?” Gabrielle suddenly called out, causing everyone to turn.

Three individuals were not far off on the cobblestone path surrounding the lake. Two were an older couple Fleur recognized—the woman was Perenelle Flammel, so the gentleman must be her husband, Nicolas.

But it wasn’t the famous alchemist and his wife who had caught Gabrielle’s attention—it was the third figure, a much younger woman, surrounded by what Fleur first thought were birds.

“Look at all the fairies!” Gabrielle squeaked in excitement.

And it was true. A cloud of fairies surrounded the woman. If you listened closely, you could hear the air filled with their musical voices. The little creatures spoke nonsense, as they always did—but somehow, Fleur sensed the Flammels’ companion could understand them.

They swirled around her once, twice more, like a giggling tornado, then darted off into the forest from where they came.

Meanwhile…

“That was unexpected,” Nicolas chuckled, watching the fairy swarm vanish into the trees.

“When I first met Morgaine, she had twice as many swirling around her,” Perenelle commented, taking her cousin by the arm as they continued their walk.

“They’re all magic and memory,” the former Queen murmured, watching the tiny beings disappear into the woods. “The Forbidden Forest is much like this place—rich with old magic that hasn’t quite faded. They could feel from me what once was.”

Morgaine then grinned. “So, according to the little sign here, this is your lake.”

Perenelle scoffed. “As much as the valley beyond the campground is yours.”

The three laughed as they continued their walk, quietly enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. Morgaine was surprised when she stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the spring break and found herself in a magical forest in Brittany. There was little explanation other than that it was where they were celebrating Beltane.

Of course, Nyneve—or Perenelle, as she was now called—had apparently invited all of Europe to what was supposed to be a small gathering—or rather, a lot of Veelas.

According to Nicolas, they were somehow connected to—or had inspired—the stories of the Romanian spirits known as Vily, which Morgaine wasn’t familiar with. Admittedly, they did have that ethereal beauty her Fae cousins possessed.

Hours later, well after sunset, Morgaine sat with Perenelle and Nicolas in one of the largest cabins, joined by three Veela Elders—two from Romania and one from France, all longtime friends of the Flammels. Around them, young girls moved around, placing plates of small cakes, carafes of coffee, and other drinks on the low table before settling quietly off to the side.

The Elders spoke in soft, melodic tones as they discussed their people's ongoing challenges—restrictive wizarding laws in both countries, the erosion of protections, and internal tensions within the enclaves.

Morgaine listened closely, gradually realizing that Flammels had become more than friends to these women. They were both confidants and counselors between the Veelas and the outside, two with deep knowledge of the magical and political world beyond the enclaves.

One topic, in particular, caught Morgaine’s attention. Perenelle subtly motioned for her to listen as the conversation turned to the ancient protections surrounding the Veela enclaves—wards cast long before Roman times. These enchantments were weakening. It hadn’t happened overnight; the oldest started centuries ago. But now, even the youngest of their numbers were beginning to notice.

The Elders didn’t miss the quiet exchange between Morgaine and Perenelle. All they knew was her name and that she was the Flammels’ cousin. Yet her magic moved around them like whispers in the wind. It didn’t press against theirs like most wand-wavers, whose power often felt cold and commanding. Morgaine’s magic was warm, gentle, and ancient—like the surrounding forest.

The youngest, Ysabeau, leaned forward. “You are their cousin, yes?”

Morgaine offered a small, knowing smile. “We are.”

The second Elder, Thalassa, tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharp. “Why do you feel familiar? Like our oldest friends… but you are not what you seem.”

Morgaine glanced at Perenelle, who raised an eyebrow in quiet amusement.

The third, the eldest Maëlle, youthful in appearance and with a thick but elegant Romanian accent, looked between the three of them. “No, your magic doesn’t feel like theirs. It’s warm, yes—but it’s old. Like the Forêt de Brocéliande. Even the fairies acknowledged your arrival.”

Morgaine leaned back, thoughtful. These Veela reminded her of her Fae cousins—perhaps they were descendants of those who had remained behind, who married mortals and slowly lost pieces of who they once were.

Maëlle tapped her fingers softly against the table. “You’re not Veela. But you carry something of us.”

The former Queen of Rheged smiled. “Well, I won’t say no to having more family.”

That seemed to please Ysabeau. “Perenelle told us you know the rituals.”

“Not for Mărțișor, unfortunately, but I am willing to learn,” Morgaine replied as she had no experience with the Romanian celebration. “But I know the spring rites for Brigantia, Coventina, and Flora.”

Thalassa gestured to one of the young girls nearby, who began collecting the empty plates. “Old names. Old gods. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a priestess lead us.”

“That was my mother,” Morgaine said, her voice softening. “But of all her daughters, she insisted I learn the sacred rituals.”

She leaned forward slightly. “Now, tell me more about these failing protections.”

Ysabeau nodded. “They shield us from the outside world. Those who bear us no ill will may find us. Those who do… forget the enclave's location. We’ve studied the magic for centuries. We know it’s there—we feel it—but we don’t understand it. Goblin wardmasters have examined it and found nothing. It’s not a combination of charms. It’s not a charm at all. It’s not even wizarding magic.”

Morgaine turned to Perenelle and spoke in Cambric. “I assume you’ve looked.”

“I have,” Perenelle replied in the same language. “I was the one who told them it wasn’t wizarding magic. But neither my husband nor I share your lineage, my dearest cousin. The magic feels familiar to the tongue, but I am just as ignorant of its nature. Would you be willing to look?”

The Elders didn’t miss the exchange; their interest was clearly piqued.

Morgaine started asking more direct questions. Eventually, the Elders had to bring in a man and his wife, both of whom worked closely with a goblin wardmaster. The conversation began slowly but soon delved into more and more detail, beyond what anyone in the room could understand.

For the first time in years, the Veela Elders felt something they hadn’t dared to feel: hope.

The next morning, the campsite buzzed with activity. Fleur, her sister Gabrielle, and a handful of their cousins sat on the field, watching the men and teenage boys ferry large piles of wood for the bonfires—the first of which would be lit at sundown.

Some would sit vigil all night, but most would go to bed and rise well before sunrise, when the rest of the bonfires were lit and Beltane and Mărțișor officially began.

Already, Fleur could tell this celebration was different. Her Romanian cousins walked around wearing Mărțișoare—pieces of red and white string tied to small trinkets. Much to everyone’s amusement, Céline kept fiddling with a small brooch given to her by a boy from another family who clearly liked her.

But Fleur and her French cousins weren’t left out. After dinner, Gabrielle and the other young children would dress in white and dance around the Maypole. When the sun finally set, Fleur and the other teenage girls would replace them. She wasn’t quite old enough to dance with the unmarried women and men during the Beltane rites, but she didn’t mind.

While all that was happening, the families would gather for a great feast, filled with music and stories.

“So, she’s a priestess?” one of the girls asked.

Aurélie, who had been in the room when Morgaine met with the Veela Elders, nodded. “You know, I can’t tell you anything else, but yes.”

Every young Veela eventually worked with the enclave Elders, especially those interested in politics. Aurélie, Ysabeau’s granddaughter, had no desire to do so but was instead volunteered. But one thing you never did—unless told otherwise—was speak of what went on behind closed doors. Many chatty Veelas had found themselves assigned the worst tasks around the enclave after such incidents.

The knowledge that Morgaine was the priestess leading the Beltane celebration, however, was allowed to spread.

“The fairies liked her,” Gabrielle giggled.

“I heard from maman that she’s the Flammels’ cousin?” Céline asked. “Do you know if she went to Beauxbatons?”

“I don’t think she’s French,” Aurélie replied thoughtfully. “But I’m not sure.”

“She’s young,” Fleur pointed out. “I think she’s kind of like the Flammels, maybe. It’s hard to say.”

“Her magic’s warm, though,” Aurélie added with a smile.

“Warm?” another girl echoed.

Fleur and her cousin simply smiled and nodded. They had met Morgaine on the way to the festival field and chatted with her for a few minutes. There was something about her—something kind but also quite powerful.

A voice called to them from across the field, and they all turned. Reluctantly, they stood and followed. There were still plenty of things to do before the celebration began.

Chapter Text

Although the Beltane celebration had officially ended days ago, most Veela families lingered, reluctant to leave the warmth of old magic.

Morgaine, too, was unwilling to return to Britain. She and Perenelle had slipped easily into familiar rhythms of long ago. The only absence was sweet Aurelia—her presence would have made it feel like before. Although a powerful healer, as expected, she had passed long ago.

Eventually, Morgaine began asking after other friends, enemies, and those lost to time, but she kept avoiding the one name she most longed to hear.

“My daughter was happy, wasn’t she?” she whispered at last, settling beside Perenelle beneath the stars on the banks of Nimue’s lake.

Although not Faeborn, Morgaine’s blood carried the long-lived heritage of both her mother’s and father’s lines—from courts older than Camelot and even Rome. She sensed something was wrong when Helene never mentioned meeting her.

“I believe so,” Perenelle murmured, reaching over to take her hand. Their fingers intertwined.

“As you know, after the battle,” she continued, “I lost track of most of us. Your daughter stayed in the north with her husband’s family. I only found out where she’d gone about twenty-five years later.”

She had found Livia’s family—only to discover she’d passed a year before, leaving behind a husband, a son, and two daughters. The same fever had taken another one of her children and swept through the magical enclaves like a raging dragon.

“The Saxon wizards made things tough for most of us,” Perenelle said. “I spent years wandering, helping where I could. Worse still, many of the old paths were closing. I even had to learn how to Apparate.”

She’d been astonished to learn Morgaine could still walk those ancient Fae paths. But then again, she was Morgaine—Queen of Avalon.

“And you being a member of my healer’s court didn’t help,” Morgaine said somewhat guiltily.

Perenelle waved the thought away with a flick of her fingers, then smiled. “I never cared what wand-wavers thought. And really, when did we not have trouble with some of the Roman families? But the Pax... that made things harder for them.”

“I was surprised when Ragnok told me,” Morgaine said. “Who would have thought the contract signed before Camlann would still hold power after all these centuries? And not simply end when I fell asleep.”

“Breuddwydion returned too,” Perenelle added.

Morgaine smiled as her familiar curled into her lap. “Apparently, I never truly crossed over.”

“Unlike your mother,” Perenelle said, her voice warm.

Morgaine nodded. “Still, I don’t understand what fate has in store for me. Or how it came to be.”

“My dear cousin, both your grandmothers were powerful enchantresses—ancient lines than go back to Queen Elphame and Nicnevin. You carry the summer and winter courts in your blood. How could you not be marked?” Perenelle pointed out. “Nicolas feels it, even if he doesn’t understand. The Veela do too.”

Morgaine closed her eyes. The legacy of Seelie and Unseelie courts had allowed her to walk the Sorceress path, but it had also brought its own unique burdens.

Perenelle leaned in closer, whispering. “Is this whole ‘Girl Who Lived’ going to cause you trouble? That name’s made its way to France, though not with the same fervor as in England.”

“For me? No,” Morgaine grinned. “For others? Most assuredly. Is it going to cause issues for you?”

“Ah, yes. Poor Albus,” Perenelle chuckled softly. “Did you know he asked Nicolas if he could see what happened to you—well, her? But even if you weren’t sitting before me, I doubt he’d find anything.”

“Oh.”

“Truly, your magic feels no different than before,” she said, then paused, thoughtful. “No, that’s not quite right. We were so tired at the end, but Aurelia and I knew you were trying to keep the world from falling apart.”

“And now?”

Perenelle smiled. “Rejuvenated. Like when we were young—smelling of fire and ice.”

Morgaine pouted, revealing her age. “Hecate, give me strength. I hope not. Do you remember that Redcap who kept leaving me bloody heads?”

Perenelle stared, then burst into laughter, tears running down her cheeks. “Oh gods, I forgot about that. Come on, it was just an offering for someone he respected.”

“I was ten,” Morgaine crossed her arms. “Mother wasn’t impressed.”

“She’s too light. She’d adore the Veela, though,” Perenelle nodded. “But your father’s mother—if I remember—approved. Gods above, she was terrifying.”

“I miss all of them,” Morgaine whispered, leaning back, drawing warmth from her cousin’s presence.

They sat in silence, watching the stars. Then Morgaine turned, her voice soft. “Thank you for staying, Nyneve. For not joining your family in the Fae Realm.”

“You’re welcome, My Queen.”

Though the two longed to remain together, Morgaine’s holiday was coming to an end. She needed to return, as much as she wanted to wander. For similar reasons, Perenelle and Nicolas had gone through Beauxbatons under glamour, allowing them to blend more easily with the current magical community.

Her cousin had her own responsibilities too—chief among them, learning as much as possible about the magic protecting the Veela enclave before summer. And honestly, if Morgaine wanted to meet, a quick jump across the channel was well within her power.

A few days later, she left Brittany and returned to England. When she arrived, it was still early, and Gringotts’ side entrance kept her arrival discreet. As Morgaine crossed the bank’s threshold, her glamour fading, the goblin guards nodded in recognition. She continued on, needing no escort.

Clan Chief Ragnok met her in his private office. A tea service, filled with her favorite food, was already waiting.

They spoke of Beltane, the Flamels, and the Veela—before Morgaine brought up something else.

“So,” she began, settling into the high-backed chair, looking more like a Queen than an eleven-year-old witch. “You knew of Nyneve and knew of Perenelle, but never connected the two?”

Ragnok’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “According to our records, Nyneve of Avalon disappeared about a century after Hogwarts was founded. Perenelle doesn’t appear until three hundred years later, when she opened an account in Paris. She was recognized as a Healer, so she fell under the Pax.”

“And Nicolas?” Morgaine asked, lifting her cup.

“We knew they were both Faeborn. She could have been someone else entirely. But Nicolas initially used his old family name, so we ensured the records showed him as a descendant. It was... safer.”

“She told me the Anglo-Saxon wizards were still giving her trouble,” Morgaine said, reaching for a small scone. “After William became king, things improved slightly. Not long after, she met her husband. By then, those who remembered Nyneve had long since died out. But even so, she doesn’t plan on changing her name.”

Ragnok nodded slowly. “We assumed she had returned to the Fae Realm.”

“Nyneve followed her husband,” Morgaine gave a slight shrug. “She no longer felt welcomed. Too many memories. Old hurts that couldn’t be forgotten.”

She leaned back. “Can you tell me what the goblins know of the Veela enclave’s protections?”

Ragnok nodded and signaled to a guard. A few minutes later, an older goblin stepped in, carrying a folder thick with documents.

“Director, do you have questions about the Veela enclave?” he asked.

“I do, Wardmaster,” Morgaine replied. “Can you tell me what you know about them, if possible?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, handing her the folder. “There are some we recognize—new wards established in the last century, others which date back to the Merovingians. But the real enchantments are much older, ancient even. We weren’t aware of them until Perenelle Flamel pointed them out.”

“Nicolas and Perenelle are going to do some more research for me, and this summer,” Morgaine said, flipping through the folder, “I plan to walk the perimeter myself.”

“If you need Gringotts’ assistance, please let me know,” Ragnok offered.

“Thank you.”

Time slipped by until Morgaine realized she needed to meet Broadax in the lobby. Because of her significant contribution to Saint Mungo’s, the Healers were considering purchasing a place in Knockturn Alley to expand their services across the enclave.

Unfortunately, there had been heated debates about the cost of such a place, so instead, Morgaine decided to buy a building for Saint Mungo’s and either donate it (which the goblins disapproved of) or give them access.

&&&

Like her sisters, Black Daisy stood at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, behind her cart stacked with meat pies, watching wand-wavers drift in and out. Most kept their distance. A few nodded in greeting. Still, no one stopped to buy her pies—especially with the rumors that they contained human flesh. Which, of course, was ridiculous. If that were true, the Aurors would’ve tossed her and her sisters into a cell long ago.

The five earned a modest living selling their wares and keeping watch—especially for those who didn’t belong or had gotten lost, Muggleborns and their parents most of all. The three entrances to the older parts of the enclave were prime spots for pie sales, and residents often grabbed one as a quick meal before or after work. They weren’t made from the finest cuts but were cheap, hot, and filling.

“Welken dawes, Daisy,” said a small woman in heavy midnight-blue robes.

“Morning, Emelye. What can I do for you today?”

A pale hand emerged from the folds of fabric, dropping a handful of coins onto the plate. “Four meat ones for Evan—the Full Flower Moon’s not far off. And let’s see... one pork for me, please.”

They paused as a goblin and a dark-haired woman passed the cart.

Daisy’s eyes widened. The goblin was dressed smartly—odd, considering a bank manager rarely came through unescorted. And the woman’s robes shimmered faintly, though Daisy suspected she might be the only one who noticed.

Emelye frowned, following her gaze. “Do you know them?”

“No,” Daisy murmured, wrapping the pies in wax paper and slipping them into a cloth satchel. “But she felt familiar for a moment. Probably just my imagination. Here you go, love. Tell Evan not to let them get cold.”

“Like that’s ever an issue,” Emelye chuckled, still watching the pair as she tucked the satchel into her robes. “He’s been restless. Dreams again. Said he saw the moon bleeding.”

Daisy snorted. “He reads too much. But then again, he’s a bookseller.”

“Perhaps,” Emelye replied. “If you hear anything about those two, let me know.”

Daisy nodded, her fingers brushing the iron nails hammered into the cart’s frame. “Aye. And give your husband my best.”

Emelye gave a slight bow, then slipped into the crowd, merging with the shadows like smoke.

Daisy turned back to her cart, adjusting the pies and brushing crumbs from the counter—but her eyes lingered on the pair as they disappeared into the enclave.

Emelye moved through the crowd like a shadow. She felt the woman’s power wash over her like a blast of winter. Daisy had sensed it too, though she wouldn’t have understood. The Hags of today were pale echoes of those in the old stories.

But Emelye knew. Her mother had been a leannán sídhe—a dark muse of the Unseelie court, known for inspiring brilliance and madness. Her father, a young poet-soldier from Cornwall, had wandered too far into the moors searching for old stories when he met her.

The two lived together briefly, hidden among the heather, until the Great War called him to France. Like so many, he promised to return—but never did, leaving behind a child who was half-mortal and half-fae.

Though the sun had risen, she wasn’t fond of it, so she remained in the darker corners of the enclave, where shadows still lingered. Her bookstore, The Hollow Page, was tucked between a long-closed apothecary and a shop that sold second-hand robes.

“Breakfast, love,” she called out, placing the satchel on the back table before flipping the store’s sign to open.

“I will say,” her husband replied between bites, setting down a cup of tea for her. “As much as I loved Hogwarts food, there’s nothing better than Daisy’s meat pies.”

“Lyle Avery will be by before lunch,” she reminded him.

“Joy.”

Neither was particularly excited about dealing with families like the Averys, but they couldn’t refuse—they owned the building.

“And I’d not forgotten. His books under the counter,” Evan said, wiping his hands on a stained apron. “Nasty bit of work.”

Emelye nodded. She knew Evan would head upstairs once the wizard arrived. The wand-waver barely tolerated her and was openly hostile toward him. Evan was brilliant, kind, and cursed—forced to live in the darker alleys of the enclave. Even his own family had disowned him. She couldn’t forgive the wand-wavers for how they treated her sweet husband.

“I watched the impossible enter the Alley today,” she murmured.

“Oh?”

She sat quietly, her pork pie forgotten, staring into the still liquid in her teacup.

“She was wrapped in glamour,” Emelye said at last, her voice almost at a whisper. “Shimmering around her like frost on the moors. I saw it for only a heartbeat, but it took my breath away.”

Evan looked up, brow furrowed. “Do you know who it was?”

“No,” she said. “But it felt like I was standing before my mother again. Only... more.”

She moved to the window, watching the alley beyond. “You never met her. My mother didn’t remain in my life long, but you would never forget her presence.”

Evan joined her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re trembling. Is she some sort of Dark Lady? Are we in danger?”

Her laughter filled the shop. She reached up and cupped his cheek. “I’m not afraid. I’m in awe. No, my love—she’s not one of your so-called Dark Lords.”

Smiling, she returned to her seat and resumed eating. “I’m going to invite Marigold to tea. Perhaps something in the wind can tell us more.”

Evan nodded. If Emelye weren’t concerned, he wouldn’t push. But he wouldn’t hesitate to reach out to his mates. Those who lived in the alley looked out for each other.