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Chapter Text

A cloaked figure walked down the street in Gordic’s Hollow, his robes swishing in the breeze and a smirk playing on his lips. Tom Riddle was a handsome man. He had pale skin and chocolate coloured hair. The only thing that gave away his connection to magic were the crimson eyes flashing through the darkness.

Tom Riddle was very happy. A certain simpering rat had ‘let slip’ the Potters’ location earlier in the week, and Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort or You-Know-Who, had been waiting for the right moment to strike. It just so happened that the right moment had finally arrived.

His spy had told him of a prophecy about a child destined to be his downfall and the candidates consisted of the Potter twins and the Longbottom boy. The Longbottoms weren’t known for being magically strong, which made it likely that their son wouldn’t have the power to defeat him. However, the Potters were known for being an old line, directly descended from Godric Gryffindor. One of the twins would be incredibly magical, perhaps even more so than himself, and he couldn’t allow the child to live.

He was brought out of his thoughts when a small child dressed as a ghost ran up to him excitedly.

“Nice costume, Mister!”

Voldemort sneered at the boy but avoided killing him as he ran away, down the street. If he was right - and he often was - he would need to save his energy for later.

He continued on down towards the house he now knew was the Potters’. The gate to the garden swung open with a small creak as he pulled his wand from inside his robes. Then, with a loud bang, he blew the front door off its hinges. A high-pitched scream echoed from inside alongside a deeper voice telling the woman to take the children and hide.

Only seconds later, James Potter burst into the hallway, wand in hand and a fierce expression on his face. Without a second thought, Voldemort blasted him into the wall with a stunning spell and started to ascend the stairs.

At the end of the upstairs hall, he was faced with a locked door. The sound of a child crying seeped around the edges of the door. He smirked inwardly. This was it. He was so close to victory.

Lord Voldemort sent a non-verbal unlocking spell at the door knob and turned the handle. The oak door opened silently and an immediate hush fell upon the wailing child as the red haired woman looked up from the cribs in hope. Her expression turned to fear when she realised that the person standing in the doorway was not her husband.

“Please don’t hurt them,” she pleaded, moving in front of her children. “I’ll do anything, just please don’t hurt them.”

The crimson-eyed man laughed. It was an eerie sound, high and cruel and filled with malice. “Get out of the way, woman.”

“No. Please, no. Take me instead. Don’t hurt them, please.” Tears were streaming down her face.

Voldemort snarled and sent a non-verbal stunning spell her way and Lily Potter fell to the ground, unconscious.

He turned to the children in the cots.

The one that was crying previously had jet-black hair and emerald green eyes. The child on the right looked almost the same. Her hair was slightly more glossy and her eyes were brighter. She stared back at him as he swept his crimson eyes over her face, regarding him in a sort of cold silence; something that seemed unnatural for a child of her age.

Lord Voldemort glanced down at the cots again. Rose… and Ivy, the quiet one.

The loud brat seemed far too normal to be the one to defeat the Dark Lord… so he’d kill the other brat first. Of course, he’d kill the loud one after simply to make a statement.

As Tom Riddle slowly raised his bone-white wand to point it at Ivy, she tilted her head to one side and let out a giggle. She was laughing. At him.

Rage filled Voldemort. He sneered at the baby before whispering the words of the killing curse, expecting to see her drop dead as the beam of green light struck her in the chest. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for it to rebound and hit him, leaving nothing more than a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on her forehead.

The incorporeal form of Lord Voldemort was forced to watch as the energy released caused the window to shatter. A small piece of glass came flying towards Rose and hit her in the chest. A small cut in the shape of a ‘V’ was carved over her heart.

Voldemort screamed as he fled Godric’s Hollow.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Albus Dumbledore came rushing up the stairs ten minutes later, wand in hand. James Potter was following him, having just been woken up from the stunning spell.

Upon entering the room, they found Lily lying unconscious on the floor and the twins still sat in the cribs, one crying and the other still silent. James panicked at the sight of his motionless wife and ran over to her immediately to wake her up.

The headmaster of Hogwarts, however, was far more interested in the fact that both children were still alive after encountering Voldemort. He walked slowly towards the children and Rose stopped crying as she noticed the white-haired man standing in front of her.

Dumbledore surveyed the twin children. Ivy seemed untouched and was as silent as ever, while Rose had been crying and had a visible cut over her heart. He narrowed his eyes. Lord Voldemort was gone and Rose had a mark in the shape of a ‘V’. Surely…

“Are they okay?!” Lily cried from behind him as she sat up in shock.

The elderly wizard turned around to face her with a calm smile on his face. “Please relax, my dear girl. Rose and Ivy are fine; better, in fact!” His eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Rose has defeated Lord Voldemort.”

The couple’s eyes widened almost comically.

“What- What do you mean?” the red-haired woman whispered.

Albus Dumbledore stretched out a hand and helped her to her feet before picking up the louder child and handing her to Lily. “Lord Voldemort sent the killing curse at Rose but it must have rebounded and hit him instead, leaving a mark in the shape of the first letter of the name he gave himself.”

James looked at the older man, confused. “So?”

“So,” Dumbledore continued, “By attempting to kill Rose, Lord Voldemort marked her as his equal; the one destined to defeat him.”

“Wait!” Lily cut him off. “So he’s not dead?”

The white-haired man sighed. “Unfortunately not. He will return one day to try and kill Rose, which means she must be trained to face her destiny.”

Lily looked at him, her shock echoed across her face. “That will use up so much time with Rose. What about Ivy? She needs time with us too.”

Dumbledore’s face fell. “I’m sorry but the best way to keep both children safe would be to send Ivy away. She will be better off somewhere else… perhaps with your sister. She will understand when she’s older that this was for the best. You can collect her when her Hogwarts letter arrives.”

Lily started sobbing as she clutched the child in her arms. James looked down at the toddler still in the crib before reaching an arm around his wife. “You heard Dumbledore… It’s for the best, honey.”

Lily nodded silently, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Albus Dumbledore never saw the scar on Ivy’s forehead.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Albus took one last look at the sleeping child on the doorstep.

He had placed a letter of explanation in the blankets in the hope that Petunia Dursley would understand.

He nodded to himself before walking down to the end of the street and into the shadow of a large tree, where he promptly disapparated in a swirl of his colourful robes.

The stars were still twinkling in the night sky half an hour later when another figure appeared on Privet Drive. However, this man didn’t apparate; he had come from the past.

Chapter Text

Coincidentally, this new man looked quite similar to the last. He had a white beard, though it was shorter and his eyes were bright green instead of blue. He wore shorter robes that looked far more suitable for gardening.

His name was Merlin.

As Merlin strode down Privet Drive, it became clear that he was looking for something - or more specifically, someone.

When he approached No. 4, he looked down at the doorstep and frowned at the sleeping child. Merlin shook his head. “Another mistake, Dumbledore. This should not have happened,” he muttered to himself.

Then he stooped down and picked up the bundle of blankets. “Another mistake that I’ll have to fix.”

Cradling the child, Merlin waved his hand over his face and promptly disappeared.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Godric Gryffindor grabbed another bottle of wine from the shelf and headed into the room next to his.

“I have more!” He exclaimed and three other people rushed towards him, holding up empty glasses.

Godric chuckled and poured some of the red alcohol into his friends’ glasses before reaching for a glass himself and filling it.

His wife, Helga Hufflepuff leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips. Her mustard yellow robes brushed against his crimson ones.

“Are we expecting Merlin tonight, honey?” She asked after another sip of her drink.

Godric hummed. “I’m not sure, darling. He only said he would see us soon, though whether that be today or tomorrow, I don’t know.”

Helga sighed lightly before smiling and grabbing his hand. “Let us go enjoy the party, at least. Another school year is over, we deserve-“

She was cut off when a flurry of robes in the center of the room alerted the four adults to a new figure arriving.

Merlin stood with a solemn expression on his face and a bundle of cloth held in his arms.

Salazar grinned. “Merlin! You did not tell us you were coming to the party. Come, we have wine.”

Merlin shook his head and extended the blankets in front of him slightly.

Rowena Ravenclaw gasped when she realised what he was holding. “A baby!?” She exclaimed. “Where on earth did you find her?”

“Awwww. She’s adorable!” Helga cooed.

Merlin chuckled before a dark look came over his face. “Her parents left her because they assumed her twin had been the one to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort.”

Salazar raised an eyebrow. “Assumed? Do you mean to say that the twin was not the one to banish moldywart?”

Godric snickered and Merlin sighed. “Unfortunately, this one was the one to do it.” He lifted up the dark fringe to reveal a lightning bolt-shaped scar on the child’s forehead. “This curse scar was left after she was hit by the killing curse. My guess is that the twin was hit by something sharp after the initial impact and they only saw that cut.” He sighed. “This could be the biggest mistake Albus Dumbledore will make and we must correct that.”

Rowena grinned. “Could we take her in?”

Merlin smiled back at her. “That is exactly what I intended. I would like you four to raise Ivy Potter as your own. We also must start training her as soon as her magical core is stable enough, which based on the size it is already, should be relatively soon.”

Godric nodded. “Will you be around to help?”

Merlin smiled. “Of course, old friend. Once she is able to start using magic, I will teach her the more complicated parts as well as magical theory.”

Salazar reached out and took the sleeping child in his arms. At the movement, Ivy woke up and opened her shockingly green eyes. Salazar grinned. “She has my house colour eyes.”

Godric rolled his eyes.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Merlin had been correct in his assumption that her magical core would stabilise faster than a normal witch or wizard.

Most children would show their first accidental magic between the age of eight and ten years old. Ivy’s first accidental magic was about a month before she turned five.

She had been sitting in a chair at the table with the founders when, reaching out her hands, Godric’s plate disappeared from in front of him and landed in Ivy’s palms. He spat out the bite of plum pudding that was in his mouth in shock and Helga, appalled at his manners, slapped him lightly on the arm.

Ivy just giggled when four shocked faces turned to stare at her. She held up the plate and said, “More food!”

Merlin was due to have dinner with them the next night and that was when the incident was mentioned. He didn’t seem too surprised and merely stated that he had been expecting something like that to happen relatively soon based on her core growth rate so far.

Rowena had berated him for not warning them, insisting that they should have been warned and were lucky that nothing worse had happened. Then Merlin reminded her that as Ivy’s core wasn’t fully developed, it couldn’t have gotten bad enough to cause anyone any harm.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ivy’s training started the day after her fifth birthday.

The founders were often busy teaching their regular classes during the school year but had worked out a schedule for Ivy’s lessons during their free time.

Rowena taught her Magical Theory, Transfiguration and Charms. Helga taught Herbology, Healing and gave lessons on magical creatures. Godric taught Offensive Spells and Defensive spells, as well as dueling using them, and Salazar taught Potion making, Occlumency and Legilimency.

The latter was harsher in lessons and required excellence constantly; yet he managed to bond with the young witch the most. They had come back from an Occlumency lesson one day with smiles on their faces and since then, Ivy had been closest to him out of the four.

The four founders had also decided that she needed to know how to speak like the people of her time, so they had altered their way of speech when around her to help — though they hadn’t told her why. They had, however, told her that she could only use that way of speaking around them and Merlin as the other children attending the school wouldn’t understand.

Ivy had been allowed to interact with the older students as soon as she knew the layout of the castle (including some of the many secret passageways). Because she spent time walking around with them and sitting in the back of their lessons, most of the students knew her very well and treated her like a younger sister.

Merlin had only started teaching her after she reached the age of eight and had a decent understanding of how most magic worked and was performed. The lessons were private but he had told the four founders that he would be teaching her more complex magic in all areas as she was powerful enough to do the sort of spells only Merlin could.

One of the first things Merlin noticed during their lessons was how fast Ivy seemed to grasp the theory and work of the spells he was teaching her, getting most things in the first few tries. She had moved on quickly and committed all of the wand work to memory.

After a year, Merlin had taken her wand away in her lessons and had made her relearn everything wandless. As that had only taken a few months, Ivy was next told to make sure she could do her spells non-verbally. After making sure she could apparate and disapparate safely, he had then taken to teaching her things no one else knew, such as time and space travel with only a wand. They had practiced by going back in time a few years to some other place and leaving notes for the residents of the houses they visited.

The result of the extensive training was that Ivy was one of the most powerful witches in the world by the time she was nine and a half. The other thing that had changed during her training was how often Merlin came round for dinner (almost everyday).

Salazar was also by far the favourite of the young girl and they spent hours brewing together and talking. A name for Ivy had come about at some point and she was often referred to as ‘little snake’ by him.

However, as time passed, the five adults realised that they would have to tell her about her past and destiny. They had resolved to do this on her tenth birthday.

On the morning of Ivy’s birthday, the head of Slytherin house gently shook her awake.

“Come, little snake. We must speak to you in the office.”

“Why, Salazar?”

He smiled at her. “It is important, little snake. Hurry,” he said before walking out of the room.

After putting on her day-clothes and combing out her hair, Ivy apparated into the office where the founders and Merlin were waiting patiently for her.

“Ah. Come and sit, child,” Merlin called to her.

Hesitantly, she walked forward and sat in the chair in front of the adults.

“What’s wrong?” She asked slowly.

Godric sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You have lived with us since you were a baby, Ivy. You know we aren’t your parents but it is high time you knew where you came from.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes. “I’m not from this time… am I?”

Chapter Text

Merlin furrowed his eyebrows. “I- how… yes… how did you find out?”

Ivy shrugged. “None of you are closely related to me,” she turned to Merlin. “You taught me how to time travel and you all speak differently around me.”

Salazar grinned and looked over at Godric. “Heh, I told you she would be smarter than you.”

Godric glared at him and Rowena whacked the back of his head playfully.

Merlin shook his head tiredly. “So, now that you have figured that out, it is time to tell you why we called for you. I will not beat around the bush. You must go back.”

She frowned. “Why? Am I too old?”

Helena leant over and gave her a hug. “No. Not because you are too old, Ivy. Because you have a right to know.”

Ivy nodded slowly. “Will I be able to come back?

Rowena smiled at the younger witch. “You will always be welcome to come back. Your parents will think you missing if you do not go to Hogwarts in your time, however.”

“So how… how long do I have before I have to go?”

Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly. “You must return by daybreak on your eleventh birthday.”

Ivy let her shoulders sag as tears started to pour down her cheeks. Salazar sighed and brought her in for a hug. Ivy relaxed slightly and wrapped her arms around his neck as she sobbed.

‘If I have to go in only a year,’ Ivy thought to herself, ‘Then I’ll just have to make this the best year yet!’

OoOoOoOoOo

Over the next few months, Ivy rounded off the finer details of the Hogwarts curriculum. She finished her NEWTs with full marks on each subject and moved on to further advanced magic.

The students, after learning of her situation, spent every possible moment with the young witch. Ivy was in one of the four common rooms almost every evening, playing games with her friends. Either that or she was out on the quidditch pitch.

Merlin had taken her forward in time for her ninth birthday to see a ‘quidditch match’. None of the four founders had heard of the game before but after Ivy came back sporting a wide grin and tons of merchandise, they set a pitch up in the Hogwarts grounds and started to teach the students how to play.

Ever since then, Ivy had been out on the pitch for at least ten hours a week. Nothing anyone else said could stop her. Merlin had told her that a new broom had come out recently in her time and she would be allowed to get it when she moved to the future.

As a parting gift to Ivy, the five adults had decided that they were going to give her access to their bank vaults and any important artefacts that might manage to make it to the future. She was informed that she would be able to spend as much of the money as she wanted – seeing as there would be no one else to spend it – but to not use it all up in one go. Ivy huffed and told them she wasn’t that immature to which the five exchanged a sceptical look.

oOoOoOoOoOo

They apparated just outside 4 Privet Drive in 1991. Merlin wrinkled his nose.

“Never liked the smell of the 90s. Well, Ivy, in there are your uncle, Vernon; aunt, Petunia; and cousin, Dudley, all with an edited memory so that they now believe you have lived with them for ten years. You should receive your Hogwarts letter in a few short days. Good luck,” he said, clapping her on the back, and before she could turn around and say thank you, he had disapparated.

She knocked on the door, timidly, and waited. The person who she took to be her Aunt Petunia, opened the door, with a sour look on her face.

“What took you so long, Ivy?”

She shrugged, sheepishly.

As it turned out, the Dursleys were a selection of three of the worst people Ivy had ever met.

Aunt Petunia was her mother’s sister, she was very thin, tall, and had a very long neck, which was apparently good for spying on her neighbours. Uncle Vernon, conversely, was a man with a short and wide body shape, with no neck, and a moustache he valued above his life. When he got angry, his face became a dark, vibrant purple, and what was visible of his neck became hidden. Their son, Dudley, was hardly any better. He was a year older than her, and, for lack of a better word, really, really fat. He was roughly the size of a small killer whale on steroids, by her estimates.

It seemed as though when modifying their memories, Merlin had forgotten to make them positive, since they all displayed intense disliking towards her at all times, while the parents doted on Dudley. They were aware of magic, and hated it.

At one point, Dudley shoved her into a door frame in order to get into the kitchen first, and when the Dursleys heard, they blamed Ivy for pushing Dudley, despite the clearly visible marks on her left arm.

Because of this, she was not at all sad to leave them when her Hogwarts letter finally arrived. She was just about to tear it open, when Vernon saw it, and, snatching it out of her hands, saw who it was for, and promptly threw it into the fireplace. She went up to her room, in tears, and fully believing that she would never go to Hogwarts again, when, after only eight minutes had elapsed, an owl flew through her window, and threw an identical letter onto her lap.

After that, there was fortunately nothing the Dursleys could do to stop her from going to Hogwarts. She had read the letter, and had written a reply back before Vernon could come up the stairs and ask what the heck all that racket was, with a few more choice words. Unfortunately, they still had the power to make her life a living hell. She was given even less food than usual, and Dudley was being fed even more, which she was fairly certain was going to be pretty horrific for his later life.

Finally, when it appeared that the school had snuffed that the Dursleys had no interest in helping her get any magical supplies, a half-giant called Hagrid turned up at the house, much to the displeasure of three of its four residents.

“Hello, hello!” he said, beaming down at Ivy when she opened the door, and just about giving her a heart attack.

When faced with this enormous man, the Dursleys all had slightly different responses. Uncle Vernon pulled out a rifle he kept under his bed for safekeeping, which Hagrid promptly bent into the shape of a banana. Aunt Petunia attempted to make him go away, which, when it became apparent would not work, was replaced with squeals and hiding behind the sofa. Dudley told him to take his parents first. None of them had any complaints when he walked out, with Ivy following suit.

“Who are you?” she asked, as they made their way to a safe spot to apparate.

“Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts. You’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.”

Ivy nodded.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hagrid tapped the brick wall before them with a pink umbrella that she took to be a hidden wand just as she was exiting through the back of the leaky cauldron. She scratched her forehead absent-mindedly, feeling the shape of the lightning bolt scar marked into it, as though with some great physical force. Maybe she could finally find out about its origins. Her attention was drawn back to Hagrid when the bricks started interlocking, and moving apart to reveal a long, thin street.

Diagon Alley must have changed a lot more than she thought.

The shops were rather different to how she remembered them. There was a Quidditch store, called ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’, that sold broomsticks, quaffles, and so on. It occurred to her that the broom being shown first and foremost was no longer the Nimbus Two Thousand that she was familiar with from this time period, but a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Because of course it was. It wasn’t as if it had only been twelve months or anything. Beside it, as ever, stood Ollivander’s, the brilliant wandmaker that must have been around for considerably longer now. Her eyes wandered to a small shop with a sign that said ‘Daily Prophet’. Probably a newspaper with that sort of a name. Her eyes spun around to the other side of the street, where there now stood Madam Malkin’s robes for all occasions, Flourish and Blotts, a shop with a long line that she was told was a bookshop, and an Ice Cream place, which she annoyed Hagrid into letting her go into.

Despite all that, it retained the spirit it had done the best part of a thousand years ago. The stony, pebbly road that lay in the middle of the street was unchanged, except being more worn down and more hygienic than before. The Knockturn Alley that had only recently been erected for her remained nearly untouched from what she could see from it, except that the regulars she had met had, naturally, since been replaced.

They wandered aimlessly for a while, before Hagrid pulled her into Magical Menagerie, a pet shop. He gave her the option to bring an owl, a cat, a toad, or no pet at all to Hogwarts. She picked out a black cat with white socks, who she named Amaya, and Hagrid handed over a galleon and two silver sickles to the owner of the shop. Amaya stared at her for a few moments, before leaping up onto her shoulders and going to sleep.

After that, it was off to Flourish and Blotts, which had a considerably shorter line than before, where she bought all the books she would need for the upcoming year. The Standard Book of Spells (Book 1), A History of Magic, and Magical Theory were ticked off the list very quickly, and with a lot of ease, but A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration was tucked away in a very unkempt portion of the shop. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and Magical Drafts and Potions were both in Herbology and Potions sections respectively, whereas Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was in a completely different section than where it should have been. Finally, Dark Forces: A Guide To Self Protection was the only spellbook to be upstairs. Ivy indulged herself in some of the more advanced books she found in the corners of the bookshop. She had no doubt she knew all of it already, but she was interested in seeing how books had evolved. By the time they had paid and gotten out of the shop, an hour had passed.

After another half hour of hap-hazardly ticking things off the list, it was off to Ollivander’s for the final thing on the list, a wand. For all the training she had been through, she had to admit it would have looked suspicious if she hadn’t been to get a wand despite already having one.

“Ah! Ivy Potter! I was wondering when you would get here!” came an old voice from behind the counter when she walked in, and after only a moment, the man she took to be Ollivander straightened himself up, and rubbed some clearly visible sleep from his eyes. “Shall we begin?”

About half an hour (and about sixteen failed attempts to find a wand) later, she left the shop with a wand in hand. It was eleven inches long, made from holly, and contained a phoenix feather. She found that she preferred this wand to her old one. When she had waved it, it had produced purple and red confetti, which was, in her opinion, some rather dull magic. Regardless, Ollivander had been pleased with this, although he had said that an aspect of the wand was rather unexpected, though what aspect that could be she had no idea.

She was brainstorming the possibilities when she bumped into a family of three, muttered ‘sorry’, and turned when the mother, who looked almost like her, dropped her bag and let her jaw drop open.

Chapter Text

"Hello?" Ivy asked, puzzled.

The woman appeared to be lost for words, but after a moment, she said, slowly. "My name's Lily."

"My name's Ivy." she replied. In an instant, the woman had run over, and given her the tightest hug that she had experienced for a long time.

"So it is you, then!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face. Ivy glanced up at the man and girl, who were looking at her with an expression that she couldn't quite place. The girl looked just like her.

After a few awkward seconds, Lily let go, and introduced herself. "I'm Lily, your mother, and this is James, your father, and Rose, your twin sister."

Ivy glanced at Rose, and waved shyly. Her mum had now turned to Hagrid, and was thanking him. He was looking a little bit awkward, but he could tell just as well as the rest of them that Lily was in the best mood she had been in for years, and it would have been a little rude to ruin that for her. Eventually, Hagrid waved them goodbye, and headed down the road back in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

After Hagrid had turned the corner, Lily turned to her, and asked if there was anything that she needed that she hadn't got yet. When she shook her head, she smiled, and stated that it was time to go home.

"So… hi…" Rose muttered, quietly.

"Hello," Ivy replied, cheerily.

…

The next morning, Ivy woke up to Lily running about the house, shouting and trying to get everyone up. She glanced around at the bedroom she had been shown the previous night, and noticed that Rose was already up, and pulling on some jeans and a sweatshirt: "Morning, Ivy. Better hurry, Mum's going ballistic". From the sounds coming from the parents' bedroom, James was not up yet. It took a moment for her to process that she was going to Hogwarts today. She pulled herself out of bed, and started to get dressed.

…

She walked downstairs thirty minutes later, dressed in a pink hoodie and navy blue trousers, and was hauling a suitcase filled with everything she would need in the coming year. Wand, all her spellbooks, her cauldron, and so on. It hadn't taken much work to pack up, given that she had only had the previous night to unpack. Lily beamed at her as she entered.

"Hair done? Teeth? Good, breakfast is in the kitchen."

When she walked into the kitchen, breakfast was indeed there. Two pieces of toast and a fried egg were waiting, almost expectantly, on the table. She had barely tucked in when Rose walked in, apparently having finally finished packing. They exchanged greetings, and started talking about Hogwarts.

"What House do you reckon you'll be in?" Ivy asked after a mouthful of egg white.

Rose thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Anywhere but Slytherin, I suppose."

Ivy frowned. "I want to be in Slytherin."

"Well," Rose replied, doing a 180. "Slytherin's pretty good, I guess. Just has a bad rep."

Ivy hummed in agreement and took another bite. 'I suppose.'

…

Ivy was minorly surprised when the taxi stopped outside King's Cross, a muggle train station, though, she supposed, they would have had to make a new disguise for the journey to Hogwarts than that rubbish old shack they had used for such a long time before in this age. Perhaps they would have a completely different journey to Hogwarts, come to think of it.

These thoughts were running their course through the inside of her head when she bumped into her father, who had stopped, and was looking up at a large clock situated between the platforms 9 and 10.

"Ten minutes," he muttered. Lily looked halfway between torn apart at seeing Ivy leave so soon, and joyous that her daughters would finally be going to Hogwarts. The result was a strange bobbing motion of the head, and a half smile. They stood in an awkward silence.

"So… how exactly do we get… to Hogwarts?" Ivy asked, remembering her supposed previous unawareness of the Wizarding World, and hastily looking confused.

Her mother seemed to jump. "Oh! Yes, right. You just run at the wall between those two platforms there," she said, gesturing at the wall beneath the clock.

Lily nodded, attempting to figure out what charm had been placed upon the wall, and barely noticing James and Rose running through. Lily grasped her arm, and pulled her along, running as fast as they could at the wall, which is quite a difficult task when carrying several large bags, filled with books, cauldrons and the like, and dealing with a black cat curled up on one's shoulder. Right as they were about to make contact with the wall, they passed through the wall, as though it was made of water, and emerged on a train station positioned quite impossibly between the others beside it, with the golden writing on the train reading 'Hogwarts Express', and a sign overhead, which displayed the time when it would leave, ticking down slowly. The first thing that jumped out to Ivy was the amount of noise issuing from the platform. Everywhere she looked, there were crowds of students attempting to escape their parents, or just boarding the train.

Ivy turned to her parents, and they all remained silent for a moment, before Lily said, "Well, I suppose you should get on, then.", and she and Rose boarded the train together. They looked around for a while, before finding a compartment rid of any laughing girls, or nervous friend groups, and sitting down. Rose sighed deeply as Ivy slid the door shut.

"So, um…" Ivy began.

"I guess this is it," Rose replied, nodding.

Ivy cast around for a topic of conversation. "Uh… what are you looking forward to the most- about Hogwarts, I mean?"

Rose frowned, and did not speak. After a couple minutes, she replied. "I suppose Quidditch. Or maybe Defense Against the Dark Arts, as long as we have a good teacher. I heard there hasn't been one for over a year for ages. Most of the other teachers have been here for ages."

"Do you know any of their names?" Ivy asked, interrupting.

She looked surprised. "Um… some… Professor Flitwick, McGonagall, Sprout, and Trelawny. Oh- and Dumbledore, of course."

Ivy nodded, and turned to stare out the window. Hills turned to fields, fields turned to cottages, cottages back to hills, and before she knew it, she had wasted half an hour.

She was about to voice this realisation when the door swung open, and a tall boy walked in.

"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is packed,"

When the two gave their consent, he stretched, and took the seat opposite Rose.

"I'm Ron. Ron Weasley." he said, as an introduction.

"I'm Ivy." she replied.

"And I'm Rose. Rose Potter," her twin said, casually. It took a moment for both of them to notice that Ron's mouth was hanging open.

"Can… I… help you?" Rose asked, nervously.

"Are you really?" he blurted out, a little rudely. "I mean- do you have the scar?" he asked, gesturing to her heart.

"Oh! Yeah…" Rose replied, tracing the shape of a V.

Ivy decided to leave them to it, and head to another compartment.

It turned out that she and Rose had been quite wrong in assuming that theirs was the only empty compartment, for, as she walked along the corridors, she found herself facing more and more. Eventually, when she had decided to go for the one on her left, the door ahead of her opened, and a girl with brown hair and large front teeth bumped into her.

"Sorry!" Ivy muttered, helping her up.

"It's fine," the girl replied, introducing herself as Hermione, "Oh! And, have you seen a toad anywhere, a boy named Neville's lost one."

She shook her head. Hermione sighed, and muttering a hasty 'goodbye', walked off. Ivy entered the compartment.

She had just decided to change into her Hogwarts robes when she was again interrupted, this time by a boy walking in, and mumbling something like an insult to whoever it was who had brought on this necessary move to a different place on the train.

"Hi," Ivy said.

The boy turned around, and she noticed his blond hair and blue eyes. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." he added, sitting down opposite her.

"Nice to meet you," she said, attempting to continue the conversation till it reached an interesting topic.

Malfoy stretched, and sat back against the chair, apparently looking for something to talk about that would interest them both. "Nice weather." he said, failing.

Ivy turned her head to look out the window. There were dark clouds outside, threatening rain, and seemingly edging closer to their final destination.

"I suppose so," she lied.

They sat in silence until the food trolley lady walked in. Ivy got herself some packs of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and a couple chocolate frogs. Malfoy got Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. When it came time to change, he left for obvious reasons, and they agreed to meet up when they got off the train. She was deep in thought about Hogwarts when the train came to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, where it had indeed begun raining.

It would have been difficult to hear the call of 'Firs' Years! Firs' Years O'er 'ear!" over the sound of everyone shouting and laughing, had it not been for the fact that these words were uttered by Hagrid, who was a few feet taller than most grown ups, and was having difficulty not hitting his head on the top of the station. When he was convinced that he had gotten all the first years over to him, he began.

"Right. The older years get to Hogwarts by carriage, but, since yer first years and all that, ye'll be going by boat," he gestured to the dozen or so boats struggling not to drown, positioned next to the station. Everyone got into them in fours, except for Hagrid, who needed one to himself. Ivy got into a particularly small one with Rose, Ron, and Hermione. She felt a slight pang as she thought of Draco, but ignored it, as they started the long journey to the castle.

…

"My name is Professor McGonagall. I will be your Transfiguration Teacher at Hogwarts. Now, you wait here, and the doors will open themselves when you can go in,"

McGonagall… that was one of the teachers that Rose had mentioned. She gave a sideways glance in her direction, and a smile. Once she had walked in, the first years began preparing to walk in. There was a general murmur as friend met friend. She walked over to Malfoy, who was shivering and looked worried.

"It'll be fine."

She was about to express that she felt the same way to him, and perhaps introduce him to Ron and Rose, when the doors to the Great Hall opened.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Slytherin

She watched as everyone filed out, forming an alphabetical line in the middle of the Great Hall, taking her spot right before Rose. Glancing around, Ivy saw the four house tables, all draped in their respective colours: red and gold for Gryffindor, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, yellow and black for Hufflepuff, and green and silver for Slytherin. Each had at least two hundred students, all staring at the first-years-to-be with varying degrees of interest. She vaguely registered that each table had a lot of floating candles above the tables, and a large banner above, about half the length of each table, which was quite an accomplishment. The emblems (Lion, Badger, Snake, and Eagle) were, she was disappointed to see, not moving, though one student swore they saw the gold lion blink and yawn.

Her eyes were drawn to the table at the very front of the Great hall, which had remained the same, with minimal changes. It was now slightly longer, which made sense, since it would now, of course, be used by all teachers rather than just the four founders. The chairs remained gold and decorative, though no longer emblazoned, as far as she could see, with the emblems, but the people sitting in them were much changed. The man in the middle, Dumbledore, with his long, silvery beard, and moon shaped spectacles, seemed to be snatching a glance at Rose whenever he could.

She was just trying to figure out, from their appearance, which teacher taught which subject, when McGonagall hurried back into the room, holding an old three-legged stool, and what appeared to be Godric’s hat. She stared at it in utter bewilderment. She understood that wizards in all time frames loved holding onto old robes and things, trying to figure out how people lived back in the day (muggles called it archaeology), but she couldn’t for the life of her understand what anyone would want with an old hat, even if it was the old hat of someone very famous, other than to maybe keep it in a museum… but even then, centuries later?

Nobody around the tables seemed at all confused at the arrival of this unusual sight, but most of the first-years were also staring at it in confusion, when they weren’t admiring the candles. She had barely another second to dwell on this however, before the familiar hat, which had now been placed down onto the stool, unzipped a hole that she had not noticed before as far as it could, until it appeared to form a mouth, and began to sing.

‘Perhaps I look a normal hat,
If right out of a war,
But maybe, if you stick around,
You’ll find you know me more,
For I’m a hat for sorting,
The sorting hat, if you will,
And I’ll sort you into a different house,
Based on your different skills,
Perhaps, if you’re the brave kind,
You’ll go to Gryffindor,
The most chivalrous and daring,
Of the houses four,
Or else in Ravenclaw,
If you’re the thoughtful kind,
But only if you have a very
Clever sort of mind,
How about in Hufflepuff,
Where dwell the kind of heart?
Who will always help others,
If nothing else for a start,
And finally, there’s Slytherin,
If you’re a cunning soul,
Ready to do anything,
To meet your treasured goas,
Of course, if they could,
The founders would sort you
But, since they are long gone now,
I guess I’ll have to do,’

There was a round of applause as the sorting hat finished singing. Most likely, the founders had needed a way to sort students after they were gone, and Godric suggested his hat. Perhaps, the next time they saw, she would give him the idea…

She was so deep in thought that she only realised that the sorting had begun until the hat shouted out ‘HUFFLEPUFF!’, making her jump. She glanced up, and saw a nervous, blonde girl with pigtails walk gingerly towards the Hufflepuff table.

“Bones, Susan!” shouted McGonagall, barely a second after the last girl had taken her seat. Susan walked forwards, and sat on the stool, which was so large compared to her that it covered her forehead and eyes entirely. This time, the hat seemed to take a while talking to her for at least thirty seconds before making its decision.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst became the first two Ravenclaws of the day, both taking seats at the blue and bronze table, before ‘Brown, Lavender’ became the first Gryffindor, to Rose’s delight.

‘Bulstrode, Millicent’, a stocky girl, had barely had the hat on for a moment when it yelled out, for the first time that evening, “SLYTHERIN!” Ivy forced a smile onto her face as she walked past. ‘What fun company,’ she thought, drearily. ‘Corner, Michael’, ‘Cornfoot, Stephen’, ‘Crabbe Vincent’, ‘Davis, Tracey’, and ‘Entwistle, Kevin’ were all sorted into the houses, and Hufflepuff and Gryffindor got a new student each with ‘Finch-Fletchley, Justin’ and ‘Finnigan, Seamus’. Then both Hufflepuff and Slytherin got a new member, before Ivy heard a name she recognised.

“Granger, Hermione!”

She had been the girl on the train, who had been looking for Neville’s toad. Hermione ran a hand through her bushy hair, which did absolutely nothing, and walked over to the hat. She, like a few others, seemed to talk to the hat for a while, becoming more and more relaxed looking after wearing a very nervous expression before. Eventually, the hat decided.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Five names later, Neville was called to the front. Now that she could see him, he looked, admittedly, like the kind of person who would lose a pet toad. He had short, brown hair that hung over his forehead in a spiky fashion. It looked like he had not yet hit puberty, and yet he already had some spots on his forehead. He, too, was sitting under the hat for a long time.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat had barely touched Draco’s head, when the hat shouted “SLYTHERIN!”. As he headed over to the Slytherin table, she glanced at him and grinned. Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson became Slytherins too, and two twins, Parvati and Padma Patil, were put in two different houses: Gryffindor for Parvati, and Ravenclaw for Padma.

And then, she realised that she was at the front of the queue.

“Potter, Ivy!”

She had half expected the hall at large to become quiet with anticipation as she strode up to the stool, and was therefore half surprised when the low buzz of conversation continued. She supposed, on balance, it was not as big a moment for anyone else as it was for her, and therefore, nobody else was silent. It nevertheless felt an age to walk the short distance between the line and the sorting hat. Eventually, she was facing the hat. She slowly picked it up, sat down on the small chair, which was probably in need of a replacement, and put it on, allowing it to drop over her eyes so that she could no more see the rest of the Great hall than the average person would be able to lick their nose.

‘Ah! Ivy! Hello there! It’s been ages… I suppose literally. Merlin got you here, I take it?’

She started to nod, but realised it could see inside her head and just said ‘yes’ mentally. A thought struck her.

‘Sorry, but… how did you become… this? I’ve only ever seen Godric wearing you.’

‘Oh, just a few quick spells. Now, where to put you? Oh, I’m just kidding, SLYTHERIN!’

She could hear the last word being shouted out to the rest of the hall. She took it off immediately, and hurried off to the Slytherin table amidst the cheers. She took a seat between Draco, and Theodore Nott, who preferred Theo.

“Potter, Rose!”

This time, the entire hall seemed to hush, as though the next person to speak would be shunned from society. The silence was thick, and she could have sworn that had she merely sniffed, Ivy would have heard the sound echoing around the Great hall for a good ten seconds. The hat took a while. Not nearly as long as Neville, but more than most other people.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

She clapped, along with everyone else.

The rest of the sorting was pretty tame, in her opinion. Plenty more people were sorted, but the only one she recognised was Ron, who was sorted into Gryffindor. Finally, after ‘Zabini, Blaise’ was sorted into Slytherin, Dumbledore stood up.

“Before we begin our excellent feast, I would like to say a few words, and here they are: Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak! Thank you!”

It was the strangest meal Ivy had ever eaten. Rather than having a menu, or even a finite amount of food, the moment Dumbledore finished speaking, food appeared across all four tables. There was such a large variety that she was not convinced she would have been able to write down every piece of food on the tables if given six rolls of parchment and a spare cup of ink. There were meats cooked in many different ways: pork, sausages, bacon, roast steak, roast lamb, roast chicken, chicken wings, joints, and so on, along with metric tons of fruit, vegetables, carbohydrates, and anything else one could want: potatoes were roasted, boiled, and mashed, eggs were boiled, fried, and scrambled, there were leaks, carrots, sweetcorn, peas, apples, pears, oranges, satsumas, bananas, grapes, berries of all descriptions, yorkshire pudding, black pudding, gravy, and a handful of things she didn’t know the name of. Oddly enough, there were also peppermint humbugs.

Ivy tucked into some sausage and mashed potatoes, while watching in amusement as Draco attempted to pile his plate high with as many foods as he could. The result was a combination of three roast meats, a fried egg, and a carrot perched precariously on top, all covered in a huge amount of gravy. He managed to finish it.

There was such a large quantity of food that even after many students taking more than their fair share of it, and especially Draco’s shenanigans, she would have strongly doubted that the amassed students would have been able to finish even half of it if they had five courses. She was just beginning to feel drowsy, when desserts showed up, offering a similar, ridiculous, amount of variety. Ice cream, strawberries, mince pies, treacle tart, and many other things that she didn’t have the energy to list mentally.

When even a very- to put it politely- large fifth year Hufflepuff had finished eating, Dumbledore stood up again, this time with a proper speech.

“To our new students, welcome! To our returning students, welcome back! I have a few notices to give you. First, the forbidden forest in the grounds is, hence the name, forbidden to all students at all times! Argus Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you not to use magic in the corridors between lessons. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone seeking information on it should contact Madam Hooch. And, finally, the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to all students not looking to die a horrific death this year. And now, a song!”

…

After the speech, Dumbledore had waved his wand, and glittering golden letters had spelled out some lyrics in cursive to a song about Hogwarts. She couldn’t remember most of the words, but knew the first line was ‘Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts’, which she thought would be enough to amuse Salazar. Everyone had sung to their own tune. She had personally gone with a short tune that would have fit in with the old nursery rhymes like ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, and ‘Barry the Bored’s Tips and Tricks for those in the business of entertainment’.

When she had got to the Slytherin common room, which was a largish room underneath the lake, and headed up to her dormitory, she had found all her stuff already there, including all her trunks and Amaya, who she stroked absently, getting into her green pyjamas and looked at her roommates. There was Pansy Parkinson, a blonde girl, who, she thought privately, looked like a pug, but seemed friendly enough, Millicent Bulstrode, and quite a few others who she couldn’t, from the sorting, remember the names of.

She slumped down into her bed, and, as she was drifting off, wondered when she would next see the founders.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: A Waft of Potions

When Ivy awoke the next morning, she found she was the last person to. Everyone else’s beds had the curtains drawn back, or had them re-closed hurriedly. She rubbed her eyes, and vaguely considered the possibility of just climbing back into bed and falling asleep, and she was in fact half way through climbing back in.

But, no. That wasn’t going to happen. It was her first day at Hogwarts, especially if you exclude the previous eleven years of her life, so she was basically legally required to get up bright and early. So, instead, she pulled herself back out, walked over to a nearby mirror, and had a few heavy-lidded blinks at her hair. Bushy like Hermione’s, only much less tidy. She grabbed her wand, and configured it into her usual hairstyle. Satisfied with the result, she began to dress.

…

“Morning,” she said, stifling a yawn as she sat down beside Draco. In response, he gave her a flash of starfish hand, and continued to listen avidly as Blaise Zabini explained Boggarts to him.

“So, if you found a boggart, and you were on the run, would it become the local authorities, d’you reckon?” he interrupted, raising a singular eyebrow and staring at him, fixated. Blaise paused in the act of helping himself to some egg white and furrowed his own. He opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again.

“I’ve never thought of that.” he answered, bemused.

“I suppose…” Ivy said thoughtfully, butting in. “It would really depend on if you have a deep set fear of something else, say werewolves, that you’re scared of at all times, but if you didn’t, then sure.” she finished, shrugging, and taking another bite of her baguette.

Draco snorted, which was unfortunate for the milk he was drinking.

The first lesson of Ivy’s day was Charms. The classroom was medium sized, with an enormous assortment of wooden chairs, armchairs, beanbags, and even a sofa cushion seated around small tables, which varied in size and shape. It was the most unclassroomy classroom she had ever had the pleasure of seeing. She was the first person to get there, and she immediately took a seat on a soft armchair facing a particularly fancy looking round table. The next person to arrive was Draco, who took the beanbag beside her and sighed heavily, as though finally having finished a long working day. Slowly, the classroom began to fill up with more and more Slytherins, all sitting down on the chairs of their choice. The last person to arrive, Gregory Goyle, sat on the sofa cushion.

The class at large began a low murmur of conversation, waiting for their teacher to arrive. She saw Goyle mutter something to a boy beside him, Crabbe, and the two guffawed. It was brought to Ivy’s attention that the teacher was not, in fact, late, when she heard a high cough from somewhere. The class fell silent at once, all trying to figure out who had coughed, then Theo pointed to the top corner of the classroom.

Sure enough, when Ivy followed his hand, he was pointing to a very small wizard indeed. He had white hair, and a long beard covering a very wrinkled face, and he was holding his wand high above his head in his right hand, as if to signal silence. This was unnecessary, as even the most idiotic in the class were now watching him expectantly.

“I am Professor Flitwick, and I will be your Charms teacher this year,” he said, in a friendly tone, smiling broadly at the class. “Now, since this is your first lesson of your Hogwarts career, I shall begin with a very simple spell: the levitating charm. Now, if anyone knows anything about it…?”

Ivy put her hand up, but she was the only one who did.

“How about you, miss…?”

“Ivy,” she replied, “It’s a spell that lets you make things fly,”

Flitwick nodded happily. “Excellent, dear. Five points to Slytherin! Now, if you would like to take out your wands…?” Everyone did as he instructed. The spell, Wingardium Leviosa, was a simple spell involving a swish-and-flick movement. They practised on feathers. So as not to look conspicuous, Ivy took a few turns without really focusing on the spell before doing it. She was, nevertheless, the fastest in the class, and Professor Flitwick awarded another five points to Slytherin. She spent the next twenty minutes walking around and talking to people. The bell rang.

Feeling thoroughly dishevelled, (he had not managed at all) Draco turned to her as they exited the classroom and gave her a puzzled look. She shook her head, and continued on her way to History of Magic.

…

Professor Binns was a ghost.

It hadn’t occurred to Ivy when she looked at her timetable that this Professor Binns was not merely a descendant of the one she had known. It seemed as though when Binns had passed away (she strongly doubted anyone in the school would have mourned all that much) he had just gone on teaching. In life, Binns had been a middle-aged man who had already achieved a lined forehead and greying hair. Perhaps he would not live much longer, for this ghost form looked around the same age. He was well-renowned throughout the school as the worst teacher in Hogwarts, even among the founders.

So, when she got over the initial shock of her History of Magic teacher entering via blackboard, her expectations for the lesson quickly adjusted. She still did her best to pay attention to his droning voice as he rambled endlessly about Goblin rebellions, and took as many notes as she could.

In 1564, the great mediterranean subspecies of goblin wanted to fight against the humans,
1567, vanquished,
In meantime, Nicholas the Barmy attempted to make peace,
Was killed,
Several goblins were murdered in the subsequent…

But she only managed to get that far before she couldn’t handle it and just threw her head back to stare at the ceiling for the remainder of the lesson.

Similar to the previous centuries, Professor Binns took no notice that the entire class was ignoring him.

…

Ivy hurried over to Rose when she spotted her in the corridor on her way to break.

“Hey…” she muttered breathlessly, clutching a stitch and walking beside Rose and Ron. “How’ve you been?”

“First period was History of Magic,” Rose replied. They all groaned. “And after that was transfiguration.”

“What did you think?” she asked, as they made their way down the stone steps.

“Well…” Ron replied thoughtfully, “It was interesting, but really difficult, and McGonagall was strict… so…”

“What he means to say is that it was fun.” Rose finished hurriedly as the four of them sat under a particularly large tree overlooking the lake.

…

After Herbology with the Ravenclaws, and lunchtime, Ivy found herself walking down to double Potions. The warm staircase slowly changed into a dingy cellar hallway, lit only by the occasional torch.

As she arrived at the class, which she found to be a rather small dungeon, she took a seat in the back right corner, and took out her cauldron, potion materials, and book. There were a few other people there, namely Rose, who greeted her fondly, Pansy Parkinson, and Dean Thomas, a muggle-born Gryffindor. Once again, as people filed in, a low buzz occurred. Suddenly, the moment Neville had sat down, the door to the dungeon opened once again, and this time a much more impressive figure entered the room. He had black, greasy hair that dropped around his head in both directions, and a hooked nose. His cloak was billowing behind him as he strode to his desk, breathing slowly and carefully.

“Quiet,” said Severus Snape, in a hushed voice that carried around the room. Similar to Flitwick, the instruction served no purpose, except now because everyone in the room was deadly silent, and watching him closely.

“Everyone can take out their wands,” he drawled in a practised tone, “There is to be no foolish wand-waving in this lesson. I believe that many of those among you will hardly count the delicate art of Potions, a form of magic. I can teach you how to bewitch the mind, bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. Now, let us see if any of you have come to my lesson prepared… POTTER!” The last word was not spoken delicately. It was treading the line between a snap and a shout. Ivy jumped, but as she looked up realised that it was not her who Snape was pointing at.

“Yes?” Rose asked, faking confidence.

“Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Rose stared at him, bewildered. Ivy’s hand shot up into the air, but not before Hermione’s. Silently, she was enraged. What kind of teacher asks a student questions like that on the first day of the year?

“Well, let us see if your sibling knows…” Drawled Snape, inclining his head fractionally towards Ivy.

“A sleeping Potion, the- Draught of Living Death,” she answered, speaking very quickly. Snape raised his eyebrows.

“It appears one of you has done your research… ten points to Slytherin, and, for your lack of preparation, Potter, I shall deduct the same amount from Gryffindor,”

Glancing around, Ivy saw that many in the class were struggling to hold in their frustration. Most of the Gryffindors were looking angry, and she counted at least half the Slytherins too. Beyond that, the lesson was a more difficult one than any of the others earlier had been. There were a lot of complex timings, and, other than herself and Hermione, nobody had managed to create a satisfactory potion to cure boils.

As they exited the class, Draco and Ron both looked furious.

“That greasy-haired, grumpy twat pig!” Draco snarled, the moment they were out of earshot.

“Yeah,” Ron said, with a grim satisfaction, “What a pile of-”

He proceeded to say something that made Ivy say ‘Ron!’, and caused Rose and Draco to snicker.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Up!

“Look! There she is!”

“Who?”

“Rose Potter! Next to the skinny girl!”

These low murmurs of conversation seemed to follow Rose everywhere she went. It was as though rather than talking and getting to know their hero, they would rather merely point her out to their friends.

“Hey! Who’re you calling skinny?” Ivy asked, rounding on the gossiping third-year girls.

Rose seemed unbothered by all of the unwanted attention, however. She remained calm and collected, even smiling slightly when a second-year boy asked her out, before inevitably saying no.

“I don’t know how you can stand it…” Ivy muttered as the four of them, herself, Rose, Draco, and Ron, dodged out of the way of Peeves, who was attempting to throw spiders onto unsuspecting students. “All of the attention, like,”

“Oh… you know,” she replied unhelpfully, with a vague gesture at herself with her left hand.

“I wouldn’t mind it, honestly. I don’t reckon you would, either, would you, Weasley?” Draco asked thoughtfully, as Peeves bombarded the boy who had attempted to ask out Rose. Draco and Ron, since their first Potions lesson, had somewhat embraced each other's company. They had a level of respect that Ivy could not have previously hoped for, though they still bickered from time to time and called each other by their surnames.

“If you ask me…” Ron replied, darkly, “Only bad things come with fame. I mean, it can be handled well, look at Dumbledore, and I’m sure Rose will too, but think how it would affect someone like Hermione…”

Ivy shuddered at the thought. “Probably go straight to her head, and she’d start telling people off for smiling too widely in the corridors,”

Everyone else nodded and agreed, except for Rose.

“Well, whatever you think, I talk to Hermione every now and again, and she’s really nice, once you get to know her,” she replied, frowning at them.

“Still… Regardless…” Draco said, unperturbed as a few young Hufflepuffs screamed and ran away from a cackling Peeves, who started chasing them around. “I think Weasley’s got a point, it could do a number on most of us, though I wouldn’t mind being famous, if only for a day or two.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ivy muttered, bitterly, “Listen, you may like the idea, but I despise being asked a million questions a day about how Rose is, and what her favourite type of chocolates are, and her personality, and her birthday, and whatever other random topics they want to know about her, when, of course, I’m not ‘the skinny one’,” and as they broke into the midday sunshine, she kicked over a nearby rock, so that it rolled into the lake, which rippled, and then was still again.

…

“Now, I want you all to place your right hand above your brooms, and say Up!” said Madam Hooch, their flying teacher, to the amassed Slytherin and Gryffindor students.

“Up!” they all yelled at their brooms.

To Ivy’s immense relief, her broom immediately flew up into her hand, briefly appearing as an oak blur before she catched it. Although, she felt sure she saw (AN: Say that three times quickly) a few loose twigs fly off of it.

“Too easy…” Draco said to her, admiring his broom, which was in much better condition than hers, against the backdrop of the clear, baby blue sky. “I didn’t realise our first flying lesson would involve this…”

While Draco found the process of making his broom jump into his hand easy and somewhat pointless, it seemed many of the others were struggling to make their brooms so much as hop briefly. Hermione, who approximately nobody believed was going to be much good at this, was furiously repeating the word ‘up’ to no avail. Neville Longbottom had managed to make his broom slither across the ground like a snake, occasionally rearing up and head-bonking anyone with brown eyes. This was a very impressive piece of magic indeed, although it served no practical use whatsoever.

Among those who had succeeded were Theo, who effortlessly managed to grab the broom on his first attempt, Rose, on her second attempt, and Ron, on his fourth.

After many fruitless tries, and a handful of tears, all of the students there had finally managed to gain control over their school broom, though many looked dazed and already weary. Surprisingly, neither Neville nor Hermione had been the last person to do this, rather, it was Pansy Parkinson who was last. Once this had happened, Hooch walked up and down the rows, peering through her orange goggles, and correcting anyone doing it wrong.

“Right!” she shouted, when she was at last convinced that nobody there was handling their broom like a lunatic, “When I say three, I want you to kick off, hover a few feet in the air for a few seconds, and then come down. Right then, one… two… WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

The last part of Madam Hooch’s statement was a shout at Neville, who had very suddenly kicked off from the ground too soon, and was flying far too high and far too quickly above the ground. He was shouting in terror, as were many of the other students. Amidst the panic, Ivy could barely hear Madam Hooch shouting at him.

“Lean forward! Lean forward!”

And then, just as suddenly as he had begun, Neville slipped, and fell down to the ground. There was a dull thud, and Ivy thought she heard something crack. Something rolled out of the unconscious boy’s pocket.

“Oh no…” Madam Hooch muttered. Turning to us, she said, “I will take this boy to the hospital wing, and while I am gone, you must stay here, you hear me? Do. Not. Move.” The last two words were practically hissed.

As she walked off, huffing about not enough pay, Ivy turned to examine what Neville had had in his pocket. She moved closer. Small… red… and then realisation hit her.

“It’s a remembrall…” she muttered, in awe. She reached to pick it up, but it was snatched out of her hands immediately by someone.

“Do you mind?” She asked, looking up. And then… she stopped. “Theo?” she asked in surprise.

His handsome, pale face smirked at her.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling out her wand.

“What does it look like?” he asked, mimicking her growl, and pulling out his own. “I’m stealing Neville’s… what did you call it? Remembrall?” He glanced around. “Tell you what… how about I leave it in… a tree? I know Longbottom loves heights…”

And before Ivy could stop him, Theo had mounted his broom, and flown up to a large oak, as if to place it in the branches, but he stopped, and his eyes were fixed on Ivy.

Snarling, Ivy made to ride her own broom, but Hermione grabbed her arm.

“No, Ivy! You’ll get us in trouble!”

Rose and Ron nodded nervously from somewhere close behind her, but she took no notice, and clambered on anyway. Once she was in the air, she found it quite easy to level with Theo, but he immediately rose up away from the tree, and she was forced to chase him.

“Fine!” he screamed, wind billowing in his face, as he turned and grinned at Ivy. “You want it? Come- get it!” and with a final grunt, he threw the remembrall with all his might as high as he possibly could.

Panicking, Ivy rushed to grab it, first horizontally, but then it fell too low, and it turned into a dive.

She wasn’t going to make it…

She wasn’t going to-

But she was interrupted mid-thought as her hands closed around the cloudy, clear glass ball, and she swerved so that her back rather painfully skidded across the ground for a few feet. But, at last, it stopped, and she happily gazed up at the remembrall, safe and sound, before collapsing.

…

When Ivy Potter awoke three days later in the hospital wing, scratches, cuts and dirt splayed across her back, she considered lying back down, and going to sleep, but it was no good.

She glanced around. To her left, there was another bed, this one occupied by Neville, who had looked up when she awoke, and was smiling nervously at her. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, had just noticed her awake, and muttered, ‘finally, it’s really difficult to give you medicine when you’re asleep’.

But her biggest surprise was when she looked at the foot of her bed. Nothing short of heaps of fanmail, letters and presents were piled high there. She leaned over, and snatched the top letter, which looked the most official, off of the pile, and ripped it open.

Dear Ms. Ivy Potter,

Professor Severus Snape would like to offer his congratulations on your excellent flying skills on your first flying lesson, and a spot as seeker on the Slytherin quidditch team.

Practices start Sunday.

Severus Snape.

The letter, though brief, intrigued Ivy greatly. Snape had hated her in the only lesson the two had been in the same room, and now he was offering her to be seeker for his team?

It didn’t make sense.

But regardless of Ivy’s thoughts on it, the news seemed to have spread like wildfire across the school, judging by the amount of letters. She stretched, and began reading through them. Ron, Rose, and Draco had all sent ‘Get Well Soon’ cards, and heaps upon heaps of chocolate. She had received an awful lot of letters calling her their writer’s lifelong idol, though she could have sworn she recognised some of the names as names of Rose’s many admirers. She had received no fewer than six large boxes of chocolate frogs, and three letters attempting to ask her on a date, which she shredded and threw in the bin. And, finally, she had received a fully wrapped up present addressed from none other than Ron’s mother. Opening it, she found twelve homemade mince pies.

…

Just as Ivy had suspected, everyone in Hogwarts had heard that Rose Potter’s sister had become the youngest seeker in a century. However, what Ivy had not expected was that people seemed to have stopped caring about Rose at all. Suddenly, Ivy was the one people were talking about in the hallways.

She eventually snapped when someone in the Slytherin common room complimented her on her chess skills, which she had never displayed in Hogwarts in her life.

“I just wish they’d shut up!” she complained to Draco.

“Well, I might have told them about the chess skills…” he replied, nervously.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Wingardium Leviosa

September turned into October, with very little change in terms of the weather. The atmosphere around the castle was also barely changed, except for a few details. There was a newfound level of animosity between herself and Theo, who she had initially taken a liking to, but now saw as nothing more than a prat.

It was strange, she thought, that it had been them who had become enemies when there were so many more likely candidates. It wasn’t as though he was particularly strong, and he certainly wasn’t hugely magically powerful or anything, she would have spotted an aura similar to her own. But then, these things were never very reliable. Hermione, for example, was top of the year, aside from herself, of course, but her aura resembled nothing more than a depressed Giraffe’s failed attempt at a Patronus Charm.

Snape had also changed drastically, or, she thought so, at least. The truth was, having given a lot of thought to the matter, Ivy realised that while she had disliked Snape from the moment he told the deadly silence to be quiet, he had only ever taken it out on Rose, who definitely hated him. It was difficult to truly hate Snape like she hated Theo, when he had shown her nothing but support ever since she had become seeker, but it became a little easier once he had given Rose a ‘0’ for the sixth time since the beginning of the term.

She had also discovered, while practising for the first game of the season, that she was truly extraordinarily gifted at Quidditch. Whenever she had played by herself, she had had nobody to compare herself to, but she discovered that Snape may have been onto something when he described her flying skills as ‘excellent’ when she realised that she could pick out a poor arm rotation in one of their beaters, and point it out to the boy, who laughed it off, before being pelted in the shoulder blade by a bludger only a moment later.

She had been happy, of course, to display his mistake, when asked if she could have done any better.

But the most out of the ordinary thing was that she had reached a certain level of stardom inside the castle. Not only was she the youngest seeker in a century, but the word seemed to have spread that she was better than Hermione Granger in every subject except for transfiguration. This was seen as a great accomplishment.

It had become very hard just to walk around the school without being whispered about or greeted jovially, so she had eventually decided to camp out in the library every now and again in order to just get some peace and quiet. As opposed to fanmail and things slowing down, she was now receiving valentine’s letters daily. She could only dread how bad it would get when it was actually Valentine’s day. At the very least, people had given up on chess as a conversation topic.

She mulled the previous month over in her head as she walked towards the portrait hole. The inevitable stares and whispers did not affect her as much as they used to. Partially because she had gotten used to them by now, and partially because there was nobody staring or whispering to speak of, at the moment.

She groaned.

There wasn’t exactly much chance of her not going to the feast. Quite apart from the lack of a proper supper, she was now the most noticed member of the castle, and her absence would be noted not just by the students, but by the staff as well.

She dragged her feet as slowly as she could towards the great hall, angrily cursing any paintings, or ghosts, who attempted to talk to her. She surprised herself when she barely flinched at the Bloody Baron’s threats, though she hadn’t been exactly scared of him in life. She had always had the impression he liked Ravenclaw, but, seeing as he was in the present day the Slytherin house ghost made her reckon that that relationship had fallen through.

Surprise surprise.

She wondered who else might not be at the feast. Ron had gotten two slaps to either side of the face (one from Rose, and one from herself) when he had insulted Hermione, saying she had no friends. She still remembered her running past, tears streaming down her eyes. She hoped Hermione would be there, but the fact remained that she hadn’t been seen since, including in the library. And, like herself, Hermione wasn’t one to leap for joy at the prospect of tons of people. Introverted though she was, Ivy at the very least enjoyed people’s company other than very close friends, provided they were polite and such. This was not something applicable for both of them.

She pushed the enormous door open a crack (it was a bit much, even by Hogwarts standards), slipped through and closed it behind her as quietly as she could. The Slytherin table was right next to the door, and nobody seemed to have noticed her entering, at least not over the sounds of Fred and George Weasley setting off fireworks.

She seated herself next to Draco, and scanned the hall. Theo was on the end of the table, his eyes apparently narrowed at an innocuous painting behind her. Ron and Rose were next to each other on the Gryffindor table. No one had noticed Hermione’s absence.

Spooky.

“Hey…” Draco muttered to her, pretending to consider whether or not to pile some mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Where were you? You missed Dumbledore’s speech,”

Rose, pretending not to notice Crabbe and Goyle guffawing at some joke of Theo’s creation, shrugged.

“I wasn’t really hungry,” she answered, helping herself, even as she said it, to some roast lamb.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure, Ms Potter, whatever you say, Ms Potter,”

Theo was definitely watching her from across the table. She averted her gaze.

Just as Dumbledore was making to stand up and make a speech, someone burst into the Great Hall. She nearly jumped out of her seat, spilling some apple juice, and stared with the rest of the hall at Professor Quirrell, of all people, rushing up to Dumbledore, yelling.

“Troll! Troll in the dungeons!” he paused, “Thought you ought to know,”

Ivy watched with a cold sweat as he collapsed onto the ground, and lay there, motionless.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

She barely registered as the heads of house ushered all of the students over to their dormitories, and hardly took in Draco yelling at her to get to the common room. Her legs were carrying her as fast as they could in the direction of the girl’s bathroom. She didn’t know why she was heading in that direction, but she had learnt that whenever her legs decided to take her somewhere, with no apparent input from her brain, it was smartest to listen.

“Left, left, right, straight ahead, second left,” she whispered to herself. It was a path that she had learnt first as an excuse to get out of History of Magic, because it was hardly like Binns would notice.

Upon finally reaching the bathroom, she froze. She could hear faint sobs emitting from inside.

Oh. Oh no.

Hermione.

She realised that she must’ve gasped, because the crying had stopped.

Deciding, on balance, that it was unlikely to resume, she entered. Sure enough, standing by a mirror, was Hermione. She had evidently hastily changed her expression into a smile a little two wide to be entirely believable.

“Oh! Hi, Ivy,” she said, in what was evidently not supposed to be a very shaky voice.

Ivy stared at her, completely and utterly bewildered.

Hermione Granger? Crying?

The first horseman of the apocalypse.

“Listen,” she said, speaking much faster than she usually did, “You need to get to your dormitory, as quickly as you can!”

“Why?” asked Hermione, and she no longer looked like she was holding back tears, which was something, “Has the feast ended already?”

“No, no, it’s not that, there’s a tro-”

To Ivy’s horror, the door was immediately blown off its hinge by a 6 foot, bellowing, mountain troll.

Hermione squeaked.

Ivy pulled Hermione into a cubicle, and shot a stunning spell at the troll. It bounced off of it and onto a mirror, shattering it. As opposed to causing the troll any damage whatsoever, it only served to make it angrier, and it lunged at her with a club. She didn’t dodge fast enough, and it hit her shoulder, making a bony crunch. Ouch.

Well, it was worth a shot.

Knocked off balance, she fell back onto a wall. She could feel a lump on the back of her head, and her spine felt terrible. She gazed up at the terrifying figure of the troll, which had turned its attention to destroying the doors of the cubicles.

With blood running down the side of her head, she cast around for a spell, any spell.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” she yelled.

It took a second for her to figure out why the troll’s club was suddenly rising above its head, before she realised which spell she had used. The levitation charm, which had been their first Charms lesson. She glanced at the disgusting creature. It had become distracted by its weapon of choice rising upwards. Thinking on her feet, she made the club go as high as she could make it go, and then… released.

She barely took in the sound of wood on bone, nor the unmistakable, ear-splitting sound of a troll falling head first onto a bathroom floor.

“Are you okay, Hermione?” she asked, dabbing at her bleeding head with a towel.

“Y-yeah, I think so…” she mumbled, sounding very reminiscent of Quirrel. She didn’t look hurt, only shaken. Thank God.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, quietly hoisting her limp form over her shoulders.

They had barely moved when Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore burst in, with Quirrell trailing behind.

“What are you two doing?” asked McGonagall, and then, spotting the unconscious troll, “What did you do?”

“It appears,” said Dumbledore, sounding breathless but looking pleased, “That Ms Potter and Ms Granger have knocked out a mountain troll. Very impressive,” he said, nodding in their direction, but keeping his eyes on the troll.

“However impressive it was,” said Snape, “There is a certain level of idiocy required to take on a mountain troll single-handedly. I am disappointed in you, Ms Potter,”

“Now, really, Severus!” exclaimed McGonagall.

“Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin!” he shouted.

“Twenty points to both!” said McGonagall, cutting across him.

Sensing danger, Dumbledore interrupted.

“Perhaps these two should like to get to their respective dormitories. I am sure taking on a fully grown mountain troll at the combined age of 23 is quite a tiring thing to do. Ah- or perhaps, Miss Potter would like to go to the hospital wing, on balance,”

As she walked past, she noticed Snape looked angry. Indeed, his expression was murderous. But though he was facing her, his eyes were fixed, unblinkingly, upon the back of Professor Quirrell’s head.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Serpent in the Sky

The next day, Ivy awoke, for the second time that term, lying in the hospital wing, resting on her back. Her head, to be fair, felt a lot better, but, reaching to touch the bandages, she winced. Ouch. There was still a cut there. She may still be in here for a few more days more.

Hermione, who she had not noticed was sitting opposite her bed, spoke to her, not bothering to look away from her book.

“Morning Ivy. Dumbledore threw out the troll, in case you’re wondering. He looked furious. I didn’t know he had it in him. We’ve all been popping in and out of here, waiting for you to get better from your ‘minor injury’,”

Ivy looked at her, raising one eyebrow slightly, and then let her head rest on the bed again. “And by you all, you mean…?”

“Myself, Rose, Draco, and…” she paused, and spat into a cup of water by her side, “Ronald,”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “You still angry with him?” Not waiting for an answer, she asked, “How long will I be in here, anyway?”

“Today and tomorrow,” said Hermione, sounding slightly more friendly already, now that the conversation topic of Ron had been dropped, “You’ll be out in time for your Quidditch match, joy. Oh! And you’ve got a letter,” she finished, tossing a small envelope with Ivy’s name written on it to her. She opened it, and skimmed through.

“Just my mum worrying about me,” she said, disappointedly crumpling it up and throwing it into the bin. “I s’pose I should write back to her?”

“I suppose,” she replied, nodding.

…

Dear Lily,

Heeey, yeah I’m doing okay. Yes, I did knock out a mountain troll with its own club, but Hermione was okay: she’s doing fine. I really miss you. Just got out of the hospital wing, and need to catch up on some herbology homework, so don’t have much time to write now, bye!

Ivy. P

She read through it for the seventh time. The truth was, she didn’t particularly miss Lily at all. Wait- no. She crossed out the ‘Lily’, replacing it with ‘Mum’. It wasn’t, now she looked at it, very long at all, but it had taken her half an hour. Somehow. Time was just weird like that, she supposed. Amaya crawled onto her lap, and rolled up into a ball. She stroked her head playfully.

“Where were you when I was lying in the hospital wing, eh?”

She yawned, and leant against her stomach, batting her eyes up at her.

She grabbed a small brown owl from an armchair, and tied the letter to its leg. She whispered to it.

“Lily Potter,”

As she watched the owl fly out of the door, she found her eyes darting to the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, empty, as always.

She felt a very slight pang of homesickness.

…

Ivy was walking down the stairs towards the table. She wondered vaguely whether Merlin would be having dinner with them. She called out,

“You there, Merlin?”

There was no reply. She frowned. She wasn’t that far away from the dining table at all. Certainly, they should’ve heard her.

“This isn’t funny, guys!”

Still no response. She shivered a little. She quickened her pace, walking through the sitting room, dodging out of the way of Salazar’s enchanted bookcase, but just as she spotted the table, she froze.

Every single seat was occupied not by a founder, but by one of the Dursleys.

“Where were you, eh?” asked Dudley, standing up and shoving her to the ground.

Let me out.
Let me out.
Let me out.
Let me-

Ivy awoke, lying in bed. She was sweaty, but it didn’t sound like she had woken anyone up. Aside from herself. It was a trick she had learnt a long time ago. Years and years. Repeating let me out to herself always made her wake up. At least, when she was dreaming. Whenever something was going badly, she liked to imagine she was.

She wiped a tear from her eye, cursing herself quietly for being an idiot. When she had lived with the founders, she had never wanted to find out who her real parents were. Of course, like any small child, her imagination had toyed with the idea, creating crazy concepts that her dad might be a werewolf, or so on. But she didn’t believe she had ever cared about it too deeply. She played that fateful conversation, from one year ago, back in her head.

“Will I be able to come back?”

“You will always be welcome to come back. Your parents will think you missing if you do not go to Hogwarts in your time, however.”

But Lily and James weren’t her parents, not really. They simply couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. That was Salazar and Rowena, Godric and Helga. Merlin, even. Fat lot of good those two had done parenting her. She stared up at the ceiling. Green, watery shapes danced across the stone, highlighting the imperfections. It was…

Beautiful.

What had happened since she got here again? She had met Rose. That was good. She had also met Hagrid, and Dumbledore, briefly. She smiled to herself.

At least it wasn’t all bad.

And she drifted off back to sleep, dreaming about Salazar, and Amaya, and magic.

…

She pulled on her emerald green robes immediately upon entering the changing rooms. She surveyed herself in the mirror. It was a pretty impressive uniform, she thought to herself. The house logo was large, and the green bright. Heck, it almost made her eyes look dark. Emphasis on the almost. Silver strips highlighted its shape. It was lightweight and comfortable. Aerodynamic, if nothing else. Useful for a seeker.

“Oi! You in there, new stuff?” called Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain and one of the three chasers.

“Yep!” she called back, hastily pulling on her boots and walking out, carrying her nimbus two thousand loftily by her side, and stroking the bristles. “What’s up?”

“Good,” he answered, “It’s a strong team, boys. Wood, Johnson, Spinnet, Bell, and the Weasley twins,”

Ivy, who had spotted a hole, butted in, “And who’s their seeker?”

“They had trouble, the only guy they could find was some idiot named Henry Mulligan, fourth year, don’t you know. But you’ll crush him, Ivy!”

She surveyed their team. Terrence Higgs, the ex-seeker, Adrian Pucey, and Marcus Flint were the chasers. Miles Bletchey was their keeper. Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole, the one with the poor arm rotation, were their beaters. A lot of muscles here, she thought. Could have a little more brain.

Dean Thomas, the commentator, started calling the names of all the Gryffindor players in turn.

“Wood, Spinnet, Bell, Johnson, Weasley, Weasley, Mulligan!”

There was a lot of cheering from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff fans.

“That’s strange,” whispered Terrence, “There’s usually much more cheering for the old lions,”

“Bletchley, Pucey, Higgs, Flint, Derrick, Bole, Potter!” he called out, with noticeably less enthusiasm.

As she walked onto the Quidditch pitch, marvelling at how much better it looked than the one she had played on in the past, she realised why there had been less cheering for the Gryffindors than usual. Of course, everyone in Slytherin was supporting their own house, but the others were less clear cut. It seemed that Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had been split into those cheering for Gryffindor, wanting to finally see Slytherin finally knocked down a peg, and those cheering for Slytherin. The latter, she was sure, was caused by herself. Even Gryffindor had the odd Slytherin supporter mixed in there, but Rose, Ron and Hermione, were all backing the red house. She waved at Draco. He waved back.

“I want a nice, clean game!” called Madam Hooch, making Ivy jump and go back to the task at hand. Oliver and Flint shook hands, but Marcus did not dare cause him injury in the presence of Ivy.

“On your marks! Get set!”

Hooch had barely released the balls before the entirety of the Quidditch teams kicked off the ground, rising into the air.

“Go!”

The crowd immediately burst into noise. Laughter, cheering, and insults filled the pitch, but Ivy ignored them, she had a job to do.

She searched around the pitch, catching sight of Flint winning Slytherin the first goal of the game. There must be a glint of gold somewhere. Anywhere?

Now, dear reader, would be a good time to explain the rules of Quidditch. Now, of course, the majority of the magical population of Britain is aware that a Quidditch team has seven members. Three chasers, two beaters, one keeper, and one seeker. But a shocking amount of people do not understand the finer details of Quidditch. There are four balls, a quaffle, a large black browny red ball, two bludgers, smaller black balls, and the golden snitch, the smallest, and shiniest. It is the chasers’ jobs to get the quaffle through one of the three hoops of the opposing team, earning their own team ten points. It is, of course, the keeper’s job to try to stop the other team’s chasers from getting these points. The beaters, meanwhile, attempt to use their bats to hit bludgers, small black balls that fly around the pitch, away from themselves, and potentially towards opposing teams’ chasers, keeper, seeker, or, if they are particularly stupid, beaters.

But the seeker’s job, in this case Ivy, is merely to find the golden snitch, a small golden ball that flutters around with wings, ending the game, and gaining their team 150 points. Unfortunately for her, no matter where she looked, she just couldn’t find it.

She had a good eye for snitches however, so she was sure she would find it soon. She just needed to make sure Henry Mulligan didn’t find it first.

She soared around the edges of the pitch, making sure to keep out of reach of some of the more troublesome Gryffindors, who were yelling swear words at her. She heard Dean’s voice, yelling to the crowd,

“And Bell passes to Spinnet, who passes to- oop, no, intercepted by Flint! Who passes to Higgs, but oh, what are you doing Bole? Bole shoots a bludger straight at his own chaser! And it’s grabbed by Johnson, who passes to Spinnet, and she scores! Ten all!”

It was a wonder, she thought, that Dean made it through a year commentating six Quidditch matches without losing his voice. At least, she thought he didn’t. She’d have to ask him.

Narrowly missing a bludger launched at her by Fred- or maybe George Weasley? (the two were indistinguishable), she saw Mulligan flying towards her out of the corner of her eye. He was following behind her, evidently not realising he was in her line of sight, until she turned around.

“Can I help you, Henry, dearest?” she asked, coldly, and sarcastically.

She spotted Theo. He alone of the Slytherins was supporting Gryffindor. She felt rage bubbling inside her. The little piece of-

“Nevermind,” Henry muttered, darkly, flying off.

‘Was he trying to use me to find the snitch?’ she wondered, as she sped off in the opposite direction. ‘Someone needs to keep my ego in check.’

From there, she blotted out almost all background noise. Occasionally, she would glance up at the scoreboard to see how her beloved house was doing.

20-10 to Slytherin.
30-10 to Slytherin.
40-20 to Slytherin.
50-50.
60-50 to Gryffindor.
70-60 to Slytherin.
80-80.

It was a remarkably close game. It did, indeed, play late into the night, and it was nine o’clock when Ivy finally caught the snitch, winning the game for Slytherin at 340 - 210. When she returned to the common room, people immediately cheered for her. They had strung signs with all the faces of the Slytherin Quidditch team around the room, and they had saved her the nicest chair by the fireplace. She felt elated. She had won her first game as a seeker.

Just as she was walking up the stairs towards her dormitory, she noticed Theo sitting in a corner. He alone looked not pleased at all, but angry.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: The Dog with Three Heads

Saturday, 9th November, 1991, 11:04 p.m.

At eleven o'clock at night, two figures were quietly making their way up a stone staircase. They walked past dim torches on the wall, and by this light, it was just about possible to make out their faces. A boy, and a girl, no older than twelve. Strange shadows danced across the jagged wall as they passed. They were hardly daring to breathe, and every breath they did take echoed noisily up the stairs. The grimy smell filled their nostrils, but still they trundled on. They had somewhere to be.

It was fortunate for them that nobody happened to be monitoring this section of the castle at this time.

“I’m still not sure about this…” muttered the boy, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“And yet, here you are,” whispered the girl, elbowing him in the ribs for making a noise.

He yelped in pain, and the two of them froze, and waited for a moment… nothing.

They continued on, past portraits lined with sleeping residents: a bard, a princess, a table of monks playing cards, and so forth. They took a practised path up several flights of steps, until, at last, they reached a locked door, different from the rest. Another girl, barely distinguishable from the first, aside from a more muted colour of hair and eyes, looked up, and waved at the green-robed mages.

“You’re here,”

…

Monday, 4th November, 1991, 9:27 a.m.

“Hey Ivy,”

“Hmm?” she mumbled, looking up from her breakfast, “Oh, hi Draco! Slept in, I see?”

“Something like that,” he answered, grabbing a fork and spearing a few sausages onto his plate, glancing up at the large clock at the head of the Great Hall. “Half nine already?” he groaned. “That’s only-”

“Half an hour till first period, yeah yeah…” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I can’t eat that quickly!”

“Well get on with eating then!” she exclaimed, poking him lightly with a spoon.

He looked at her with a heavy lidded gaze, “Good job with the Quidditch thingy, by the way,”

“Thanks,” she said, winking, “You cheered the loudest, I assure you!”

He blushed, watching her smirk. “Yeah, shuddup, Potter,”

“First smart thing I’ve heard from your mouth, Malfoy,” someone whispered, from behind Ivy.

She jumped, whirling around, and let her features sag. It was Theo.

“Upset about the Quidditch result?” she asked, pointedly, “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for you to support Gryffindor so whole-heartedly, Nott. Almost like you disliked somebody on our team. I can’t think who…”

He narrowed his eyes. “Good detective skills, Potty,” he said, in the same way others would say the word ‘scum’. “Good in the air, aren’t you? I wonder how good you are on the ground…”

“Is that a threat?” asked Draco, who had stood up and was now level with Theo.

Theo smiled at him slowly, letting the words sink into Draco, before whispering, in what was little more than a hiss, “Third floor, midnight, Saturday. I think it’s time we explore whatever Dumbledore’s hiding from his dear students,”

“Morning,” said Rose, who, having sensed danger, had walked over to the Slytherin table, “Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothing that concerns the girl who lived, thanks. Just the girl who flew! Even more high than usual!” exclaimed Theo, laughing.

He slinked off to his end of the table, as Crabbe and Goyle laughed.

“When did those idiots stop following you around?” Ivy asked, returning to her food, and smiling at Rose.

“No clue,” he answered, turning back to his.

“I’m coming,” said Rose, turning to leave.

“What?” Draco asked, stopping her. “What do you mean? He’s just inviting us to get ourselves killed! He doesn’t need someone famous for that!”

“Oh, honestly, Malfoy,” she said, rolling her eyes in something between amusement and incredulity, “He wants a duel! Do you honestly think I spent ten years being trained to defeat You Know Who for nothing?”

…

Sunday, 10th November, 1991, 0:21 a.m.

“Where is he?” asked Ivy, restraining the urge to punch a wall, certain that this would not only damage her hand, but alert a member of staff, or Peeves, to their presence.

“Don’t ask me,” said Draco, who himself was having difficulty restraining himself against a nearby cupboard. “The idiot invites us to find whatever Professor Dumbledore’s hiding in the school to stop us dying painfully, Rose says he wants a duel, and then he doesn’t even turn up to the wretched place!” They were standing in a deserted classroom nearby the infamous door on the third floor, making sure to get a good view. Draco had sworn a few times that he saw something biting through that door, but whatever it was had hidden itself in time for the Potter twins to get a good look.

“He’ll turn up,” said Rose, who, alone, seemed relaxed, as she leant against the other side of the cupboard, flicking through pages in some Herbology book she was reading for homework. “Our lovely friend Theo, you see, has a reputation to uphold,”

“What, and your training to defeat Lord Voldemort-” Draco flinched, “-helps you know that?” asked Ivy, irritably. She was doubtful that any training Rose had received from her parents and Dumbledore would compare to that of the founders of Hogwarts, and, though she liked Rose a lot, she was finding this insistence that Theo would really turn up highly infuriating. Didn’t she realise that the coward would save his own neck at any costs, and certainly not risk it over something this petty?

Ivy tried using some Legilimency, or an altered, more stealthy version, at least. Normally, if one were to have their mind opened, they would see a flood of memories and pain dash through their mind, but she had discovered a workaround to this at the age of eight: simply ignoring the impulse to see anything, and instead focusing on hearing thoughts. She had kept this to herself, since it was much more fun to watch Salazar and Godric bicker without any external help, but she had kept it in the back of her mind for a few years now.

I hope Ivy’s okay. The Dursleys really are terrible. I can’t imagine being stuck with them for-

Ivy shook her head. It was nice of Rose to be thinking of her, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. She looked deeper.

Theo will turn up, I know it. He’s not prone to lying-

Bingo. Ivy agreed, he wasn’t exactly known for being the best liar… but to be so sure of herself just because of that…?

Someone banged on the door. The three of them nearly jumped out of their skin. Oh no, thought Ivy, we’ve been caught! But they hadn’t been caught, and it wasn’t, in fact a teacher, for the door swung open to reveal Theodore Nott, accompanied by none other than Gregory Goyle, an utter thug who was rivalled in weight perhaps only by Dudley.

“Malfoy, sort your face out, you look like a squashed toad,” said Theo, lazily pulling out his wand and gesturing behind him, “Sorry I’m late, fanmail, anywho, who wants to check out the dangerous death room? I know I sure do!” he walked back out, grinning from ear to ear.

“That guy has a death wish,” muttered Rose, as Draco mouthed ‘fanmail!?’ to Ivy, as the five of them walked out into the hallway. They followed behind Theo and Goyle, keeping a safe distance, something unnecessary as he had his hand in his back pocket, an unwise place for anyone wanting to pull out their wand quickly.

“Hm…” whispered Rose, sounding disappointed, “It doesn’t look like he wants to duel after all. Shame, I thought his head would look nice in the shape of a teapot…”

Draco snorted.

Theo stopped in front of the door, surveying it with distaste, “A bit dated, don’t you think?” he asked, sweeping off some cobwebs and turning the shining brass knob gingerly.

He pulled.

Nothing happened.

He pulled out his wand and said ‘Alohomora’ softly. There was a small, but satisfying click. He held the door open. The room inside was so fiercely dark, coupled with nothing but the moonlight pouring into the castle, that even craning her neck to get a good view of the inside, Ivy could not make out anything inside the room at all.

“Ladies first,” he said, coldly.

“To die?” asked Rose.

“Yes,” replied Theo, and his words were so strict and clear that neither of the girls for a second thought to protest, though they narrowed their eyes at him as they passed. Once Draco had shoved Theo inside, he closed the door behind him. They were now in complete blackness.

“Lumos,” said three people at once, and the wand tips of Theo, Rose and Ivy all illuminated the room around them. It took Ivy a few seconds to adjust to the light, but once she did, she squealed in pure terror. An enormous, three headed, brown dog was lying asleep on the ground, snoring. It was lying upon what looked like a trapdoor.

Though petrified, and sure of the immense damage this creature could do to them all, Ivy was the first to realise that asleep, it could do them no harm at all. She turned around to open the door and get out of there as quickly as possible, when she also realised that it was only making the sound of two snoring dogs. She turned back to it, veeeery slowly.

One of the heads was growling softly, and blinking in the light.

“Nox! Nox!” she squeaked, but it was no use. The other two heads were stirring. She pushed the door open, and they practically fell out. She slammed the door hard, and it made a crunch as head met door, but, miraculously, it only splintered.

“Colloportus!” she yelled, as loud as she could, and there was a sound of several heads bashing against the door, before silence.

She panted heavily, and watched out of the corner of her eye as Theo and Goyle ran as fast as they could down the corridor.

“Cowards,” she muttered, turning to Rose and Draco.

“You okay?” she asked, looking them up and down. They didn’t seem injured, only shaken.

“Y-yeah… I think so,” mumbled Draco, shivering. “You?”

“Yes, I’m- good… never better,” said Rose, in little more than a whisper.

They stood up, and began to walk as quickly as their slowest, Draco, could muster towards their dormitories. They had made their way to the second floor when they suddenly heard a triumphant voice.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Unicorn Blood

She froze.

Filch.

“Ms Potter, Ms Potter, and Mr Malfoy out of bed late at night I see? You’ll get punished for this!” he exclaimed, sounding downright triumphant at their rule-breaking.

Ivy glanced around, considering her options. Stay here, and allow herself to get detention? Bit of a safe bet, could she do any better? Memory charm… no, Dumbledore was incredibly well known for his charm-breaking ability. Knock him out while retaining his memories? Oh, don’t be stupid, Ivy, he’s Filch, he’ll hold on to any possibility of getting students expelled…

“Come with me quietly,” he growled, as Mrs Norris appeared around a corner, “and I won’t wake up the whole castle,”

She cussed silently. While Filch was the most obvious squib she had met since the Abbey sisters (long story to do with time travel and 1666), it was almost as though he was able to read minds. She looked at him curiously.

“Fine,” she finally said, after a silence which seemed to stretch out for hours, but in reality was barely more than twenty seconds, “We’ll come quietly. But we’ll go straight to Dumbledore, thanks,”

Filch stared at her angrily, but, after taking a few half-hearted glances down at her trouser pocket, he agreed. As the four of them made their way towards Dumbledore’s office, both Rose and Draco questioned her, whispering as quietly as they could.

“Really, Ivy?” asked Draco, “Just giving in to Filch? The madman wants us expelled!”

“Well it’s a good job he has no authority in Hogwarts then!” hissed Ivy, “Do you really think Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to break a memory charm? If I hadn’t, he would’ve told McGonagall, or worse, Snape! At least Dumbledore doesn’t make a ruckus because of rule-breaking!”

“All the same,” huffed Rose, “You could’ve sold out Theo! Imagine the smirk being wiped off his face for once!”

“Any detention given to me by the staff of Hogwarts,” whispered Ivy, as they walked past a small band of ghosts, who watched them walk past distastefully, “would be immeasurably worse with Theo there to haunt me!”

They approached an ugly gargoyle carrying a lance and wearing an expression of what seemed to be fury. Once upon a time, this was the office of Godric Gryffindor, though back then, it was merely a doorway. There had been another door opposite this which had been Slytherin’s office, but this room was nowhere to be found.

“Sherbert lemon,” said Filch, barely containing the glee in his voice. Immediately, the gargoyle’s expression shifted to a blank one, and it jumped aside, with much more grace than would be expected of a creature so ugly.

As it jumped forward, two columns of stone, barely noticeable alongside the wall, opened inwards, revealing a tall spiral staircase made of highly polished oak wood. Shimmering, golden railings surrounding it, and the walls alongside it were decorated with the occasional painting, signifying an important moment in the history of Hogwarts. Four people, who Ivy recognised as the founders, sat around a table, as Godric lifted his hat off his head, and performed some spells.

Ah, thought Ivy, perhaps that was how the sorting hat came to be!

She fully expected Filch to immediately start climbing the numerous stairs, perhaps calling behind his back for the three of them to hurry up, as though they were not walking at their normal speed. Instead, he climbed four steps, and stopped. Bewildered, Ivy, Rose and Draco took the three steps behind him. Instantly, as though by magic, which it was, it started spinning and bringing them upwards, so that they didn’t need to walk at all.

It was, Ivy thought, an impressive little bit of magic, and certainly an upgrade from the stony stairs of just over a thousand years prior. Had the circumstances been different, she may have commented on this to her friends, minus the comparison to the previous millennium, of course. Unfortunately for her, she was in no mood to.

Filch knocked several times on the door, once they had finally reached the top. The door was made of spruce wood, painted ruby, with the result being a very deep red, contrasting to the nearly white wall around it. It had first been created as the door to Godric’s office and private quarters, which was commonly used as a meeting point for the four founders. The door had been replaced several times throughout its history: upon installation, it resembled the wall itself, and would need to be opened with a lot of force for anything to happen. It had been replaced in 1542, due to the paint surrounding the door falling away, now sporting a stone design, painted baby blue. Sometime before 1967, it was then replaced with a design similar to the one before her now, and when that was destroyed in a fire, the governors decided to stick with the new style, though they added a brass knocker in the shape of a gryphon.

It was, quite literally, a gryphon door.

Draco rolled his eyes, evidently having thought of the same pun as her.

“Come in!” called Dumbledore’s voice, weary and sleepy, yet entirely awake.

Filch opened the door inwards, and, to the surprise of nobody, Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, looking through documents and files and nodding in his direction, not bothering to look up from his work. He was wearing purple robes and a corresponding hat, and his long, white beard was tucked neatly into his belt, where it disappeared below the table. The room around him was tall, and round, covered head to toe with paintings of the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all, apparently, sleeping.

“Yes Argus?” he asked, though Ivy could not tell how he knew it was Filch, given that he was still staring at the files, and he wouldn’t be anywhere near his peripheral vision.

“I found these three wandering the halls in the night,” he muttered, in a sharp tone which did not entirely mask the glee in his eyes.

“Oh,” Dumbledore, looking up at him, “Did you now?”

“The Potter girls and the Malfoy brat,” he said, gesturing to them unnecessarily.

“I would rather you referred to him as the Malfoy boy, Argus, or, I am sure he would not mind you calling him Draco,”

“Very well, the Potter girls and- Draco,” he very nearly spat, “Regardless of names, I found them wandering the-”

“Halls at night. I heard you the first time,” said Dumbledore, patiently. “They can have their detention with Hagrid, before you ask, he needs help with some business in the forest,”

“Forest?” asked Draco, suddenly looking tense, “Not the forbidden-”

“For Christ’s sake, Malfoy!” exclaimed Rose, restraining herself from punching him, “How many other forests are there around and about Hogwarts?”

Draco shot a dirty look at the floor.

…

One Week Later,

The dark, ominous night sky framed the ground below it. An enormous castle was situated somewhere which could have been described as the middle of nowhere, had there not been an enormous castle in it. The grounds which surrounded it, a lake, several small fields, a forest, and an open plain, were near silent, and were illuminated by none of the friendly lights which could be spied inside the school. Instead, the only lights to be seen were the moonlight, and one coming from the side of the castle, from a small hut.

This hut belonged to Rubeus Hagrid, a half giant, and keeper of keys, whom Ivy had met a few times prior. He waved at her in a friendly fashion as she made her way towards the forbidden forest, along with Draco Malfoy, Rose Potter, and Argus Filch, who was wearing a slight frown. He wasn’t, Ivy thought, glancing over at Draco, the only one.

“Good evenin’!” called Hagrid as they approached. In fact, it was eleven o’clock at night on a Saturday, and it would have been amiss of anyone without Hagrid’s sense of safety to call it a particularly ‘good’ one at that.

“Grow up,” Ivy heard Filch mutter.

“So!” said Hagrid, the moment Filch had disappeared off to the castle, and he didn’t sound nearly as cheerful now, “So. I think there’s somefin’ you lot should see,”

He led them over to his hut, and walked round the far edge, pointing at the tall grass. There, lying in a squashed portion, was the unmistakable, headless, pure white body of a unicorn. Its blood was seeping slowly onto the blades of grass closest to it, staining them silver.

Ivy, Rose, and Draco all stared at it in shock. Rose was the first to speak.

“Who did this?” she asked, not daring to look away.

“I don’ know,” said Hagrid, grabbing a crossbow he had hung up on the side of his house. “It’s been happening since the school year began. A whole bunch of dead unicorns turning up in the forest whenever I explore. All the blood drained from their corpses. This one only ‘as this much left cause I found it while the killer was still drinking. Disappeared in a flash, o’ course…”

“Drinking?” asked Draco, who was looking ready to throw up. “You don’t mean… the blood?” he said the last two words in a whisper, and Hagrid answered gruffly.

“Yeah. I do. You aren’t trying to find the culprit!” he exclaimed, quickly, “You’ll just be gathering blackberries, but- it’s good to be aware, y’know?”

They walked, in complete silence, towards the forest, with Hagrid’s boarhound, Fang, trailing behind them.

“Right,” said Hagrid, carefully glancing left and right. Rose n’ me’ll go this way, and you, Malfoy and Fang’ll go that way,” he said, addressing Ivy. “Careful, alright?”

“Right,” said Ivy, walking in the direction he pointed, picking blackberries as she went. After a while, Draco spoke.

“Where do you reckon the- thing drinking the blood will be?” asked Draco, as quietly as he could.

“No idea,” she whispered, shivering. “Just focus on the berries!”

They walked on in near silence, straining their ears to find anything they could. Until…

She gasped as she turned a corner, in spite of herself. There, on the ground, was a hooded black figure, drinking the blood of a dead unicorn thirstily. It looked up upon their arrival, and without any hesitation, began moving slowly towards them.

“Oh fu-!” she yelled, as loud as she could, when there was suddenly the sound of hooves galloping towards the clearing where they were standing, and the hooded man jumped, and slinked away, clutching the back of their head as they went.

There, standing in the clearing, was a centaur, such as Ivy had seen once before. He had the lower body of a horse, but the torso of a naked man. He had a black beard and flowing hair, and he was clutching a bow as he watched the strange creature disappear among the trees.

“Are you foals okay?” he asked, gruffly, still keeping his eye on it as it clambered away over tree stumps.

“Y-yeah,” said Ivy, standing up. Her hair flowed slightly in the wind, revealing her lightning scar. She looked up at the centaur and smiled, “I’m okay,”

“Me too,” said Draco, who seemed unable to stand up.

For some reason, the centaur, who introduced himself as Firenze, was now staring at Ivy’s forehead.

“Can I… help you?” she asked, nervously.

“Miss… Potter?” he whispered.

“Yeah?” she answered, “But what does that have to do with-?”

“Ask them!” he said, urgently, “Ask the four! Who would be so desperate for life so as to drink the blood of a unicorn?”

And he hurried away, as quickly as he could.

“The four?” asked Draco.

“Yes,” said Ivy, looking after Firenze, raising an eyebrow, “The four,”

Chapter Text

]Chapter 12: Lord Voldemort

It had been a few weeks since Ivy had had her detention with Hagrid, and the Christmas holidays were well underway. Overnight, it seemed, the castle grounds had been covered in a waist-high layer of snow, and frost continued to gather on the corners of windows. The castle had, in some places, become warmer, with people redoubling their efforts on the fireplaces in all four of the common rooms, and extra candles being placed willy-nilly around the castle at apparently random intervals.

Places such as the potions dungeons, however, had not been so lucky. Lessons down there had become so unbearably cold that even Snape had resigned himself to allow students to wear coats inside his classroom, but only after several of the Slytherins had fainted from the cold. At first, the snow outside had been a source of great joy to the students, and Ivy had happily jotted down memories of snow days into her diary.

Dear Diary,

Today, term finally broke up (but not before McGonagall gave us another transfiguration essay for after the hols.) Draco and I decided to have a quiet walk around the castle, talking about whatever was on our minds, when we were ambushed in the snow by several Gryffindors! Rose, Ron, Fred, and George. We were, of course, happy to lob snowballs at them, and the day was won when Hermione joined us. Never knew she had such good aim.

However, it had quickly turned into a burden, as snow could not fall fast enough to keep up with the students trampling it, and the grounds had quickly become a soggy, snowy mess to attempt to walk around in. What was more, people began leaving the castle. Usually, this would’ve been done all at once, but that wasn’t really feasible in the current weather. So, instead, students would go in groups of ten at a time and get escorted off the premises. She could’ve sworn people were going at a rather slow pace, but, within a few days, the school was very nearly silent, and all who remained spent almost all their time in their common rooms, or else in the library, where Madam Pince, the librarian, would constantly breathe down their necks.

Draco and Ron had elected to stay, but they were some of the few. Hermione had gone home to spend time with her muggle parents, doing something called skiing, which consisted of tying wooden poles to one’s feet, and using them to go down mountains. In Ivy’s opinion, it sounded daft. Rose had also chosen to spend time with James and Lily, but Ivy had politely refused. She still wasn’t sure about where she stood on the matter.

Notably, Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor in Ivy’s year, had decided to stay rather than go back to her grandmother. Parvati and Padma Patil, Seamus Finnigan, Pansy Parkinson, Ernie Macmilllan, and Millicent Bulstrode had all decided to stay, but, aside from them, no other first years were remaining at Hogwarts over Christmas.

The real reason (aside from her complicated feelings towards her parents) why Ivy was staying at Hogwarts was because she wanted to do research. She hadn’t forgotten the creature drinking the unicorn blood, and supposedly, unless Firenze had been referring to something completely different to what she thought he was saying (which was unlikely, as centaurs are well-renowned at Divination) she was supposed to ask the founders about who, or what, may want to drink the blood of a unicorn.

Her first course of action had been to find out more about unicorn blood, as, in her time, it was not a particularly well-researched topic. Her breakthrough had come after about four days of digging.

Consuming unicorn blood can grant a temporary reprieve from death, often described as a glimpse of immortality. However, this gift comes with a heavy price—the drinker becomes cursed, leading to a life devoid of joy and fulfilment.

She had stared at the quote for a while. It didn’t seem quite right. A cursed life? Who would want such a thing? To kill a unicorn… just to be immortal? If immortal was the right word.

‘Well,’ said a small bit of her brain, which spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Perhaps somebody desperate for life at all costs.’

She pondered this the following night. As far as she could remember, she didn’t know anyone desperate for immortality. Nor did she know of anybody who matched that description. Perhaps some very dark wizard indeed.

She had shuddered, though she didn’t know why.

Ivy had considered going to see the founders on Christmas Eve, but decided, on balance, that it would be foolish to do it on a significant day, and so, decided to wait in her bedroom one morning. She only had to wait for Pansy and Millicent to get up. Tick tock. Rustles came from the bed closest to her, which she knew housed Pansy. She saw through the gap in her four poster as she brushed her hair, brushed her teeth, and got out of bed.

Millicent followed suit, swinging the door shut behind her. She breathed slowly. It didn’t sound like anyone was coming back up. Slowly, she climbed out of bed, rushing her morning routine as much as she dared, staying as quiet as she could. She didn’t know why her heart was racing. She knew the founders very well, she had since she was one. She wasn’t scared of them. She liked them a lot, and they liked her. And yet…

Her hand froze as it hovered over her wand. Pull yourself together, Ivy. She stared at it. She willed her hand to grab it, for Christ’s sake. It was just a wand. It wouldn’t bite. But she pulled her hand back again. What was wrong with her? She had been looking forward to this for months. She knew them so well. They were her parents, or- kind of. Close enough.

She conjured up an image in her head. Salazar Slytherin. She smiled, and grabbed the wand.

…

“Morning,” said Helga, wiping her nose on a tissue.

“Morning, honey,” said Godric, who was sitting behind his desk.

His wife groaned. “You’re not working on the suits of armour again, are you? They don’t need to be enchanted, they’re just armour! For knights! Your obsession with magic troubles me.”

Godric rolled his eyes, “You’re one of the founders of Hogwarts. Are you telling me you aren’t obsessed with the magic we teach our students?”

“There should still be an upper limit, Godric,” said Rowena softly, immersed, as always, in a book, “Those muggle schools don’t use additions in the names of their rooms, do they?”

Godric harrumphed. “What do you think, Salazar, you’ve been quiet lately,”

“Have I?” he asked, not tearing his eyes away from the window. In reality, he had been being quiet lately, intentionally, “You can’t tell me you don’t miss the girl?”

“I don’t think anyone was,” said Ravenclaw, standing up to sit next to Salazar, “But it’s not as though we’ll never see her again. Merlin taught her time travel, she can visit us any time she chooses to!”

“You’d think she would’ve by now, wouldn’t you?” he asked, miserably. It had been months.

“You’re one to talk, old Snake!” exclaimed Godric. “Didn’t write to me for six months while you were on a trip to Wales!”

Salazar went quiet.

“Hey!” exclaimed Helga, suddenly, “What’s that?”

As the founders watched, an eleven year old girl appeared into the landscape beyond their window. Ivy Potter had landed in a landscape similar to the one she had just left. A snowy, December day. Had she known it, she had landed perfectly, on the same date as what it would be back in the present day.

She was in the place which would one day become the Astronomy tower.

“Quick!” shouted Salazar, overjoyed, “Grab the brooms!”

It took a while, but they eventually got Ivy into Godric’s office. This was made more difficult by the fact that all that she and Salazar wanted to do was hug each other.

“So?” asked Godric, when the two women had finally pried them apart. “What brings you here? Doing alright in… 1990… something?”

“Yeah, I’m doing fine,” said Ivy, hurriedly, suddenly remembering why she was here in the first place, “Listen,”

And she relayed everything from Halloween onwards. About the troll, the dog, and the unicorn blood.

“And-” she said, when she had finished, “A centaur told me to ask you four if you knew of anyone who would be desperate enough to drink unicorn blood,” But she stopped suddenly, because their faces had hardened to stone.

“What is it?” she asked, quickly.

None of them spoke for a while. They were all staring at her, in silence. Ivy got the impression that none of them wanted to be the first to speak.

“Well-” said Salazar, hesitantly, “Yes, you could say that…”

Ivy raised an eyebrow at him, and tilted her head to one side. She hadn’t ever seen the founders so slow to answer her. They were sturdy, anchors in time of need.

It seemed uncharacteristic.

He drew a deep breath. “Have you heard anyone refer to somebody called ‘You Know Who’, or ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’?” he asked, staring at her.

Suddenly, Ivy remembered something Rose had said less than two months ago.

Do you honestly think I spent ten years being trained to defeat You Know Who for nothing?

She nodded her head slowly.

“Well… I don’t think I should need to tell a mind such as yourself that some wizards go bad, would I?” he asked, rhetorically. “And several centuries in the future, one wizard became as bad as they come. He was called Tom Riddle,”

A shudder swept around the room.

“Yes. Was in the past tense,” mumbled Salazar, “Don’t ask me why, but he fashioned himself a new name. Lo-” he swallowed, “Lord Voldemort,”

“Lord Voldemort?” asked Ivy.

“Yes. But- don’t refer to him as that in your time! His name is feared all around. He’s… very dangerous, and Merlin doubts he is gone for good,”

“What does this have to do with-?”

Salazar interrupted her, “The night you were sent here, Lord Voldemort- or, you know who, set out to kill you and your sister- I don’t know why, Ivy! - but, when he tried to kill you, the killing curse rebounded off of you, and hit him. We know he still exists in some form, and he most likely is looking for a way to regain a body, so he could resort to unicorn blood!”

Ivy pondered this point. She was remarkably unfazed as she filled in the gaps. Dumbledore must have mistaken Rose as the one who killed Voldemort. That was where she had gotten her lightning scar.

That night, as she lay in bed, she imagined scenes of horror, as Lily faced losing her daughters. Cries of pain, tears, terror. Imagined. But it felt so real.

Was she being too harsh on her?

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Christmas and Mysteries

When Ivy awoke in her four-poster bed on Christmas day, the first thing to pass through her mind, as it had been every morning, was thoughts of Lord Voldemort. That was why Rose had been trained, because Dumbledore thought she killed him.

The second thing to pass through her mind was that Rose and the others weren’t at Hogwarts at the moment, and she was nearly alone.

The third thing to pass through her mind, unlike with previous mornings, was that it was Christmas day. She jumped out of bed, landing on the green rug by the foot of it, and scaring Amaya into a corner. Grabbing her emerald green dressing gown, she began to unwrap the presents at the foot of her bed.

Ron had sent her a book about useful Quidditch manoeuvres. The cover was decorated by a trunk spilled open, with a broomstick, a quaffle, and a snitch spilling out onto the oak table below it. She grinned slyly.

You’ll live to regret that one.

Rose’s present had also been Quidditch related, with socks coloured green, but, in direct sunshine, would turn vibrant scarlet. She laughed at the cheek. She had received several heavy books from Hermione: 709 ways to milk a frog, the wisty witch’s guide to thorough transfiguration, and, funniest of all, the life and lies of Bart, the squib.

Draco had gotten her several chocolate frogs, and had evidently attempted to make them into the shape of snakes. The result was what looked like long, fanged, strangled white chocolate necks, which slivered about the place menacingly. She dared to try one, and was glad she did, for it ended up being fine white chocolate indeed. She made a mental note- then, decided to make a physical note in her diary, to ask Draco where he had got it.

The four founders had all gotten her presents, trying to find modern muggle artefacts that would interest her. The results were hilarious. Salazar had gotten her a ceiling fan, while Godric had attempted to one up him, by getting her a muggle machine called a laptop, which wouldn’t become widespread for years into her future. Rowena had gone for a more tame approach, going for a muggle bookmark, which resembled an otter. Helga had gotten her a rubber duck.

She had received a large box of chocolate frogs from Lily and James, and, for some reason, Mrs Weasley, Ron’s mum, had gotten her a hand-knitted, fluorescent green jumper, with the letter ‘I’ written on it in golden, cursive letters. When Ivy had finished putting it on and admiring herself in the mirror, she turned back to the pile. There was one more present.

There was a tag written on it. To Ivy, from James. She turned it over. Don’t tell your mum! She stared at it. It felt soft, like fabric. She teared into it a little, to see if she could figure out what it could be. It was fabric, alright. A robe of sorts. Pulling it out all the way, it seemed a very light colour, not refracting, not anything. Had she not known it was there, she might have mistaken it for a slight, concentrated fog.

She pulled it on slowly, staring at the tag, and gingerly made her way over to the mirror.

What.

What?

Was it possible for mirrors to stop working, she wondered. She couldn’t see herself at all. It may as well have been a door into an exact replica of her dormitory, with no reflective effects whatsoever. She yanked it off. And- there she was again! And it clicked into place. This was an invisibility cloak, which James had given her! Quite why he had decided to give it to her was a mystery, but here it was! She noticed another tag stuck with nothing more than blue-tack to the cloak itself.

Use it well.

When she had finally made her way down to the Great hall, wondering what on Earth James could be playing at, giving her something so valuable, she found that she had managed to be one of the first. It seemed just about everyone had slept in even more than she had. Pansy was sitting at the Slytherin table, Ernie Macmillan at the Hufflepuff table, and Neville in Gryffindor. The Ravenclaw table was deserted.

She sat down gingerly, admiring the Christmas decorations. Hagrid had somehow hauled twelve enormous Christmas trees around, decorated with baubles, tinsel, magical lights, candycanes, and anything else one could want from the festive tradition. She blinked slightly, brushing some magical snow from her eyes, and looked up as Pansy offered her a Christmas cracker.

The day was quiet, and uneventful, with her spending several short hours in her common room, chatting and gossiping with the remaining Slytherin girls. As night fell, and they retired to bed, Ivy blinked a few times, sensing that she was forgetting something. She glanced beneath her bed, and saw the invisibility cloak, lying in a bundle in her corner of the room.

Use it well. She tasted the words, speaking them aloud as quietly as she could. She glanced at the tag. It was almost taunting her. She grinned at it sheepishly, tilting her head to the right very slightly and raised her left eyebrow.

Hm. Would she do it?

Yes. Yes she would.

She grabbed it, yanking it over herself as quickly as she could without drawing the attention of her slumbering roommates. She was now invisible. Looking down, in the place where she would normally see her body, arms, hands, and so on, she now got a clear view of the floor beneath her. Trippy.

She snuck out of the common room, her eyes darting around nervously. She fully expected to be caught. In truth, she didn’t know why she was sneaking out at night, but she felt that she would be doing a disservice to James not to use her new present for troublemaking. She quietly opened the door, disguised as a painting of a snake, unmoving, which was very uncommon for magical paintings. One of the painting’s eyes was open. The other, closed. She was not entirely sure if the object of the picture could move, but it wasn’t choosing to either way.

She shook her head and walked off. It was a fascinating experience, walking past portraits, teachers and even ghosts, while going undetected. Once or twice, she would run into Mrs Norris, and freeze in spite of herself. She was staring at the place she was. But she couldn’t possibly see her. She shivered, remembering the forest and the unicorn-drinking creature, supposedly Voldemort.

She entered a few classrooms, seeing if she could find anything interesting. They were all deserted, naturally, though some had desks moved around, as though in a hurry. Especially in Potions classrooms, they seemed to have been torn apart during the Christmas holiday, as though somebody was somehow capitalising from the lack of lessons to search for something. Any offices were nearly empty.

She felt a chill run down her spine as she saw a particularly ravaged Transfiguration classroom at the end of a corridor, and continued on. She wasn’t sure why she had decided to go for a nighttime stroll in the first place, but now she felt pulled to explore further. She went into a classroom to its right. Not quite as many desks had been knocked over, but there was still activity. She ran over to another one, this time on the left. Completely devoid of anything. She walked, at a brisk pace, over to the right, stopping every now and again to look at the rooms. Sure enough, they were getting progressively more damaged, with smashed windows, shattered glass, desks and chairs all over the place, and, in one, some mould on the carpet, though that had most likely already been there.

She heard something that made her stop as she rounded a corner. There was a slight giggle. High pitched and cheeky, not quite male or female. She began backing away from the sound, feeling behind her for a door, anything to get her out of this corridor. Footsteps reverberated around her, getting louder and clearer as she walked on. She finally felt a doorknob, and forced her way inside, bolting and locking the door behind her. As she leant against the door, breathing heavily, she felt the air get colder, as something passed.

Ivy waited. She heard… whatever it was, walking backwards and forwards outside that door a few times. Through the key-hole, she spied it knocking down several doors with its wand. It was wearing all black robes, which were heavily torn, and seemed to be moving around frantically. No. It couldn’t be. But it was, plain for all to see, Lord Voldemort, who had drunk unicorn blood, and nearly killed her at the age of one. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and willed it to calm down. Surely, if he was so close, he would hear it…

And then, Voldemort ran off, muttering darkly, though now in a definitely male voice, if still high. Very different from the one she had just heard. It sounded vaguely familiar. She shook her head, and waited as still as she could. It didn’t sound like he was coming back. As Ivy turned her back to the door in relief, she got her first plain view of the room she was in. This room, the one she had just entered, also looked a little worse for wear, though only a few small pieces of furniture were scattered around. In fact, the only piece of furniture which looked sturdy and strong, and was, in fact in the correct place, was a large mirror, with a gold trim, which had one word written upon it in enormous, cursive writing.

Erised

She took in the mirror, uncomfortably aware of how odd it was that something, evidently, of such value would be left untouched while Voldemort tore half the school apart. She wondered how lessons would be when they restarted, with so many untidy classrooms, or just straight up destroyed. Grimacing, she took a step closer to examine the mirror. Erised… Erised… she tasted the word. It wasn’t quite French, or Spanish, or Latin (all languages which Ivy had learnt throughout her short time travelling adventures) but it didn’t seem quite like a made up word either. Perhaps… a caesar cipher? Well, if it was, it could keep what it meant, she didn’t have the energy for that. She tried, on a whim, reading it backwards, as though it was a mirrored word.

desirE

Ah, she thought, that makes sense. A mirror, perhaps where one could look to find their deepest desire. What they wanted, whatever they wanted. She grinned, and walked in front of the mirror, and stopped. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, it changed. She was in Slytherin, and standing around her were the four founders and Merlin, patting her on the back. Back where she belonged. She smiled, in spite of herself, but then, it switched. She was in Gryffindor, and standing around her now were James, Lily and Rose. That couldn’t be right. She di- but then it switched again, to her and the founders, and then back to her family. She was breathing heavily again, she had become aware of it, but her breaths came out strangled.

“No,” she whispered, but it came out hoarse.

The last thing she saw from the mirror was her beginning to take something out of her pocket, before she made a dash for it. Everything was a blur, as she tried to make it to her common room, down in the dungeons. She was uncomfortably aware of the possibility of Lord Voldemort being this way, and he would surely kill her in an instant. But she kept running. She nearly forgot that she was wearing the invisibility cloak, and several times her footsteps would wake up some of the paintings, who would wonder what it was that had woken her up, but she didn’t care. She bounded all over the place, until she made it to the familiar painting of the snake.

“Venom,” she muttered, and then louder, “Venom!”

It swung open upon receiving the password, and she slammed it shut behind her as fast as she could, pulling off the invisibility cloak and taking a seat by the fire. She was more scared than she could remember feeling in years. She grabbed the invisibility cloak, and made to throw it into the fire… but no. She couldn’t.

She stared at the cloak. She wasn’t… couldn’t possibly be… addicted to this?

Could she?

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Ravenclaw

As it turned out, it seemed as though Voldemort had cleaned up after himself, and when Ivy returned to the same classrooms that had previously been ravaged the following morning, she found them back to normal, completely tidy, as though nothing had happened. She’d decided against returning to the mirror of Erised. Falling asleep that night had been a difficult experience, with her restless self pacing up and down the dormitory so often that when she awoke, she saw that she had barely slept for two hours.

The rest of the Christmas holiday saw Ivy spending a lot of time trying to figure out Voldemort, with pictures and questions pinned to her bedroom wall, connected by red string. She barely spent any time outside of the dormitory at all, and when she did, she was on edge and restless. She snapped one night just before new year when Draco ventured to ask her if she was okay.

“I’m fine!” she exclaimed, more to herself than anyone else, and then, realising she had shouted, she muttered, “I’m fine,”

The Invisibility cloak sat abandoned beneath her bed, gathering dust.

Eventually, all the students returned to Hogwarts, and it was not long after that that lessons resumed. Ivy spent many short hours in the common room, playing wizard chess with Draco (who was terrible) and, when he would visit, Ron (who was nothing short of amazing), or else catching up with homework in one of the good armchairs by the fire, while listening to the sounds of everyone else fading away as it got later and later.

Before long, though, hers, and everyone else’s, attention was focused on the upcoming Quidditch match, Ravenclaw versus Slytherin. Slytherin had won the first game of the season, and Ravenclaw had battered Hufflepuff.

Flint had become near insufferable in the lead-up to the match, demanding harder and more efficient practice, much to the annoyance of everyone on the team. Ravenclaw was, admittedly, a much fiercer opponent than Gryffindor at Quidditch, at least when Gryffindor had a somewhat poor seeker. Nonetheless, nobody on the team had taken kindly to the extra exercise.

“Marcus, mate, what are you playin’ at?” asked one of the beaters, after a particularly stormy training session, “You’re gonna chop our arms off!”

“If you want to explain to Snape why we took all of our sessions off and were promptly slaughtered by Ravenclaw, then be my guest, Derrick! But if not, I suggest you sort out Bole’s arm!”

When the match eventually did come, it was stormy, and not ideal weather to fly in. It was interrupted a few times due to flying injuries as neither team could see very well at all, and, when Ravenclaw narrowly won 210 - 180, the crowd took no more than three minutes to funnel out into the castle, even through the bottlenecks formed by the two doors leading to the Quidditch pitch and Hogwarts itself.

Afterwards, Ravenclaw remained in first on the leaderboard and Slytherin was still in second. By some miracle, probably Hermione’s continued rule-following, Gryffindor had clawed itself up to a third place, just ahead of Hufflepuff. Ivy wondered if that would remain after the round that the two teams would share.

When she returned to the Slytherin common room, it was pleasantly quiet. There was no party or anything, as they hadn’t won, but nobody was eying her angrily, as though the terrible rain was somehow her fault, which she saw as a good, if minor, positive.

Following this loss for Slythrin, Ivy’s life at Hogwarts more or less reverted to the status quo. Time spent with Draco, Ron, Rose and Hermione, check. Hatred for Theo, check. And, of course, the weekly (or so) visits to Hagrid’s hut.

She had started out only going to and from the hut by herself for a few months, before being joined by Draco, and soon afterwards, Rose and Ron. After the troll, which Hermione had thankfully managed to avoid gaining any trauma from, she had also begun attending the late evenings, though she brought with her homework so as to not spend the time entirely unproductively. Hagrid, of course, had been overjoyed that Ivy’s extended friend group were now just about nearly constantly visiting him, and they had all gotten used to each other’s company. After a few months of every new visitor trying his rock cakes once and never again, Hagrid had dropped the recipe, now just offering them pumpkin juice whenever they came without supper. They were also accustomed to when people would get there. Hermione would arrive around half an hour before everyone else, which no one objected to, while the two twins would arrive just on time. Ron and Draco would inevitably be ten minutes late.

It was on one of these evenings, sat around Hagrid’s roaring fireplace, as Hermione absent-mindedly petted Fang’s head and Ron’s pet rat, Scabbers, tried in vain to escape through one of his windows, that Ivy was suddenly struck by the recollection of another dog, much larger, much scarier, and with two more heads than the average.

“Um… Hagrid? Could I trust you to not repeat any of this conversation to any students… or teachers… around school?”

“Hm?” he asked, drinking some Pumpkin juice, though Ivy got the impression that he had heard her perfectly, “You haven’t done anything bad, have ya, Ivy?” he asked, shooting a nervous eye around the room, trying to gauge the moods of everyone else present.

“No!” she exclaimed, “Well, kind of? Look. You know when Draco, Rose and I had detention with you… and we saw the creature… drinking…”

“Yeah!” he said quickly, “What of it?”

“Well… I just…” she breathed in, deeply, “We got that detention because we were caught sneaking around after hours,”

The half-giant nodded, slowly, “I know why you were there, Ivy,”

“Yes, well,” she mumbled, “While we were going around, we… might have accidentally found the third floor corridor… on the right?”

With a frankly ear-splitting crash, Hagrid’s glass fell to the ground and shattered into shards, spewing all over the room. Hermione fearfully gasped the repairing charm, staring at Ivy as she did so.

“We saw… a three headed dog there, and it was on top of a trapdoor,”

Hagrid sat frozen for a second, before coming back to his senses, and deciding to take the situation lightly.

“Well… you survived didn’ ya? You and Fluffy…”

“Fluffy!?” exclaimed Draco, incredulously, “What the heck do you mean, Fluffy? That thing has a name?”

“Well, I had to call it something, didn’t I?” he asked. “I thought it went quite nicely with his personality!”

Rose facepalmed.

“Look, that’s not the important bit,” said Ivy, quickly, “The point is, what was- Fluffy guarding? Or was it just a secret den where you and the teachers hang out during the holidays?” she added, sarcastically.

“Don’t be cheeky,” he snapped, before sighing, “Well, you’re one for one. Fluffy is indeed guarding something, but you best not go looking and get yourself killed, and that goes for the rest of you! If you end up as bloody- oh, nevermind. No matter. What’s down there is none of your business! That’s strictly between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel!”

“Nicholas Flamel?” asked Hermione, sitting up immediately.

Hagrid jumped, and then sagged, “I shouldn't a’ said that. I should not have said that,”

“Who’s that?” asked Ivy, who was staring at him unblinkingly.

“Oh shush! All of you! Get out! I won’t be having no more snooping around from the lot of ya! The fact that you managed to even find Fluffy in the first place should be enough to prove to anyone that you can’t just go looking around for things! You’ll die! You’re only eleven! Out! Out!”

And with that, the five of them were shooed out of Hagrid’s hut, onto the dim grounds.

She had a name now.

Nicholas Flamel.

Couldn’t she catch a break from the mysteries?

Looked like she was in for another sleepless night.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: The Voice Of A Mouse

“Any progress?” asked Rose, yawning as she turned a corner in the library and found Hermione and Ivy sitting behind books.

“Nothing,” said Ivy, “And keep it down! We’re doing our best to find Nicholas Flamel, but there’s diddly squat about him in here!”

“He’s not a famous wizard, dark wizard, muggle, squib, herbologist, potion maker, astronomer, politician!” Hermione threw her hands in the air at the last word, as though making a point, “I haven’t been able so much as to find him in old newspapers! I swear, if it’s in the restricted section…” and she faded off into dark mutterings and threats towards the staff of Hogwarts.

“Alright,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Just asking,” and she walked off, to get lunch.

“Perhaps we should call it quits for today?” asked Ivy, closely watching Hermione, who was staring angrily at a book about famous wizards from the twentieth century, “Head down to lunch?”

Hermione turned her glare to her, and then sagged, “You’re probably right,” she said, standing up, “I haven't even heard the name in passing. It’s like he doesn’t exist!”

Ivy shrugged, “You can’t exactly find the majority of people in a book, can you?”

“Yeah, I suppose, but of those who Dumbledore knows personally?” she asked, stretching and pulling her bag over her shoulder, “You’d be hard pressed to find many people you couldn’t!”

On the way to the Great hall, Ivy glanced down towards Hagrid’s hut, situated as ever in the large plains between the lake and the forbidden forest. It had been several weeks, and he hadn’t so much as invited them over. She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time. Sitting down at the Slytherin table by herself, she began to eat as quickly as she could, hoping, though she had suggested to stop, to squeeze a little more time out of lunch, though as the bell went, she begrudgingly walked over to double potions.

…

Severus Snape walked angrily from the Potions classroom, the moment the period had finished, his cloak billowing behind him impressively. He had long come to the conclusion that Rose Potter did not take after her mother, and had no talent to speak of. She was useless at Potions, and if Dumbledore allowed it, he wouldn’t be teaching her Potions!

If Dumbledore allowed it, he wouldn’t be teaching Potions at all.

He banished the thoughts deeper into his mind, deciding to make use of a pensieve as soon as he could. In the meantime, he had somebody to find. He hadn’t forgotten Halloween.

He knocked on a few Defence Against the Dark Arts classrooms, growling a little whenever there was no answer, before finally, as he burst in, he found an empty room, except for a man who was packing his things into his bag as quickly and quietly as he could.

“Hello, Quirinus,” he said, at a volume barely above a whisper that nevertheless carried throughout the musty old room, “Long day of work, I see,”

“Oh!” said Quirrel, in a vague imitation of friendliness, “G-good evening… Severus. Yes, i- i- indeed,”

Snape smiled silently, tilting his head to one side as he did so, “I was under the impression you had a free period at the end of a Friday. A long week of work, of course,”

“Yes! Well-” he spluttered, “I was writing up notes for a le-”

“A lesson, writing a lesson? Really?” asked Snape, narrowing his eyes, “This is not your usual classroom, Quirinus,”

Quirrel remained silent, frozen to the spot.

“Hm,” said Snape, “Balding so young? It’s a nice turban, if an interesting colour, though, I must confess, I never thought purple was your colour, you were always more… green?”

“I- indeed?” he asked, laughing faintly, “I- shall take it- into c-consideration,”

He felt his mouth twitch as he surveyed the room, “Why are you searching this room? You know as well as I do the location of that- beastly dog. This classroom should be of no value to you,”

“I don’t know what you-!”

“Oh for the love of Merlin, Quirrel!” he exclaimed, switching to surname in an instant, “I know where my loyalties lie, and that is with Albus Dumbledore for eleven years now! I must warn you. Hogwarts is an enormous school, and I would be lying if I told you I knew half of its secrets, but I think you will find it a very small place indeed if you choose to position yourself on the wrong side of me,” he eyed Quirrel’s turban, “I wonder who you have sided yourself with to feel so safe. Good day,”

And with that, he walked out of the room, resuming his mumblings about Rose.

Quirrel allowed Snape to exit fully, and made sure that he was out of earshot, before slumping to the ground and dropping his supplies onto the floor. He re-adjusted his turban, and mulled over his colleague’s words. He was about to make up his mind to finish here for the day when someone burst through the door, saying something to a friend. The figure paused. Quirrel hurriedly got to his feet, dusting himself off, and inspected the new arrival.

Rose Potter had entered the classroom in order to find a quiet place to discuss Nicholas Flamel with Ivy, but had paused at the sight of her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher sitting on the floor. “Is- is everything alright, sir?” she asked cautiously, as Ivy poked her head through the side of the door to see why Rose had stopped.

Quirrel, despite his best efforts, looked a mess. He had a bandage over his left arm, apparently from some dangerous specimens for his sixth-years. His turban was lop-sided, and his eyes had dark rims around them, as though he had not slept for several nights in a row. His clothes were not tattered per se, but scruffy, his cufflinks were showing beneath the rolled up sleeves of his robes, and his shirt, something which he always minded to keep tucked in, was today visible above his trousers. Uncharacteristically, he had not reprimanded either of them for making the same dress code error.

“Oh, Miss Potter and Miss Potter!” he said, in his best effort at a cheery voice at the present moment, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ivy noticed that he had not stuttered.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, repeating Rose’s question. Ivy spoke in a softer, calmer voice, one dripping with the effects of knowledge, wisdom, and countless hours in the library. She, like Snape, spoke quietly, almost silently, similar to the sound of someone flicking through pages at a leisurely pace. It was only thanks to enunciation that her words were not mistaken for that of a mouse.

“Oh-” said the Professor, in a comparatively more blustery tone, “I- I- well, I’m fine, yes. N- n- n- nothing to w- worry about!”

“Are you sure?” asked Rose, attempting, like Ivy, to adopt a softer voice for what was clearly a more delicate conversation. She was not quite as good at it as her sister, and her ‘s’ stood out like a sore thumb, but she could not be faulted for lack of effort.

“Well, yes. I suppose. I’ve just- had a- a- long half t- t- term. Nothing to worry about!”

Suddenly, Rose noticed Ivy’s eyes momentarily light up, though she quickly hid the expression from Quirrel.

“Say… Professor…” she asked, maintaining her silky voice, hoping that it may persuade him, “I came across something- well, someone, while reading recently, and I was wondering if you may be able to shed some light, since you’re the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and all… but, of course, if you don’t want to…”

“Oh- I- of course!” he exclaimed, evidently eager to change the subject, “Who?”

“Well…” said Ivy, doing an impressively convincing hesitation, “Nicholas Flamel,”

Quirrel narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if to inspect her. He mumbled something to himself, and Ivy wondered if he was going to shout at her, but, as though he had just received confirmation on something, he said, “Of course!”

“Nicholas Flamel, i- is the last living owner of the- the Philosopher's Stone. D- do you know what the philosopher's stone i- is, girls?” he asked, interrupting his own near-dictionary explanation.

Rose began to speak, but Ivy interrupted her, “I think I read about it somewhere. Thank you!” she exclaimed, bolting out of the classroom, leaving Quirrel looking equally perplexed and relieved of their departure.

“Ivy?” asked Rose, struggling to keep up with her gleeful sister, “Where are we going? And what do you mean you’ve read about the philosopher’s stone somewhere? What is it, then?”

“No idea,” she said, in a much more excited tone, “But I know someone who will!”

As they rounded a corner, the two found themselves outside of a Transfiguration classroom. As they watched, the door swung open, and Hermione walked out, having had a conversation with Professor McGonagall.

“Hermione,” said Ivy, quickly, before she could intervene by asking, “We know who- actually, no, let’s find somewhere more private,”

After they hurriedly entered, and bolted the door of a neighbouring classroom, Ivy continued.

“Yes, as I was, we know who Nicholas Flamel is, or half do,”

Hermione’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Really? How did you find out?”

“We found Quirrel sitting in a classroom, miles away from his own, and we managed to squeeze out of him that Nicholas Flamel is the last known owner of the Philosopher's Stone, or something…”

“The Philosopher’s stone?” asked Hermione, “Are you sure that’s exactly what he said?”

“Certain,” said Rose, chipping in, “I was there,”

“Yes, he definitely said that, and we figured you would know-”

“I do!” she interrupted, “The philosopher’s stone is a crystal that produces the elixir of life, which, when consumed, grants the drinker a short period of immortality!”

“Immortality… but… so… Fluffy’s guarding the philosopher’s stone!?” exclaimed Rose, apparently slowly piecing this revelation together.

“It sounds like it… but if that’s being guarded in Hogwarts…” said Hermione.

“Who are they hiding it from?” Ivy finished.