Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is impossible to hold a funeral for one who is not dead. Mezrielda, as a logical student of Hogwarts School for Magic, knew this. Yet the adults surrounding her ignored that unpalatable fact.

It was a week since Bagsy had gone missing. She’d been attacked and gravely wounded by Bontie in the caves, as the blood eyed beast had been baring down upon them. Mezrielda had seen her lying on the floor, lifeless, before she’d passed out. When she’d awoken Bagsy had been gone, only a humanoid shape draped in white cloth had been where she’d lain.

Mezrielda kept telling herself that, somehow, whilst she’d been unconscious, Bagsy had fled and was in hiding. This narrative was growing more and more difficult to support as her feet crunched over the grass on her way to Gorgolian cemetery. Palid and Dantura flanked her. The Glints were dressed in the best black robes they owned, pressed to perfection. They couldn’t afford the fanciest of attire but for a funeral, however farcical the event, a simple robe was sufficient.

Gorgolian cemetery was to the side of a bustling street in Surrey. Terraced houses, pubs, and swaths of parked cars skirted the two acres of tombstones, keeping their distance lest they catch the unfortunate affliction of death. As if to buffer the fear of the living, who rushed to appointments, walked their dogs or yelled angrily at cyclists not staying to their side of the road, a thick line of evergreen trees surrounded the cemetery, shielding the reminder of mortality from view. Even without the trees the cemetery was kept separate by a towering black fence with spikes that glinted in the mid-day summer sun.

Dantura pushed the tall gate open, the rusted contraption groaning with the murmurs of souls. Palid stepped in and then paused, turning to her daughter who hung at the precipice. Mezrielda looked at her feet, inches from the split between the cobbled path of the living world and the muddy grass of the dead. She looked back up and Palid held a hand out comfortingly whilst Dantura placed a hand on her shoulder. Mezrielda shook her father off and, holding her head high, moved past Palid and her offered hand without acknowledgement. Palid and Dantura shared a look but said nothing.

The muggle visitors of Gorgolian cemetery paid little notice to the gathered individuals in odd robes and pointed hats. Mezrielda looked at a couple placing flowers at a tombstone before glancing around the rest of the cemetery. Simply by stepping into the graveyard the summer sun was muted, the trees drowning in mist that trickled onto the grass and lapped ominously around the graves. Yet, somehow, the grass was still brittle and dry, one warm day away from dead. Stone sculptures of humans with snakes for hair and stretched out, horrified expressions dotted the corners and Mezrielda wondered if they had once been real gorgons.  

Mezrielda hung back from the gathered spellcasters. She saw some of her fellow Hogwarts students. Jon and his older brother and ex-quidditch captain Ford were off to one side. Standing with them Mezrielda saw Itsuki, Nevis, Elijah, Howe, Oscar, Fiona, Killian and, with a pang of anger at the sight of him, Arice Allthorn. Besides the Hogwarts students present there were also, to Mezrielda’s surprise, a number of professors. She saw Wattleseed and Kim, leaning on each other for strength, as well as Fitzsimmons, Stery and Jones, the small astrology professor and twin to Nurse Jones. Strangely, she didn’t see Greenda or Professor Starrett. Perhaps they’d decided attending the funeral would be too hard. Mezrielda herself had struggled with whether or not to come. Her anger ebbed as an indiscernible feeling took its place. It felt miserable, but a damper kind of miserable than she’d been feeling since it had happened.

Then Mezrielda’s eyes fell onto the Beetlehorns and the rage returned like a furious wave colliding against her lungs. She clenched her fists, her nostrils flaring, and struggled to breathe. Bontie Beetlehorn stood with her parents and her boyfriend, Griffin Southgate. She was dabbing her eyes and looking sorrowful when it had been her wand, and her voice, that had conjured the killing curse responsible for this.

Mezrielda took a step, set on returning the favour, when she felt herself held back by a pale, bony hand. Her feet thudded to a stop and she whipped around to glare at her father. Dantura shook his head minutely, his eyes moving passed her meaningfully. Mezrielda turned back and saw, off to the side, aurors. Mezrielda drew in a breath, slowly closing her eyes as she counted to ten.

An elderly wizard in official robes with a buckled belt stepped forward. He spoke a few words that Mezrielda ignored, her eyes and attention fixed blazingly on Bontie, until he waved his wand and a coffin appeared.

Mezrielda’s eyes slowly moved her scowl away from Bontie to look at the object. It was open and there, lying within, her hands clasped over her chest and holding her walnut wand, was Bagsy. Her eyes were closed and for all Mezrielda knew she could have been sleeping. For a moment, Mezrielda felt as if she no longer had legs and was numbly aware of her parents holding her upright.

The elderly wizard croaked, ‘Today we remember the life of Bagsy Barciry Beetlehorn, taken from us far too early.’ As if the funeral were a stage production, Florentchia Beetlehorn let out a dramatic wail, placing the back of her hand to her forehead as if she’d faint. Himble hugged her tightly as if he, too, were overcome with grief. Mezrielda caught the sympathetic gazes the other attendees shot them, as well as the scathing looks from those who knew better. At least, Mezrielda consoled herself, Bontie was looking blank faced at the coffin. If she had feigned any emotion Mezrielda didn’t know what she would have done.

The elderly wizard finished speaking, hovering the coffin over the excavated ground, and indicated Bontie step up to say a few words. Griffin gave Bontie a gentle pat on the back, encouraging her forward, looking more emotional than she did. He was constantly wiping tears from his cheeks and trying his best to keep his nose clean without sniffing so much that he’d disturb those around him.

Bontie gave Griffin a forced smile, before walking forwards to address the crowd. ‘My sister was a light of–’

‘How dare you!’ Mezrielda burst out, face red. Bontie cut off, looking at her, astonished. The professors, students and other gathered spellcasters turned to look at her. Some were horrified, others confused.

‘Mezrielda,’ Palid warned, whilst Dantura tried to pull her back. The aurors standing to the side began to advance.

Mezrielda shook off her parents and marched forward, her wand in her hand and pointing at Bontie. The aurors drew their own, already beginning their incantations.

Bontie held her hand towards the aurors. ‘Don’t,’ she snapped. The aurors hesitated. ‘She is a child. She has lost her dearest friend. Lower your wands or I shall make you.’ Slowly, with a puzzled look to each other, the aurors did as they were told.

Mezrielda didn’t know why Bontie was protecting her but she didn’t care. She moved forward, shoving between Professor Jones and Stery, who stared down at her with wide eyes. ‘You don’t get to stand there and spurt that garbage,’ Mezrielda accused, her wand still pointed at Bontie, who clasped her own loosely between her hands, staring emptily back at her. ‘If it weren’t for you she wouldn’t be in that coffin.’

Florentchia let out a scandalised gasp, before pointing a finger angrily at Mezrielda. ‘Someone remove this vermin!’

‘Mother, leave this to me,’ Bontie cautioned her.

Mezrielda snarled. She was standing next to the coffin now, pointing her wand over it at Bontie who stood on the other side. In the corner of her vision she noticed that the aurors weren’t the only ones holding their wand now – most of the guests had drawn theirs, too. ‘Admit it. You’re the one responsible’

Bontie shook her head sadly. ‘Mezrielda, what happened was a tragedy, but we gain nothing by pointing the finger–’

‘Priori incantato,’ Mezrielda hissed, her wand snapping through the movement. A burst of light shot towards Bontie who held her wand out willingly, letting the spell hit it. An assortment of different spells hovered out of it like wisps of smoke and Mezrielda scanned her eyes over them, but none of them were the killing curse.

The aurors were moving towards her again and, this time, Bontie wasn’t asking them to hold back. Instead, she was looking at Mezrielda with shadowed eyes; she’d realised Mezrielda knew what she’d done.

Mezrielda refused to give in. ‘If you didn’t cast the spell then she can’t be dead,’ she reasoned, her words rushing together desperately. She knew how she sounded, but if Bontie really hadn’t conjured the killing curse then what Mezrielda had seen must have been an illusion. Jerking forward, she grabbed Bagsy’s cold shoulders and shook her. ‘Bagsy!’ Mezrielda growled angrily at her sleeping friend.

Bontie said, her voice cold, ‘Remove her from the premises.’

Mezrielda’s hands moved to Bagsy’s face, giving her cheek a light slap. ‘Wake up! Please!’ She had seconds left. The aurors were nearly on her and she noticed some of the professor moving towards her, as well. She reached her hand to Bagsy’s eyes, opening her eyelids. Florentchia let out another scream, Griffin cried at Mezrielda to come to her senses, the aurors and professors took quick steps towards her and, further away, Mezrielda heard the shocked gasps and cringing groans of her peers. ‘Bagsy–’ Mezrielda’s voice cut off: her friend’s eye sockets were empty.

Someone had removed her eyes.

‘Abulla,’ Bontie’s voice sounded above the chaos. A blue bubble originating in Bagsy’s coffin expanded to the size of a small house, forcing all those nearby away. Mezrielda was thrown backwards with them, until all those but Bontie found themselves standing in a perfect circle around the newly formed protective sphere. Bontie had reached forward, closing Bagsy’s eyes swiftly, before lowering the coffin’s lid and descending the hovering object into the excavated earth below.

‘Her eyes!’ Mezrielda hissed, pointing accusingly at the coffin. ‘She stole her eyes!’

The aurors, recovered from the shock of the sudden appearance of the bubble, grabbed Mezrielda, pulling her away. Mezrielda let herself be dragged off, the other visitors staring after her as she was escorted out of Gorgolian cemetery, only her parents, Professor Stery and Fitzsimmons hurried after her.

Back on the main street, one of the aurors hissed a quick incantation and Mezrielda noticed the eyes of the muggles around them slipping over their forms, not seeing them.

‘Disrespectful little brat,’ the other auror said, giving her arm a painful shake. ‘How do you think your friend would feel if she was alive to see you?’

Mezrielda let out a feral growl.

Professor Fitzsimmons came to a stop by them, looking with their enlarged eyes at the two auros and then at Mezrielda. ‘Unhand my student,’ they said simply.

The taller of the two aurors snorted. ‘After what I’ve just seen? I think this girl needs a consequence or two and you can finally tell us, little Miss Glint, about what happened in those caves. You can’t keep avoiding us.’

Fitzsimmons fixed a scathing look on Mezrielda. ‘Miss Glint will have her consequences but not from the Ministry. She has suffered enough. Her mind is warped by distress. If Rebontil Beetlehorn presses charges you know where to find Miss Glint, at which point you are free to take her into holding and question her on whatever you see fit. Until that time, you have no right to detain her. Unhand my student. I will not say it a third time.’

The aurors looked at each other in silent conversation before reluctantly letting go. They turned in place and, with small pops, apparated away.

Fitzsimmons drew in a long breath, adjusting their enlarged glasses, before nodding to Professor Stery. ‘I trust you to handle Miss Glint. I will convince Rebontil Beetlehorn to leave the matter alone,’ they said, before excusing themselves and walking back into the cemetery. Palid and Dantura nodded their thanks.

‘Professor Stery,’ Mezrielda rushed out. ‘Her eyes–’

Stery lowered his voice so only Mezrielda could hear. ‘When a doppelganger truly passes on, and the metal they came from isn’t around for them to return to, their eyes simply vanish.’ He spoke softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘The eyes are where a doppelganger’s soul is stored. When their soul is no more their eyes, too, disappear.’ Mezrielda looked down at the ground, taking a step away from Professor Stery. ‘Miss Glint, put your wand away.’

Closing her eyes, Mezrielda did as she was told, standing as still as her family’s pet gargoyle often did. Palid and Dantura took Mezrielda home, not saying a word as they went. All the while, Mezrielda’s stomach burned with fury. Bontie was going to keep her cushy job at the Ministry, whilst Bagsy was below the ground.

Chapter Text

Fitzsimmons must have successfully convince Bontie not to press charges. No Ministry officials bothered the abode of Vespite Manor after the funeral. The only beings associated with the Ministry that Mezrielda had to put up with were the hissentors.

With permission from her parents Mezrielda had raided Vespite Manor’s library once more and had managed to procure some copies of recent editions of the Daily Prophet. She was sitting on the edge of the cliff Vespite Manor was situated by, the ocean stretching in front of her as her legs dangled over the side, piled around her the readings she was slowly working her way through. Every now and then she’d glance behind herself to see shadows slinking between the weeping weeds and dying thistle bushes. She’d read that hissentors could be dealt with by a strong patronus charm, but she wasn’t in the mood for casting one right then, given the happy memories she’d need to use to cast one were now tinged with misery. ‘I’m not plotting against the Ministry,’ she often told the hissentors. ‘Leave me be.’ Most of the time the hissentors would listen and leave her in peace for a few hours or even the rest of the day, if they were feeling especially nice.

Hissentors were creatures of pure shadow who worked as spies for the Ministry. They were blind, but heard every word spoken around them. Mezrielda didn’t need to see them to know they were near, even if they were subtle, because she’d feel anger bubbling up within her like a mis-brewed potion, her mind turning to Bontie’s deceitful face. Hissentors fed off anger, and simply being around them could make someone full of rage.

‘I said leave me be,’ Mezrielda hissed again when, despite her first request, the hissentors had stuck around. On her second command, though, they backed away into the shade of the nearby trees.

Moodily, Mezrielda turned back to her reading. She’d confirmed what Stery had told her at the funeral. Whilst no text explicitly stated that doppelganger souls were contained within their eyes there were plenty of theories around why doppelganger eyes were so powerful. Some had argued that, because of their ability to see through illusions, doppelganger eyes must contain something incredibly strong. More disturbing, as she looked into writing on doppelgangers from the perspective of potion ingredient traders, it seemed their eyes were one of the most expensive and sought-after ingredients in existence. She couldn’t help but think back to when Opius Pepsini had attacked Bagsy. As Bagsy had been shifting over and over, slowly over-working the cells in her body, Mezrielda had heard Pepsini threaten to harvest her eyes. Considering everything she knew it seemed believable that Bagsy’s soul had been contained within her eyes, but that didn’t mean their disappearance meant Bagsy was dead. There could be another explanation. Somewhere, perhaps, Bagsy’s soul was waiting to be returned to her body, alive and well. Or perhaps someone, Mezrielda suspected Bontie, had stolen the eyes from Bagsy, knowing their worth and power, before they’d vanished. The idea made her shiver in disgust.

The rest of her reading only increased the disconcerted feeling in her gut. After the failed vote to move vampires to the inexcusables list last year, and all the public discussion on the mal-treatment of vampires, the Ministry had fired a number of Ministry officials, claiming to be turning over a new leaf. Mezrielda wasn’t convinced. Many Ministry officials were simply puppets for Philip, the marionette who’d controlled Bagsy’s mind in their fourth year, and the Minister for Magic himself, Moro Loget — also a puppet — remained in charge. The laws forcing vampires to live in registered vampire lairs with impossible upkeep they weren’t allowed to make using magic, and the prohibition on hiring vampires without a permit costing more than most houses, made life in the Glint family as difficult as it usually was. And those laws didn’t look like they were leaving any time soon.

When Mezrielda saw that Mrs Allthorn and her boss had been fired from the Daily Prophet for exposing the Ministry on their mistreatment of vampires her suspicions that nothing had really changed only solidified, even if the general public seemed somewhat placated.

The sun was falling below the ocean by the time Mezrielda had collected everything she’d been reading to head inside, not fancying staying out when hissentors could creep up on her with ease. In shadows there were all but invisible and whilst they usually pulsed anger through her mind when approaching, they seemed able to turn their aura off, leaving her blind to their presence.

Mezrielda glanced at Spot, the family gargoyle, standing sentry at their front door, as she moved to enter the gothic building. She tried not to touch any of the extra supports or newly painted walls as she did, they were all echoes of Bagsy and it hurt to even know they were there. But the new handle she’d fitted to the front door was unavoidable. Mezrielda hovered her hand over the brass knob, noticing how it shook and hating her own weakness. She clenched her fist and opened it again.

‘Mezrielda… Pressa… Glint…’ a voice murmured from behind, its tone wrinkled as if from centuries of age. Hearing her full name from an unfamiliar voice set Mezrielda instantly on high alert.

Frozen with her hand about to touch the handle, Mezrielda turned her head just enough to catch what was behind her in her peripheral vision. A letter floated in the air, a dark emerald seal with the letters FW holding it shut. As if they were made of china, Mezrielda levitated the books and papers she’d been holding to the floor, then reached forward with her free hand, plucking the letter out of the air. She inspected it for curses or spying charms. As far as she could tell it was an ordinary letter, the only spell evident from her probing one to make the paper impervious to fire.

Casting her eyes over the horizon, and the sloping hill of grey grass that led down the side of Vespite Cliff, Mezrielda found no one in sight. She pried the letter open, the seal breaking with a pop, and pulled the two pieces of paper out. The one on top was a tarot card and it took a moment to realise she’d seen it before, back at the Halloween Feast the refulgents had organised. Narrowing her eyes she inspected the card. A wand was in the centre, circled by thin golden lines that caught the fading light of dusk. Above and below them were grey moons, all set on a deep blue background. Mezrielda recognised the wand, it was long and pointed, like an incredibly stretched out pyramid, its end deceptively sharp; the spitting image of Bagsy’s walnut wand except, unlike the tarot card they’d seen at the Halloween Feast, the wand on this one had a crack along its length.

‘The locked wand,’ Mezrielda read out loud, eyes scanning over the title of the tarot card. Letting the envelope fall to the floor she moved the tarot card to the back and unfolded the small piece of paper that had been behind it.

Are you sure her coffin remains unempty?

Mezrielda’s blood fizzled in her veins, a cold sensation like falling into fresh snowfall. She turned the paper over and back again, but there was no sign as to who had sent it. Mezrielda turned her eyes to the horizon. ‘Spot,’ she murmured, the gargoyle slowly scraping his head to look at her, ‘tell Palid and Dantura I went for a walk and will be back later.’ Spot glared disapprovingly down at her, clacking his clawed hands against the section of wall he was clinging to. ‘No arguments,’ Mezrielda told him firmly, putting the tarot card and note into her pocket. Spot could be a grumpy gargoyle, but he’d stuck with the Glints this far, and Mezrielda trusted he was loyal enough to do as she asked. Without another word, she jumped into the air, her body turning in the space until she was a small creature of feathers flapping up into the sky.

The dusk light had faded to the pitch black of midnight by the time she arrived at Gorgolian cemetery. Seeing it from above made the contrast between the world beyond its fence and the world within even starker. In the darkness drunken muggles swayed, singing jovial tunes whilst they toasted the air, their voices carrying like sirens of lost souls through the phantom trees and black fence into Gorgolian cemetery, settling like the mist amongst the graves.

Mezrielda circled the cemetery a few times, checking there was no one waiting. The entire situation reeked of ambush but, her eyes fixed on the plot of ground Bagsy had been buried in, Mezrielda threw caution to the wind. She swept down to the ground and alighting in the grass. With a final turn of her corvid head one way and then another, ensuring the coast really was clear, she transformed back into a human and pointed her white wand at the earth. ‘Rocushift,’ she whispered, moving the ground as quietly as she could, trying not to wince at the muted loudness of the muggles passing by the cemetery. The trees would keep her hidden, she hoped, and the fence would keep anyone who did see her out.

After a few minutes of slow work, her mind casting itself eerily back to when she’d buried Magnus Alden, the coffin of Bagsy Barciry Beetlehorn was staring up at her from the darkness it nestled within. Mezrielda levitated it out of the grave and lay it to rest on the floor next to the hole.

Mezrielda’s nerve left her and she turned, walking away from the coffin whilst clasping her hands together on her head. She drew in a long breath before letting it back out, her chest shaking with the action. Turning back around she stared at the coffin before gritting her teeth and pointing her wand towards it. ‘Leviosa.’ The coffin lid broke free from the base and slid to the side, landing softly in the grass. Mezrielda pointed her wand at the open coffin, hand shaking, not sure what to do. On unsteady legs she progressed, leaning to peer inside, where the glossy fabric of the interior stared back at her.

Empty.

‘Shit,’ Mezrielda hissed, pacing back and forth. She rubbed her face with her hands, drew in more breaths, and tried to remain calm. Pulse racing, and eyes scanning around nervously, she replaced the lid, lowered the coffin back into the ground and reburied it. She walked around the cemetery for as long as she could bear, checking for any signs of who had stolen Bagsy, but she found none. Turning back into a magpie she took off, adrenaline and frustration aiding her wings as she hurried home.

Her parents weren’t happy she’d left without telling them but Mezrielda simply ignored them as she hurried up the stairs.

‘Mezrielda!’ Dantura protested. ‘Tell us what this is about.’

‘I just needed some space,’ Mezrielda lied, feeling itchy at the act. She didn’t lie to her parents but, she guessed, with all that had happened, there was a first time for everything. She slammed her bedroom door closed and angrily placed the tarot card and letter on her vanity, checking them for signs of where they’d come from, or other clues they could give her but, as before, all she received was the knowledge that they were enchanted to resist fire. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she snapped angrily, as if it could hear her, before pointing her wand at the fire place in her room. It burst to life with crackling sparks of flame, casting flickering amber into the dim room. Mezrielda threw the note into the fire, breathing heavily as she watched it burn. Whatever charm had been cast on it must have been weak. The edges turned black and curled as the fire consumed it.

Mezrielda, deciding she’d had enough of the waking world for one day, got into bed, not bothering to change into her pyjamas. She hugged her pillow to her chest. She’d taken one of Bagsy’s pillow cases from her private room back at Hogwarts and it still smelt of her.

Mezrielda must have forgotten to close her curtains as the soft yellow sun woke her up the following morning. Still in the confusing throws of sleep, she furrowed her brow as her eyes squinted open. ‘Bagsy…?’ she breathed in a sleepy voice, before realising it was just the pillow. For a horrid moment she lay there, before sitting up and throwing the pillow across the room with a yell. When she saw it land in the fireplace she jolted out of bed. ‘No!’ She rushed to the pillow and pulling it out of ash. It was covered in soot, but she easily cleaned it with a quick spell. She let out a sigh, moving to return to her bed when she saw that, whilst almost all of the letter had burnt to ashes, some scraps had, somehow, remained intact. Placing the pillow next to her, Mezrielda reached into the fireplace and removed them. She hovered the scraps of paper in the air, eyes jumping from one to another. They were tiny, and each one had salvaged one or two letters from the original message. They had been sitting in the fireplace in a certain order and now, hovered in front of her, she only had to rearrange two letters before she recognised what it was spelling out.

A  e  s  her  co  m  m  o  n

Mezrielda’s jaw clenched as she took it in. Someone was messing with her, she was sure of it, but whoever it was had known Bagsy’s coffin was empty. Deciding to ask her parents for forgiveness, not permission, Mezrielda opened her bedroom window and jumped out. Feathered once more she took flight, her destination made clear to her by the collective directions from her fellow corvids.

Chapter Text

One Aesher Common was an ugly mixture of modern and old fashioned, or so Bagsy had complained to Mezrielda many times. Looking at it from above, circling around the structure, Mezrielda agreed. Even if it was in the middle of an expansive wood, its floor-to-ceiling windows left little privacy and Mezrielda could easily see into the living area of the building. The upper floors were more secretive but that was fine with Mezrielda, she didn’t want to think about, let alone see, any of the Beetlehorns currently residing in One Aesher Common.

She landed, shifting into a human as she did, in the shade of the surrounding trees. Hand against bark, her nails digging into the wood, she looked at the building. Why on earth had the letter led her here? There was no method by which she could gain entrance onto the property. If Bagsy’s words were to be trusted, and they were perhaps the only thing Mezrielda could always trust, then One Aesher Common was surrounded by the best protective wards money could buy second only to those of Hogwarts. The only way in was by being dragged through the ward, as Bagsy had explained she’d done once with a muggle boy. The only trouble was Mezrielda knew no Beetlehorn would willingly pull her onto the property and, even if they did, the ward surrounding the building and its garden would instantly wipe her memory of any knowledge of why she’d decided to travel there in the first place.

‘Who are you?’ a voice said from behind. Cursing herself for not paying more attention, Mezrielda drew her wand, spinning to face whoever it was. A short boy, with brown skin and hair that reminded Mezrielda of Bagsy was standing between the trees. He held his hands up defensively, eyes darting to the wand Mezrielda was levelling at him.

‘Who are you?’ Mezrielda challenged.

‘Keeda,’ the boy said, taking a step away from her. He nodded at One Aesher Common. ‘Do you know what happened to the girl who lived there?’

Heart stalling at the question Mezrielda gripped her wand tighter, taking a step forward. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Alarmed, the boy’s eyes widened. ‘Woah. Sorry. I just, uh, am a bit concerned. What with everything that’s been going on.’ He frowned. ‘You’re not Mezrielda Glint, are you?’

Mezrielda’s wand lowered for a moment, but then she brought it up once more. ‘How do you know my name?’ She was itching to jinx him, anger crawling just below her skin, but the letter must have sent her here for a reason and if that reason wasn’t One Aesher Common itself perhaps it was this boy.

‘Aot told me about you, and Bagsy mentioned you, too, once. Just by name,’ the boy explained. ‘Aot sad you had a scary face.’ He looked her up and down. ‘He was right.’

Huffing, Mezrielda pocketed her wand. Evidently, the boy was no threat. ‘You’re the muggle boy. You tried to give Bagsy a message from Aot a few years back.’ Mezrielda’s throat tightened. It felt difficult thinking about the past. The Corvid Trials, Cora, and everything that had happened in their second year felt so long ago. Vividly, she recalled the pain she’d felt when, accused of stealing, she’d noticed that Bagsy had edged away from her, not wanting to undergo the notoriety Mezrielda had been suffering but, with even more intensity, she relived the joy she’d felt when Bagsy had, in spite of her own cowardice, returned to her side through thick and thin. The happiness turned bitter sweet as she saw a bolt of green in her mind and a body falling to the ground.

Mezrielda closed her eyes tightly.

‘Yeah,’ the boy said. ‘That’s what Bagsy called me too. But I prefer Keeda, thanks very much.’

‘Right,’ Mezrielda grit out.

Keeda said, ‘It’s not that safe out here. We should get back to my base. Well, it’s more of a hut, really, but my home is ages away and my Dads won’t be best pleased if I bring some random girl home.’

Mezrielda opened her eyes, a sour expression on her face, and stalked past Keeda. ‘Lead the way.’

As they progressed through the woods Mezrielda drew her wand again. There were low grumbling sounds drifting between the trees that reached so high above their heads it was difficult to see the sky, making Mezrielda feel uncomfortably claustrophobic. Keeda would occasionally indicate they hide behind a tree, or duck down in a ditch, and Mezrielda would wait, holding her breath, whilst heavy footfalls would lumber past their hiding space, their owner just out of sight.

‘These woods are filled with monsters,’ Keeda explained as they were approaching a hut. It looked big enough for a kitchen and dining table, which was evidently ideal as that was exactly all it contained. Keeda used some matches to light a fire below a kettle and fetched too mugs out of a cupboard once they were inside.

‘You seem to navigate the woods just fine,’ Mezrielda reasoned, looking around the small hut with a crinkled nose. She pulled one of the chairs out but saw a few grains of dirt on it. She brushed them off with a hand, then brushed her hand on her robe, then cleaned her robe with a spell, before sitting down and crossing her legs.

‘Before Aot gave me his powers he used to guide me with his worms. Of course, it was more difficult when all the crows were eating them, but with practise it grew easier. Now it’s like second nature.’

Mezrielda folded her arms, narrowing her eyes in interest as Keeda poured two steaming mugs of tea and brought them to the table. ‘He gave you his power?’

Keeda took a sip of his tea, winced at the heat, and then nodded his head. He wiped his eyes and gave a small sniff. ‘I’ve been friends with Aot since I was a kid. I always loved worms. Took them off the pavement and put them in the grass whenever I saw them, always avoided stepping on them and talked to them, even. One day, they started talking back to me. My parents put me on meds for a bit but eventually stopped, and from then on I came here to talk with Aot, where no one would think I had a mental illness and I could keep it to myself.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Mezrielda cut in coldly, looking at her mug of tea in mistrust.

Keeda shrugged. ‘Sorry. I don’t get to talk to people about this stuff.’

Mezrielda said curtly, ‘I don’t have the luxury of time to discuss it. Why did Aot give you his powers?’ Keeda blew on his beverage, before looking out one of the windows of the hut. ‘Keeda?’

Keeda shot her a glare. ‘I’m checking with my worms that no creatures are near us,’ he retorted. ‘This hut doesn’t miraculously make us safe. Stop being so rude, or I won’t answer any of your questions.’ Mezrielda huffed at that, scowling at one of the walls. ‘The beast is back now, back in the world of the living,’ Keeda murmured quietly. Mezrielda stiffened, slowly looking back at him. ‘Aot betrayed her in many ways already, he defended Bagsy from Cora and has been giving you both information throughout the years, so he decided that giving up his powers would be better than sticking around to deal with the consequences the beast would want to punish him with.’

Mezrielda frowned, wondering how giving up his powers would avoid any consequences. ‘How–?’

Keeda cut over her, guessing her question. ‘The Aot before me was centuries old, even if he wasn’t the original Aot. He had no corporeal body, only the hive mind of the worms. He gave up his power, the last thing linking him with this world, and–’ Keeda’s voice cut off as he closed his eyes, leaning over his mug as if injured. Mezrielda recognised the feeling instantly and tried to push down the tightness in her chest at the sight. Keeda drew in a breath, and then let out a long, shaky one. ‘I’m the new Aot now,’ he revealed, sounding terrified and exhausted at once. He shook his head. ‘It makes me a target of the beast. Aot told me that it’s difficult, but possible, to deactivate the sentience of the worms I’m linked with. Doing so would end the apostolic succession of the worms, and all the powers that come with it, but it might keep me safe from the beast and it would keep the power of the worms out of her hands, too.’

Mezrielda sat forward, unfolding her arms. ‘What do you mean? The beast could take that power from you?’

Keeda nodded. ‘The apostles’ powers came from the beast. It isn’t impossible for her to take them back. She could make a deal with the worms and get them to work for her, only the worms are too loyal, they’d rather die than leave the Aot they are sworn to. Me. That leaves only one other option.’

‘She kills you,’ Mezirelda guessed.

Keeda pursed his lips and inclined his head. ‘With me dead the worms would have no one to follow. The beast, as the origin of their power, could fill that void.’ He smiled. ‘The worms are loyal as anything, but not the brightest. They wouldn’t realise they’d be helping the person who killed their previous Aot.’

Shifting in her seat Mezrielda glanced out the window, thinking of the corvids under her command. Before she’d forced Cora out of her, preventing her from taking over her mind, the corvids had been waiting for their old queen to return. Mezrielda didn’t feel confident in their loyalty to her above the beast.

‘Aot told me that, back when the beast tried to take over the wizarding world the first time, the beast was looking for something.’

Mezrielda raised her eyebrows. ‘What?’

‘Aot didn’t know but, whatever it was, she wanted the Aot of that time to find it. She had his worms scouring the ground of the nation, digging deeper and deeper.’ Keeda paused. ‘He didn’t know what it was, but he told me what it was called.’ Mezrielda looked at him expectantly. ‘The world heart. Or, something weird like that. If she’d have found it, Aot claims she would have won instantly. Thankfully, she never did. Now, though, she’ll be wanting the worms again so that she can try and find it once more.’ Keeda finished his tea, and then grabbed Mezrielda’s mug, starting on her untouched drink, too. ‘I know I should just end the worm’s sentience, then there would be no way for the beast to find the world heart, but the beast may still come after me anyway and without the worms…’ His bottom lip trembled. He didn’t need to say it. Mezrielda knew.

Clearly, Keeda had valued his bond with Aot. With Aot gone, leaving him to shoulder all the burdens of the worms and the beast’s attack alone, Keeda didn’t want to lose the last attachment he had to him. Mezrielda closed her eyes, listening to her own heart. There, in the back of its beating form, she felt the small tug that she was half-convinced was imagined, and half-convinced was real, that told her Bagsy was somewhere out there, still alive, and that she need only find her. She didn’t want to let go of that feeling, either, and she believed that the tug only existed because Bagsy was, technically, one of the Corvid family. She had passed the Corvid trials, after all.

Even so, Keeda needed to let go of the worms, they simply couldn’t risk the beast finding the world heart, whatever that was. Looking at Keeda, hands digging into his forearms as he stared emptily at the mugs in front of him, Mezrielda knew he’d need a moment before he’d be willing to listen to reason.

Allowing Keeda a minute to calm himself Mezrielda rose from her chair. ‘May I?’ she asked, gesturing at all the drawers, cupboards and boxes stacked around the walls of the hut. Keeda nodded silently and Mezrielda poked around.

‘It’s just non-magic stuff,’ Keeda said. ‘Muggle stuff, I guess you’d call it.’

‘Just focus on your tea,’ Mezrielda responded in a clipped tone. She was finding it difficult to look at Keeda, it was too much like looking in a mirror. She told herself that whilst Keeda was holding onto something he should be letting go, Mezrielda’s case was different.

She fished through drawers, hoping to find something to distract her mind, and found a particularly dusty old book of records on ancient knights and decided that would do the trick. She placed the hefty book on the counter, brushing some of the dust off, before deciding a spell would work better. Opening the large book, she sifted through the pages which were thick and crinkled, the writing on them old and cursive. Mezrielda flipped to the back, finding the knight’s vows recoded in the book stretched all the way back to the fifteen-hundreds.

Curious, she flipped through a few more pages, until her eyes landed on one line.

1804, Sir Pavot, Vow of Vanquish

Mezrielda didn’t get much chance to think on the line as, in the humidity of the hut, she tensed. A wind had picked up, and the trees stretching out around the small structure felt suddenly cold, like pillars of ice.

Keeda shot to his feet, his eyes bursting wide. ‘She’s here.’

Slowly, Mezrielda ripped the page from the book and pocketed it, before pulling her wand into her hand. She knew exactly who she was. ‘It’s too late to deactivate the worm’s intelligence,’ Mezrielda muttered in a quiet voice. ‘If the beast is here we’ll need them to help us escape.’

Keeda nodded, moving towards the door. Mezrielda held out a hand, stopping him. ‘Where is she right now?’

With a shaking arm, Keeda motioned in the direction of the door. ‘That way. About a mile but she’s moving fast.’

‘Then we’re going this way.’ Mezrielda turned to the other side of the hut.

‘There’s no door there–’

With a move of her wand, Mezrielda blasted the side of the hut off. ‘Now there is,’ she said, feeling her pulse rise in her ears. She’d turn into a magpie and flee if necessary but, looking at how scared Keeda was, she didn’t want to leave him to the beast’s mercy without at least trying to help. They hurried from the hut and, with Keeda’s worms guiding them and keeping them away from the beast, they rushed through the woods. Mezrielda would shift their clothes to look like trees when gigantic bears with fangs like sabretooth tigers trudged past them, whilst afterwards Keeda would direct them towards a stream to avoid their scent being followed.

‘I’m not sure the beast can track,’ Mezrielda said.

Keeda shrugged, looking over his shoulder, eyes darting from one tree to another. ‘It doesn’t hurt to be safe.’

Soon they reached the edge of the trees. The end of Aesher Common was behind them, and a long lane of picturesque cottages stretched out ahead.

‘Will you be safe at home?’ Mezrielda asked Keeda.

Keeda hesitated, then gave an uncertain nod. ‘Aot called these woods his home for centuries, I think it might have been where the first Aot was born. That’s why the beast will have come here looking for him, but my house is ages away, I don’t see how she could trace me to there.’

Mezrielda glanced up into the trees, noticing a few crows sitting in branches. Using her authority as the Corvid Queen she ordered they leave and not look at Keeda, and they did so, her paranoia getting the better of her. ‘Even so,’ she said. ‘Be careful.’

Keeda closed his eyes for a moment. ‘My worms tell me she’s at the hut. Her and a few others. It doesn’t look like she can tell what direction we went in.’ He opened his eyes again, letting out a breath. ‘I think I’ll be okay.’

‘Good luck.’

Keeda nodded, gave her an awkward wave and then walked away. Mezrielda waited until he’d turned a corner before shifting into a magpie. She hovered in the air high above the streets below, following Keeda until, forty minutes later, she saw him enter into a small terraced house. Knowing he was somewhat safe, Mezrielda turned and aimed back towards Vespite Manor, feeling less secure under the direction of her fellow corvids with the idea that they could turn on her fresh in her mind.

Mezrielda avoided Aesher Common on her return flight. Flying over those trees would feel like swimming at the surface of an impenetrable abyss of dark water, knowing something waited in the shadows below and at any second could rush up to snatch her out of the air.

Mezrielda eyed the ground warily with her avian eyes as she entered into the homestretch of the flight. Vespite Manor was on the horizon, just beyond a quaint village filled with street lamps, red post boxes and twenty-four-seven off-license shops. Her wings stuttered for a second, her talons instinctually curling, when she saw a hooded figure in one of the alley ways. The figure was small and hunched, but the hood made her think of Bontie back in the cave, right before it had happened.

The figure slowly craned their neck to look up at the magpie flying high above, their face hidden in the shadows of their hood. It was an unnatural shadow, whoever this was didn’t want their face to be seen. Riding on the thermals, Mezrielda watched with interest. The figure raised a shaky arm, their movements like a rusted robot, Mezrielda guessing they must be incredibly old. Whoever they were they motioned at her, beckoning her to the ground, before shuffling down the alley and into a door, out of sight.

Mezrielda glanced up, looking at the cutting silhouette of Vespite Manor on the horizon. She was so nearly home, but she’d already received so many strange hints that had led her to a wealth of information. Something told her this figure was related.

Thinking she might regret her decision, Mezrielda flew down to the village.

Chapter Text

Mezrielda hovered above the alleyway, checking for an ambush before she landed. She looked left and right before shifting back into a human. Wand in hand, she approached the door the hooded figure had gone into. She raised her free arm to knock loudly but, as she stepped onto the front step to do so, she heard the rustling of paper below her shoe. She halted, looking down, to see a letter with a dark emerald seal announcing the letters FW. Mezrielda picked the letter up, before opening the envelope. A small piece of paper was contained within and, when Mezrielda opened it, she saw an address, and nothing else, written on it.

5 Tenters Chambers, North Road, Durham

Letting out a growl, Mezrielda stuffed the letter into her pocket, before slamming her fist onto the door. ‘Whoever you are, this is not a game. I demand you reveal yourself this instant!’ She paused her banging to try the handle only to find the door was locked. She took a step back, before pointing her wand. ‘Alohomora.’ The door almost splintered on its hinges as it was forced open. It swung back from the force but Mezrielda kicked it to keep it open before stepping into the space.

She found herself in a tiny broom closet. ‘Lumos,’ she murmured, holding her wand aloft. Toilet paper, cleaning products and spiders the size of her hand greeted her. Shrinking back, Mezrielda exited the space. There was certainly no room within for an elderly, hooded figure to hide. Just in case, she checked around for signs of magic but the only thing she could notice was the lock of the door itself. Given she’d just cast the unlocking charm on it, she wasn’t entirely surprised. ‘So that is how it is going to be,’ she enunciated crisply, each syllable a jab of anger at the air. ‘So be it.’

Within a few minutes she was back at Vespite Manor and her parents were waiting for her in the foyer. Mezrielda’s stomach dropped. She was expecting to face down two murderous expressions but, to her shock, her parents seemed more concerned. Standing still, she waited on the threshold for them to speak.

Palid moved towards her. ‘We need to talk,’ she said gently. Mezrielda looked at the floor, dipping her head slightly.

Dantura motioned towards the longue. ‘I’ve set out some food for you,’ he explained. ‘You missed breakfast. You must be hungry.’

Sullen, Mezrielda allowed herself to be led through the house. She sat down in one of the red armchairs, leaning forwards and resting her arms on her knees. She was ravenous, and when her father pushed the coffee table with a bowl of cereal towards her she snatched it up. She ate quickly, even if she tried to remain dignified by keeping her pinkie finger raised with each spoonful. Finished, she put the bowl down and straightened up, forcing herself into perfect posture.

Dantura levelled her with a harsh look. ‘We know you’re going through a lot, but you need to speak to us,’ he said, Mezrielda feeling a yank of pain in her chest at the words.

She struggled to look at her parents. ‘I just want to be alone.’ She’d said it to them many times over since everything had happened.

Palid said, ‘We know you do, and we’re happy to give you space, but we still want to support you and we want you to be safe. You need to tell us why you keep going on these “long walks”. It’s unusual behaviour for you and we’re concerned.’

Her eyes darting from Palid to Dantura, Mezrielda considered her mother’s words. Her parents always trusted her and were always honest.

Decision made, Mezrielda reached into her pocket and pulled out the letters and tarot card, explaining everything she’d experienced, from the empty coffin to Aesher Common. She couldn’t bring herself to explain how she was the Corvid Queen, or about the beast, because if she explained those things she’d have to, inevitably, explain what had happened in the cave to Bagsy. She didn’t want to re-tread those memories.

Dantura put the tarot card down, whilst Palid inspected the other letter.

Palid said, ‘I don’t recognise the handwriting. I have no idea who could have sent these.’

Dantura put a hand to his chin, pondering. ‘The Ministry is one option.’

Narrowing her eyes, Palid shook her head. ‘What would they gain from that? What would their motivation be?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Dantura admitted. ‘They’ve been wanting to speak to Mezrielda about the incident since it happened and, so far, have been unable to do so. We haven’t given permission and they haven’t managed to manipulate any legislation to get their hands on her.’

‘They certainly do want to speak to her,’ Palid agreed, ‘but this would be a preposterously roundabout way of doing so and it doesn’t explain one important question you aren’t considering.’

Dantura quirked an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

‘How on earth did they know Mezrielda would throw it into the fire? If she hadn’t of done so she never would have visited Aesher Common.’

Dantura’s eyes slid back to Mezrielda. ‘Who went there without our permission,’ he added

Palid wafted a pale white, bony hand. ‘She’s seventeen now and she’s dealing with a lot. I can’t exactly blame her, even if it was foolish.’

Mezrielda took that opportunity to cut in. ‘I’m going to Durham,’ she announced. ‘You can’t stop me, but you can come with me.’

Silence fell on the room, Palid and Dantura glancing at each other.

‘No,’ Dantura said at last. ‘You’re not going. You must have set off early to reach Aesher Common and Gorgolian Cemetery in the time you were missing, but it’s not possible to walk to Durham, and we don’t have the money to pay for transport. It’s too far away.’

Mezrielda shifted in her seat, folding her arms and crossing her legs. She was reminded of another secret she hadn’t told her parents; she was an Animagus, and she could fly, and her parents could turn into bats and fly with her. Mezrielda knew, if she told her parents of her Animagus status, there was a chance they’d all fly to Durham together, but there was also a chance they’d still forbid the journey, now armed with the knowledge that she could easily sneak away as a bird. Still, she couldn’t give in so easily, or her parents would realise her plan.

Mezrielda said, ‘Whoever has been sending these letters they seem to be on my side. So far I’ve only found useful information.’ She failed to mention how she’d been near the blood eyed beast.

Palid looked like she was about to suggest a solution but Dantura rose from his chair, shaking his head. ‘No. It is too dangerous. I think you should stay here. Palid?’ Palid let out a breath but, on consideration, seemed to agree with Dantura. ‘It’s decided then. You are to remain at Vespite Manor. I’m sorry, little bat, but we only want to keep you safe.’

Hanging her head, Mezrielda tried to act disappointed. ‘So be it,’ she muttered ruefully. ‘I’m going to my room, then.’ Her parents didn’t stop her as she left the room and ascended the stairs.

Mezrielda already had a pile of maps in her chest of drawers left over from when she’d been figuring out a route to the Whiskway Station back before her fourth year, when she and Bagsy had intended to run away to Australia. Mezrielda had wanted to avoid the Ministry test, whilst Bagsy had been wanting to avoid Bontie. Given what had happened, it had clearly been a wise idea for Bagsy to keep her distance from her.

More pain. She pushed the memories away.

Mezrielda spread the maps out on the floor until she found one that stretched up north enough to find Durham. The county was near-ish to the Scottish border and Mezrielda cringed, realising what a long, and tiring, flight it would be. She’d have to rely on the help of her corvids to make it there safely, she certainly wouldn’t be able to direct herself from the air without getting lost. The idea made her nervous and she thought of Keeda’s words. If the beast could sway the loyalty of the birds in the corvid family, it would pose a significant problem.

Deciding she didn’t have much of a choice, Mezrielda folded the maps away and opened her window. Closing her eyes, she summoned one of her minions. A crow flapped into the room, landing on her arm, and Mezrielda instructed it where she was aiming to travel. The crow let out a caw and Mezrielda felt the minds of all the corvids up and down the country searching. Just in case, she asked them to keep an eye out for Bagsy, or the strange figure who’d beckoned to her from the ground. Whilst none of her birds found either, a handful of them were perched on a fence, looking at a large, empty field with sharp dips and hills. Her corvids told her it was the location the letter spoke of.

Mezrielda opened her eyes, removing her consciousness from the birds, and returning to the present. She dismissed the crow on her arm and closed her windows. If she was going to do this she’d need her energy, it wasn’t a short flight by any means and she was already tired from flying to and from One Aesher Common. She spent the remainder of the day resting, wondering what on earth a field in Durham would offer her that the figure wanted her to see.

Her parents kept checking on her throughout the day and Mezrielda guessed they were concerned she’d run off again. They’d even asked Spot to stand guard outside of her door, her parents relying on the fact that Mezrielda couldn’t use magic on or around the house without breaking the laws surrounding vampire lairs to escape. As far as they were concerned, Mezrielda could only leave by going through the door. Unfortunately for them, they were wrong.

As they brought her food Mezrielda thanked them and, once they left, promptly wrapped it in paper and placed it in a bag. She’d need it for the journey.

When, eventually, she heard her parents return from their hunt, presumably with a fresh rabbit or deer, she carefully tip-toed to her window. She reckoned she’d find her parent’s eating habits a bit odd were she not their daughter and used to their consumption of the animals in the nearby forest. She knew they had no choice. Unlike Mezrielda, her parents couldn’t survive without drinking the blood of other living creatures. They even made a point to only take the elderly or sick ones and had told Mezrielda they tried their best to make it as quick as they could, even if it wasn’t possible to make the experience painless.

Taking a second to listen, making sure no one was heading up to her room, Mezrielda pushed open her windows. She took a moment to cast a warming spell and energy charm upon herself, to help with the journey, and double her speed. Then, she stepped into the air and shifted. With the aid of her fellow corvids, who would take turns ascending into the air to guide her, she began her journey.

Time stretched painfully as she travelled. She saw the tops of houses, trees and fields pass below like a curious, grassy treadmill, all the while her wings slowly ached more and more.

Flying was exhausting, and she was nearly out of her mind with tiredness when the birds flanking her indicated she descend. She saw ahead of her, past the stretching suburban roofs of muggle houses, a field. Cautiously eying the birds on either side of her, Mezrielda landed on a side street. The coast clear she shifted back into a human and checked her sun dial watch. Swaying on her feet, her arms feeling like they were made of smoke, she leant against the brick wall she was standing next to. She’d only been flying for five hours according to her watch.

Mezrielda glanced up at the crows gathered on the wall, heads tilting from one side to another as they inspected her, entirely quiet. More were beginning to land on the roof of the house to her other side and, when she glanced down the alley, she saw more corvids gathering on the shops lining the street.

Pursing her lips, Mezrielda slowly moved towards the field. Five hours didn’t feel like long enough to fly to Durham. It was far, according to the maps, but perhaps she’d made a mistake, her mind was weighed with exhaustion after all. Just in case she shifted once more, robe whirling around her like a whirlpool until she was a bird taking to the air. She flew towards the field, eyes scouring the grass, and as she grew closer she noticed, from the corner of her avian eye, a crow perching in a tree, having pecked a fly out of the air. It clacked its beak as it ate, before staring at her with its soulless eyes. It could have been her paranoia but Mezrielda did not think flies a good sigh. Even if she’d spent five hours flying here, she made to decision to abort without hesitation.

She pivoted in the air, feeling her tiredness in her light magpie bones, and flew quickly away. The second she did there was a cacophony of caws and a sound like television static as countless crows took to the air, moving like an ocean of black locusts as they headed straight for her.

Forcing herself to fly faster, Mezrielda’s avian heart pumped in her chest as she moved. The eyes of the crows were hungry.

They were no longer on her side.

Mezrielda darted between the houses, only to find more corvids flooding the paths ahead of her. She swooped upwards, darting over rooves and back down to the ground, trying to find small spaces to lose the murder of crows, but they had the numbers advantage and she’d never out fly them in the sky, which only left her with the option of dodging them in the street.

Mezrielda turned a corner quickly, just managing to swerve around two surprised looking muggles, who promptly let out cries and held their hands over their heads as a tsunami of crows gushed around them in pursuit. In a moment of desperation, Mezrielda shifted back into a human and pointed her wand in the direction of the birds, hoping the muggles, who were a few houses away now, wouldn’t notice. ‘Petrificus univers.’ A spray of white light, like a spinning Katherine wheel, burst out of her wand, hitting the birds around her. The crows fumbled, finding the movement of their wings inhibited, and sank to the ground with awkward squawks.

Mezrielda turned back around, ready to shift back into a magpie and fly away, only to find a boy standing at the end of the road. Though his lower face was covered in a mask, his eyes were crinkled in a way as if he were grinning. His blonde hair splayed around his head like a wiry, dying halo. Lewis reached his hand in Mezrielda’s direction and a bolt of sludge and sickness shot towards her.

Mezrielda was in the air and out of the way just in time, feeling a speck of the stuff brush bounce off one of her feathers as she fluttered upwards. The crows were recovering from the stunning spell and Mezrielda was running out of energy to flee. Desperate, her eyes caught sight of a river. Deciding she didn’t have much of a choice she darted through the fences, street lamps, telephone wires and cars to reach it. Rushing over the side of the bank she drew in a breath, tucked her wings next to her body, and dived into the water.

Immediately the current swept her along. The water seeped through her water-proof feathers and sunk into the fluffy down below, making her movements heavy but even so, it was the break from running that she needed. Forcing herself to remain calm, and hoping she’d have enough oxygen to do what she intended, Mezrielda allowed herself to listen to her heart. She felt it beating and, even now, as her crows chased her, she felt a thousand strings strung between them and herself. Carefully, she located the one string she was convinced belonged to Bagsy and, holding it tightly in her mind, she took a pair of mental sheers in her imagination and severed the rest.

Almost immediately she was a human once more, the water around her splashing onto the bank as her body rapidly expanded. The river was leg deep, and her head was out of the water at once. She drew in a harsh breath, shuddering painfully from the cold water, her hair plastered to her face and neck and rubbing against it uncomfortably as she slowly struggle to shore. Clambering through thistles and stinging nettles, a grimace on her face, Mezrielda collapsed into the midst of grass as tall as she was. Lying on her back the green stalks framed the blue sky above her head as black smudges passed quickly as the crows flew by. They looked around themselves, seeming puzzled, and some even looked directly down at her, but none of them attacked.

Mezrielda let out the breath she’d been holding. Keeda had said he could end the sentience of his worms whenever he needed to and Mezrielda had hoped she’d be able to do the same with the crows. If the disinterest the corvids now had in her was anything to go by, it seems their link with the corvid family, and sentience as a collective body, had ended.

After what was hours, but felt like moments, Mezrielda sat up. She just about managed to move her hand to cast a warming spell on herself before fishing out the food she’d packed, unsurprised to find it soggy. She tried to warm it with a spell but it only ended up tasting both burnt and wet at the same time. Mezrielda found her hungry stomach, and exhausted limbs, didn’t care much as she ate the lot, her eyes glancing at the green grass surrounding herself, keeping an eye out for flies. Thankfully, she only noticed grass hoppers or the occasional slug. The river had carried her bird-self a long way from where Lewis had ambushed her.

Eventually, as the sun had sunk below the horizon, Mezrielda forced herself to her feet. She couldn’t see above the grass it was so tall, and even thinking about shifting into a magpie was painful, so she slowly staggered through whatever field she’d found herself in until eventually she came to a dusty path of cream-coloured dirt and pebbles. She followed it along, her shoulders sagging, her eyes barely staying open and her head lolling from side to side. 

The stream must have carried her a very far distance, she decided, as when the path came to an end she was in an entirely different village. In the dying dusk she wandered around the quaint cottages, cobbled streets and leafy trees, lit by infrequent street lamps. Eventually she saw a bench next to a bus stop and flopped down onto it gratefully. She was about to shut her eyes when, carried on the breeze, a small slip of paper landed on the seat next to her. She looked at it with unfocussed eyes, before reaching her shaking arm to take it into her hand.

It was a bus ticket.

Glancing up at the bus stop sign and back at the ticket, she saw it was the correct one. Sitting up straight, her breath quickening as much as her tired body could allow, she looked around her. No figure was in sight but a red bus with cold, white interior lighting pulled to a stop by the bench, letting out a hiss as it croaked to a stand-still.

In a daze Mezrielda stood and moved towards the muggle bus.

The doors slid open and the bus driver, yawning behind their hand before wiping their eyes, turned to look at her. ‘Come on,’ they said. ‘I don’t have all night.’

Casting a final look around the small village but seeing no sign of anyone who could have given the ticket to her, Mezrielda stepped onto the bus.

She took a seat right at the back and tried to lean her head against the windows, her eyes begging to close. When the bus groaned back to life, its lights flickering for a moment, the window vibrated uncomfortably. Pulling her hood over her head and moaning in protest, Mezrielda leant the other way, curling in on herself and shivering from at least a thousand different traumas. Wherever this bus was taking her, she didn’t care, she just wanted to sleep.

Chapter Text

When a hand shook Mezrielda’s shoulder she startled and jerked backwards, pointing her wand at the hand’s owner.

The bus driver put their hands up in alarm, taking a step back before frowning at the wand. ‘Missy, you need to get off,’ they said, their arms lowering. ‘This is the final stop.’

Mezrielda glanced out the window. Lines of busses were parked on either side of them in a small area skirted by a tall brick wall beyond which she saw the red bricks of terraced houses rising away from them as they trailed up a steep hill. She briefly wondered how the cars parked by them didn’t roll down and crash into the busses.

‘Missy–’ the bus driver said again but was cut off when Mezrielda shoved past them and swept off the vehicle.

Mezrielda stepped onto the covered waiting space. Backless benches dotted the bus station, as well as flickering signs announcing the next departures. It was one in the morning and no buses would be leaving for a while.

Tucking her cold hands below her arms, she walked through a passageway leading through the square building the bus station was next too and paused when she came to the other side. On the street opposite her was a greengrocers. It was shut, metal grating hiding its interior from view, and the name of the shop, Robinson’s Greengrocers, looked at Mezrielda, and Mezrielda looked back. It was an ordinary shop but, to its side, a number five proudly announced the house number. Quickly, Mezrielda recalled what the slip of paper she’d found left in the alleyway by the hooded figure had said; 5 Tenter Chambers, North Road, Durham.

Hoping it wasn’t just a coincidence Mezrielda looked around for a street sign, spotting one announcing she was on North Road. Robinson’s Greengrocers was 5 Tenter Chambers, Mezrielda realised, spotting the small writing above the shop.

Mezrielda decided she’d sit on the floor and watch 5 Tenter Chambers, not sure what else she could do. She had no idea how to get home, and no idea where else she was meant to go, all she had was the information from the letter she’d received that had led her straight here.

As the early morning hours passed by and drunken young adults ran past her laughing to each other, Mezrielda turned her attention not just to the greengrocers, but to herself. She wasn’t just feeling exhausted, she was feeling unwell. The power of the corvid family was still pulsing through her limbs but now, without the nation’s supply of corvids to spread it out until she needed to use it, all of that power was painfully searing below her skin. At least, she consoled herself, as she barely managed to keep her head up and looking at the shop, she could still convince herself of the small tug in her heart, telling her Bagsy was still out there and connected to her. Mezrielda wondered if, by cutting the power off from the corvid family, she would be the last Corvid Queen to exist. It certainly felt like there was no way to pass the power onto someone else, the burning sensation seemed trapped below her skin. Then again, Bagsy had said Cora had been able to send out blades of light through the air, which was something Mezrielda was fairly certain she couldn’t do, so perhaps there were some parts of being the Corvid Queen that the beast could still get her white, clawed hands onto.

When a man in a flat cap waddled over to Robinson’s Greengrocers and jostled through a handful of keys to unlock it, it was a quarter to nine in the morning. Mezrielda was shivering, despite her best warming spells, not because of the cold but because of a lack of sleep, energy and proper food. When the owner of the greengrocers placed bags out the front of his shop that were bursting with fruit and veg glinting like red and green gems in the morning sun, Mezrielda’s mouth salivated. She was pondering on how ethical it would be to steal some and use her magic to get away with it when the click clack of heels cut through her thoughts like a guillotine.

A short middle-aged woman in muggle clothes with a red and gold hoody, the hood pulled over her head, slunk into the shop with a curt nod to the owner.

Using the wall she’d been sitting against to help her, Mezrielda shakily got to her feet, clutching her robe around herself. She waited in the shadow of the bus station passageway until the short woman walked back out of the shop. Mezrielda looked down at the heels the woman walked in and knew instantly who she was.

Professor Starrett.

Whether the letter had sent her here to find Professor Starrett or not, Mezrielda didn’t care. Starrett seemed like her only safe option to get home.

Focussing on moving one foot and then the other, Mezrielda followed Starret, sticking to the other side of the street and keeping her hood up. She would be far less obvious as a magpie, but there wasn’t an inch of her body that wasn’t shuddering from exertion to the point that if she shifted into a magpie she worried she’d die from a heart attack in the weaker form. At least as a human she had more muscle and solid strength to keep herself together.

Starrett walked quickly, and Mezrielda was breathing raggedly by the time she turned onto the sharp incline of a house-crammed street. Mezrielda paused in surprise, for Starrett had seemingly vanished, before she felt the cool press of a wand against the back of her neck.

‘I already told you,’ Starrett grit out. ‘I have no idea what happened to Bagsy, and I had nothing to do with those stolen creatures and, no, I am not colluding against the Ministry for Magic. Now run along back to your silly little organisation and stop bothering us.’

‘Professor…?’ Mezrielda croaked, not sure when her vocal chords had turned to granite. The wand was removed from the back of her neck and a skeletal hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around, her hood falling down as she turned.

Starrett’s brown eyes looked her up and down, widening at the state of her. ‘Foolish child,’ she hissed. ‘What are you doing here?’ Mezrielda didn’t answer, she simply looked at Starrett and shivered. Starrett’s eyes narrowed to slits, one side of her lip quirked up as if in the beginnings of a snarl. ‘Follow me,’ she said harshly, walking past her. Mezrielda turned and followed at a subdued pace. ‘Look there,’ Starrett snapped suddenly, coming to a stop, her heels letting out a decisive click as they stilled on the ground. Starrett was pointing to the sky above a particularly run-down house, its windows boarded up with wood, its front door with multiple padlocks sealing it shut. Mezrielda cast her eyes upwards. ‘A house is hovering above,’ Starrett informed her and, instantly, the house hovering above revealed itself.

It was a small structure of wood and brick with odd, circular windows and an oval door, its roof feeling far too tall, like a stretched-out triangle. With a clink, a glass ladder stretched out from the front door and stopped on the ground in front of them.

Somehow, Mezrielda managed to climb up it with without falling off, or her hands slipping from the slippery surface. Starrett helped her through the oval door and into the floating house before waving her wand, vanishing the glass ladder. Starrett glanced up and down the street far below them and then, satisfied they hadn’t been seen, she closed the oval door.

Without asking, Mezrielda moved to the cream armchair and sank into it, not caring if it was a little dusty. She closed her eyes, falling into sleep, just barely aware of the litany of clanking noises as Starrett locked the front door at least six different ways.

‘Wake up,’ Starrett hissed maliciously, pulling her hood down and placing her shoes neatly in a shoe rack. Mezrielda opened her eyes and looked around. There was only one room on the ground floor that had the armchair she was sitting in, a sofa, stool, small stove, fridge and counter at the back, as well as a set of thin stairs leading to the attic, from which she could hear very loud snores.

Mezrielda frowned. ‘Who else is here?’ she managed to say.

Starrett conjured a cup of tea onto the coffee table in front of her. ‘Drink that. The sound of your voice is going to make me ill if you don’t soothe it.’

Too tired to protest, Mezrielda sipped from the cup. She glanced at Starrett, and at the sleek slippers on her feet, and wondered if she’d ever seen Starrett without her heels before. She recalled that, yes, she’d seen her without her heels once before, when she’d spread Blythurst and Cotesia’s ashes. Still, it was disconcerting.

Starrett sat down on the red sofa, adjusting the gold pillow behind her as she did. ‘So, Miss Glint,’ she enunciated angrily, before clasping her hands together and placing them in her lap. ‘To what do I owe this wonderous pleasure?’

Taking another sip of her tea, Mezrielda looked at the floor. Given Starrett’s confusion she evidently wasn’t the one sending the mysterious letters, unless this was some sort of strange bluff. Given Starrett’s personality, Mezrielda very much doubted it was her who had been leaving her a strange trail of breadcrumbs. ‘I’ve been receiving these letters,’ Mezrielda said, finding her voice already a thousand times better. She peered at the tea curiously, wondering what Starrett had put into it. It had a hint of syrup to its taste. ‘You weren’t at Bagsy’s… at Bagsy’s…’ Mezrielda felt her breath leave her. She took a moment, gripping the cup tightly, before sipping the tea once more.

When Mezrielda couldn’t finish her sentence, Starrett glared at the wall opposite her. ‘Funeral? No. I wasn’t. Now answer my question. Why are you here?’

‘The letters have led me to discover some… interesting facts.’ Mezrielda looked at Starrett, who looked back expectantly.

‘I don’t have all day, Miss Glint.’

Mezrielda pursed her lips, putting her cup down. ‘Before I can explain what I’ve discovered it would be prudent to explain something about myself.’

Starrett cut in, keeping her voice quiet, ‘Frankly, I don’t care. I’d rather contact your parents and have you gone as soon as possible.’

It was Mezrielda glaring at Starrett now. ‘Bagsy’s still alive.’

For a moment, Mezrielda wondered if someone had cast the body-bind curse on Starrett she was so still. Then, abruptly, she stood up, wiping a hand over her face as she paced around the room. She paused at a mantel piece and, with a snap, forced one of the picture frames onto its front, hiding its contents. She moved to the counter at the back and lent on it. ‘Leave,’ she said, her voice so quiet Mezrielda almost missed it.

‘I can feel her,’ Mezrielda pushed on, the tea having returned some of her energy. Mezrielda was beginning to think Starrett had infused it with some kind of pepper up potion.

Starrett’s shoulders tensed and she dug her nails into the counter. ‘Wait outside. I’ll inform your parents where you are. They can come and get you.’

Even with the tea, Mezrielda didn’t have enough energy to stand so, instead, she leant forward in her chair. ‘Do you remember Mistress Fonceé?’ She saw the tension leave Starrett’s shoulders a minute amount. She took it as a yes. ‘She was one of the beast’s apostles.’ At that, Starrett turned her head, looking at the floor to her right, interested. ‘Mistress Fonceé was the Corvid Queen and, when she was vanquished, the corvid family was left without a ruler, without someone to direct and use the magic they, combined, held.’

Slowly, Starrett pivoted on her feet, leaning back against the counter, a hand held in front of her mouth. ‘Coven magic…’ she murmured. ‘I’m familiar. It’s deadly without an appropriate conduit, festering like mould until it gains its own consciousness and tears itself apart.’

Mezrielda had never heard of coven magic, but it didn’t take a mind like hers to realise that the corvid family and, most likely the worms, as well, used it. ‘Coven magic?’ she pressed all the same. Any extra information was welcome.

Starrett murmured, as if her mind were a world away. ‘It’s an agreement between two or more magic wielders. They share their magic in an immaterial pool between them, drawing on what they need when they need it, before returning it to the shared store. Naturally, the more spellcasters who join the coven, the greater the power they can draw upon, but without someone at the head of the coven the pool itself becomes the strongest member and takes on a new life.’

‘Mistress Fonceé was the ruler of the corvid coven, then,’ Mezrielda elaborated.

Starrett’s hand clenched into a fist, resting against her nose. ‘Then the corvid coven has been festering for years without a leader. I must thank you, you’ve brought another monumental problem to my home.’

‘I haven’t.’

At her words, Starrett’s eyes finally looked back up to her, her expression slacking. ‘You didn’t,’ she breathed. Mezrielda tried to summon the wings on her back, but her head throbbed when she tried, and she ended up doubled over, the cup of tea slipping from her hand and hitting the floor.

Almost instantly, Starrett’s hand was pushing her back up. ‘Keep your posture straight,’ she instructed. ‘Stay still.’ Starrett hovered her hand over Mezrielda’s forehead and furrowed her brow, her frown only growing deeper as she did so. After a minute, and by the time Mezrielda’s pain was ebbing and her confusion overtaking it, Starrett stood back up and began pacing once more, waving her hand in the direction of the tea cup on the floor and vanishing it. ‘Foolish child,’ she muttered to herself as she did. ‘You’re the new Corvid Queen, I take it, then? Don’t deny it. I could feel the power within you.’ Mezrielda remained silent, holding a hand to her temple and wincing at the pain. Starrett shook her head, moving around the room like a lion trapped in a cage. ‘How long have you been keeping inconsistent severance of the coven magic?’

Mezrielda removed her hand from her temple, eyeing Starrett quizzically. ‘What is inconsistent severance?’

Starrett gestured at her. ‘You’re the one whose done it, I don’t know why you’re asking me.’

‘I didn’t want to severe those idiotic birds,’ Mezrielda shot back, her voice raising. ‘I was about to be murdered, it was my only choice.’

‘Keep your voice down!’ Starrett retorted, glancing towards the stairs, where the sound of snoring had momentarily stopped. They waited in silence before the snores eventually returned. Pinching the bridge of her nose Starrett drew in a long breath before releasing it. Mezrielda recognised the action of counting to ten and sat back in the armchair, trying not to let her exhausted mind fall asleep. Starrett forced out her words through clenched teeth, her voice quiet once more. ‘It means that you’ve cut some of those within the coven off from the pooled magic, but not all. In doing so, you’ve created an uneven coven and, if you keep it that way, it will slowly flatten you from the inside out.’

‘How do I fix it?’

‘You must completely sever all from the pooled magic, taking it for yourself, and disbanding the coven, ending the magic’s ability to move between people. Once the power is settled within you, you’ll have to acclimatise to it, but you should survive.’

‘Should?’

Starrett scowled at her, moving back towards the counter and leaning against it. ‘Reckless,’ she muttered.

Mezrielda pressed on, ‘Even so, now that you understand what I’ve become, you’ll understand why I know that Bagsy is alive.’ Starrett looked up at the ceiling. Her hands were shaking as they clenched around the edge of the counter. Mezrielda continued before she could be interrupted. ‘She’s the only one I haven’t severed from the coven’s magic and I can still feel her. It’s faint but, there’s no way I can be mistaken about this,’ she lied. She wasn’t entirely sure the tug she felt in her heart was Bagsy. She just knew that it had to be. ‘She’s a part of the corvid family and the coven magic is pulling me towards her. How could it do that if she were dead?’

Starrett shook her head. ‘She’s gone.’

‘She’s not!’

‘She’s gone.’ Starrett moved towards the oval door. ‘Leave. Now.’ She waved her hand over the locks, instantly opening them, before pulling the door open, not looking at her, and gesturing outside.

‘One of those letters told me to check where she was buried, so I dug up her coffin.’

‘Oh, for goodness–’

‘It was empty.’

Starrett stilled. Mezrielda could see her pulse pick up in the vein on her neck. Slowly, Starrett closed the door before moving back to the red sofa and sitting down. ‘Miss Glint…’ she said, her voice soft for the first time since Mezrielda had arrived. ‘You’ve lost someone very–’ Starrett’s voice cracked, and she closed her eyes, her face scrunching up as she fought to control her emotions.

‘She’s only lost for now,’ Mezrielda insisted. ‘I can get her back.’

Starrett all but whispered, ‘Once I had someone close to me. Someone who was naïve and idealistic. She fought for what she thought was right and, for her sake, I fought alongside her. We made a coven. I was hoping I could share some of my powers with her, but it never helped much. One day, she got in over her head, despite my protests, and she was taken from me.’

Mezrielda glanced at the photo Starrett had turned face down on the mantel piece. ‘Who?’ she asked, rudely cutting in, her voice lacking all emotion.

Starrett laughed ruefully. ‘You insolent child. You don’t deserve my sympathy.’ Mezrielda clenched her jaw, holding her tongue. ‘She was my sister. She thought she could change the world, she thought she was stronger and smarter than everyone around her, and all it got her was a lifetime residency in Azkaban. Do you know what they use in Azkaban?’ Starrett didn’t look up, she didn’t seem able to. ‘Hissentors. I assume your family are familiar with their spying capabilities.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Did it also occur to you that they feed off rage? To be efficient they grow the rage already present in their target until it consumes the person. Then, they feast. Under the control of the Ministry, they are altered so they are incapable of finishing off their target. When you are locked in a cell for years surrounded by nothing but creatures who fuel your anger it changes you–’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Mezrielda interrupted her with a cold look. ‘This doesn’t alter the fact that Bagsy is alive.’

‘Covens aren’t perfect. More than just magic leaks between those within it, emotions mix in with the shared magic. The more magic wielders in a coven, the more muted these unfortunate extra transmissions are. In a coven with thousands of individuals you’d barely notice a single emotion of anyone but yourself, but when a coven is small, say two people…’ Starrett put her face in her hands for a moment, just breathing.

The reality dawned on Mezrielda. ‘You can still feel your sister’s emotions now…?’

Starrett flinched. ‘No.’

‘Then–’

‘Shut it, child,’ Starrett snapped. ‘I kept my coven with her for years. As the hissentors attacked her mind I felt her rage increase as if it was my own because it was my only connection to her. I owed it to her to keep it, to never cut her off from the world beyond her cell, from her family. Then, one day, the connection grew weak. When the aurors came to tell me she had lost all sense of herself and passed away I already knew. She was dead but, even when dead, I still felt the coven puling me towards her. Coven magic sticks to the residue a person’s soul leaves behind when they die, and you can still feel echoes of a person even after they’re long gone. It would be years before I severed the connection and finally let her go.’ Starrett’s head snapped up, and she fixed Mezrielda with such a fierce look that she felt ice creep up her back. ‘You need to stop this. Look at the harm you’ve already brought upon yourself. Think of all the worry you’re causing your parents. She’s gone. It’s over. Let her go and give up.’

As Starrett had neared the end of her story, Mezrielda had found her tired thoughts slipping into some semblance of agreement. Somewhere in her mind she could see how rash her actions were and knew that, if she continued in this manner, it would only be a matter of time before she was dead, but on Starrett’s final command Mezrielda found just enough energy returning to push herself to her feet. ‘She is still alive!’ she spat, not noticing the snoring noises from upstairs had quieted. ‘You might have given up, but I never will.’

‘I haven’t given up,’ Starrett said, her voice hollow. They both knew it was a lie. ‘I’m too old for this…’ she sighed.

‘You’re younger than me, Emese.’

Mezrielda and Starrett startled at the new voice, turning to look at the stairs. In a onesie with cartoon moths on it, their jaw-short hair curled in even more impossible angles from where they’d been sleeping on it, Professor Fitzsimmons blinked their enlarged eyes at them. 

Chapter Text

Stunned, Mezrielda stared at Fitzsimmons. Then, enraged, she pointed. ‘You’re living with them?’ she asked Starrett.

Starrett rubbed her temples. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Yes, she is,’ Fitzsimmons said at the same time. Starrett glared at them while Fitzsimmons blinked back at her.

‘How could you?’ Mezrielda said. ‘You’re living with someone who is clearly linked to the beast, the creature that helped cause Bagsy’s… helped cause this mess!’

Starrett was standing now, too. ‘Listen here, you half-witted delinquent–’

‘Emese,’ Fitzsimmons said calmly, sweeping into the room. They were wearing slippers over their onesie. Were Mezrielda not so furious, she’d find it funny. ‘We should tell her.’

‘No.’ Starrett turned her ire to Fitzsimmons then. ‘She is a child poking her nose where it does not belong.’

Mezrielda didn’t know what to think, so she sank back into the armchair, her energy leaving her once more.

Fitzsimmons said, ‘Evidently, despite our best efforts, she finds herself entwined with the difficulties of our modern world. She has troubled herself with the journey here, our trust of her is beyond due.’

‘But–’

‘Emese.’ Fitzsimmons took off their glasses. Even without the bug-like accessory Fitzsimmons eyes were oddly large. Relenting, Starrett sat back down, pointedly looking out the window. Fitzsimmons looked at the armchair Mezrielda was occupying with an odd expression, before sitting down on a stool. ‘You are correct,’ Fitzsimmons admitted. ‘I must have links with the beast.’

Mezrielda snarled. ‘You admit it.’

‘There has been a sizable gap in my memory for many years,’ Fitzsimmons explained, entirely unperturbed by Mezrielda’s anger. ‘It is why I have been unable to provide satisfactory answers to any of your or Bagsyllia’s questions.’

‘Don’t say her name,’ Mezrielda snapped. Then, with a wary look, she said, ‘What do you mean, you have a gap in your memories?’

Fitzsimmons looked at Starrett, who kept her eyes averted. ‘I mean that at some point of which I am unaware of a portion of my memories were taken from me. Professor Starrett and I have been trying to recover them for many years to no avail.’

‘What’s missing?’

Fitzsimmons grimaced. ‘Regrettably, that is the trouble with having your memories taken. You see, I do not know what was taken but it has become clear to me that whatever was there must explain the link between myself and the beast.’

Mezrielda was having none of it. ‘Liar. Bagsy told me about the conversations you had with her in her first year. You knew about the myth of the fairy and the girl trapped in the gauntlet, you even told her the girl in the gauntlet was the blood eyed beast transformed by greed. You knew of the beast’s existence before it attacked anyone, you seemed to know the brick Bagsy was carrying was the gauntlet itself and you definitely knew what I wished for using it. Your memories are untouched.’

‘Mezrielda,’ Fitzsimmons cautioned, holding a hand up for her silence. ‘I knew of the myth about the girl and the gauntlet because it is an ancient part of wizarding history, and I was aware of the significance of the brick in Bagsy’s hands because, free from whatever illusion had kept it hidden within the owlery, my skin was practically burning from the power emanating within it. As for knowing of the beast’s existence that, too, I learnt in tandem with the myth of the fairy and the girl in the gauntlet. Do you recall how, in your first year at Hogwarts, a number of magical creatures were rescued from the Ministry’s clutches?’

‘Yes.’

‘Before those creatures were rescued, and before the beast escaped, the monster was being held captive in the Ministry’s headquarters. As the Head Professor of Hogwarts, I had been informed about its existence, and the threat it posed, the day I accepted my position. It is a measure of safeguarding the Ministry have observed for centuries. Along with the knowledge of its existence I, too, was provided with the historical theory that the beast is most likely the girl from the myth.’

Mezrielda gestured angrily at Starrett and then Fitzsimmons. ‘Wasn’t it you who released the beast, then? It escaped when those creatures were stolen. It seems to me like this was all a part of your plan. Release the monster you’re working for and have it reign havoc whilst acting as if you have no part in it. I bet you were disappointed when my wish thwarted the beast’s attempt to kill Bagsy in her first year.’

Starrett’s nostrils flared. ‘We risked life and limb to slay the thing in your second year, or did you forget?’

‘So you claim.’

Starrett looked ready to spring to her feet in her fury. ‘Watch your tone.’

Fitzsimmons said, ‘The beast was never meant to escape when we orchestrated the rescue of those creatures. The fact that it did was unknown to us until after I realised it had appeared in the test Bagsy took in her first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, at which point I did my best to safeguard the school. I was, unfortunately, unaware that its method of reaching into the building was through the spiral staircase.’

Starrett scoffed. ‘We didn’t release that thing. Please. We all know who did it. With what happened recently, it’s become painfully obvious that I was right to never trust her.’

Mezrielda furrowed her brow, taking a breath as she considered what Fitzsimmons had said. If Bagsy were here, and Fitzsimmons really was telling the truth, Bagsy could brew some silver cleanse for them and solve the issue. ‘Wait,’ Mezrielda murmured, her mind catching up to the conversation. ‘Who do you think released it?’

Starrett stood up, then, unable to contain her frustration and pacing once more. ‘I won’t speak her name.’

Clearly, Mezrielda’s question had hit a nerve.

Even Fitzsimmons looked uncomfortable, shooting a guilty look in Starrett’s direction. ‘She seemed trustworthy,’ Fitzsimmons defended themselves. ‘We needed her help, as she did ours, and there was an child’s safety in question if we didn’t take her under our wing.’

‘No,’ Starrett pushed back. ‘I told you how she was as a student. You never saw it because you’re too trusting but I did. She acted as if she was an incompetent fool who couldn’t harm a fly, in my lessons she pretended she didn’t know what a wand was, always failing to cast any spells but, the moment backs were turned, she was the most genius student I’ve ever seen. She could have achieved top marks in every subject if she’d wanted but instead, she calculated the lowest possible grades she’d need to make it into the Ministry and achieved her goals without making too much of a star out of herself. She completed her tests to receive those exact results to the decimal point, all the while seeming like a wallflower no one need pay attention to.’

Fitzsimmons took a breath. ‘She rescued a doppelganger from a Beetlehorn warehouse. I saw the way she spoke about the child. She genuinely cared for her. So long as she cared for a magical being she would have every reason to be on our side, the side fighting for the liberation of magical beings.’

‘And yet…’ Starrett retorted.

Mezrielda felt her blood turn cold. ‘You’re talking about Bontie.’ Starrett and Fitzsimmons paused their argument, looking as though they’d forgotten Mezrielda was there. ‘She couldn’t have cared about Bagsy.’

Fitzsimmons narrowed their eyes. ‘Why do you say that?’

Mezrielda held Fitzsimmons gaze, before looking at Starrett. Starrett must know Bontie had been in the caves as she’d been there too, but she hadn’t seen who’d cast the spell that had caused everything to fall apart. ‘Bontie’s the one who…’ Mezrielda’s voice cut off and she closed her mouth.

‘This again,’ Fitzsimmons muttered. They glanced at Starrett. ‘She mentioned something like this at the funeral. Mezrielda, whilst Bontie was present and, no doubt from what Starrett has told me, instrumental in the incident that occurred, she still saw Bagsy as family. My best guess is she has been swayed by the lure of power, spurred on by what she perceives to be justice, leading to a mistake that cost her, and others, greatly–’

‘No,’ Mezrielda cut in. ‘No, I don’t mean she had a hand in it. I don’t mean that her negligence or idiocy or selfishness indirectly caused Bagsy’s death.’ Starrett stopped her pacing, her back to Mezrielda and Fitzsimmons.

Fitzsimmons’ hands were clasped together tightly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What I meant at the funeral was that… she’s the one who cast the spell.’

Starrett, keeping her face turned away from them, moved towards the door. Without taking the time to put her heels on she threw the door open, stepped outside, and slammed it closed behind her.

Fitzsimmons looked at the door before turning their head slowly back to Mezrielda. ‘At the funeral her wand didn’t show the killing curse when you brought forth the spells it had previously cast.’

‘She must have more than one wand,’ Mezrielda reasoned. ‘I was foolish to have not realised that would be the case at the time. Bontie’s evidently too clever to be caught out in such a way.’

Resting their face on their hands Fitzsimmons took a few moments to consider this news, a look of frosted dread etched into their skin. ‘I have clearly highly misjudged the woman.’

Mezrielda clenched her fingers in the fabric of her robe. ‘You aren’t the only one,’ she said bitterly. ‘Bagsy trusted her right up until… even as the spell hit her she still…’

Fitzsimmons sat back up. ‘I trusted someone I shouldn’t have,’ they admitted. ‘But I still wish not to make the mistake of withholding trust from someone who needs it.’ Mezrielda raised her eyebrows in confusion. ‘You still believe she’s alive and you’re going to do something reckless. You should know that the magical beings rescued from the Ministry all those years ago were hidden within a hollow. You should also know that Rebontil must have revealed the hollow’s location to the beast as those beings are now gone. Neither Starrett nor I have a clue where they are.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Mezrielda asked suspiciously.

‘Starrett wants to give up on what we’ve been fighting for,’ Fitzsimmons confided. ‘She wants to keep everything we know between us, with people we know we can trust. Starrett claims we will lose if we trust the wrong people, but I know we will lose if we trust no one. Given how the cards are falling, we no longer have the luxury of withholding the skirmishes of this world from the youth of today. In short, whilst you may not trust me, Mezrielda, I am deciding to trust you.’

Feeling conflicted about Fitzsimmons, Mezrielda didn’t say thank you, but merely looked at them in silence.

After a few moments the door was thrust open and Starrett strode back inside. ‘You,’ she said, pointing at Mezrielda. With a pulse of magic, Mezrielda found herself forced out of the chair into a standing position. She swayed, barely managing to keep herself upright. ‘You’re coming with me. I’ve sent word to your parents. There’s a floo station an hour away. You’re going home.’

‘But–’ Mezrielda tried to protest. She still didn’t know where Bagsy’s body had gone, and the anonymous figure had seemed to want her to come here.  

‘Not another word,’ Starrett hissed, grabbing her shoulder and forcing her out of the house. Mezrielda felt her heart stall, expecting to fall onto the street far below, too tired to shift into a magpie in time. Instead, she found the house was on the floor of a large field. Starrett shoved her forward. ‘Don’t dawdle,’ she growled.

Setting a brutal pace, Starrett led them through the fields. Mezrielda glanced back at the house, seeing it lift into the sky and slowly hover away. Starrett had needed to tell Mezrielda of its existence before she could see it, so she assumed it had both a fidelius charm and a constant movement enchantment keeping its location a mystery. 

When they reached a small outhouse and Starrett opened the door, motioning at the toilet, Mezrielda wrinkled her nose in disgust.

‘I absolutely, positively am not–’ she began to protest, only for Starrett to push her forward and throw a handful of floo power onto the floor from a pouch in her jeans.

‘Vespite Manor,’ Starrett said, and green flames surged out of the toilet as if a leak had burst. They cascaded around Mezrielda and when they vanished she found herself back in her family’s living room, surrounded by the red and black aged decor.

Her mother and father were standing in front of the fireplace, their arms crossed and expressions dark. Mezrielda would have been distracted by her apprehension were she not glancing at the fireplace, an idea sparking in her mind like the lights of dying flames.

Chapter Text

Mezrielda was restricted to her room once more. Her parents didn’t know how she’d snuck past Spot, or if she’d used magic to escape, but either way, to be certain, they’d placed wards on her bedroom window. She wouldn’t be able to leave the same away again.

The main issue facing Mezrielda was that even if she could leave she had no idea where to go. It had been a month and a half since her last excursion and no new letters had arrived from the mysterious figure drip feeding her directions. Her parents were convinced it had all been an elaborate trap that had failed and that whoever had been sending the messages had given up. Mezrielda wasn’t so sure.

The corvids, before she’d severed them from their coven sentience, had led her to a location that wasn’t the one the letter had directed her to. The only trap set for her, that she had naturally not told her parents about, had come from a different source, not the letters, whilst her anonymous pen pal had only led her to information. The information had birthed more questions, but it wasn’t unwelcome, and Mezrielda was beginning to itch as she impatiently waited for the next message from the anonymous sender to arrive.

To keep herself oriented towards some semblance of an end, she had devised a plan she was practising for. She had another test with the Ministry at the end of the summer, a week before she was supposed to return to Hogwarts and, more importantly, she’d have permission, and an expectation, to attend a location where Bontie Beetlehorn would be. Or, at the very least, where many of Bontie’s belongings would be. One Aesher Common was impenetrable but breaking into the Ministry for Magic was far more achievable, in Mezrielda’s opinion. The difficulty lay in the technical perfection with which she’d have to pull of the manoeuvre she intended to enact. She needed to cast multiple spells non-verbally at once, whilst saying a different word out loud, whilst also shifting into a magpie. She’d been attempting the feat ever since she’d returned home, the floo network having inspired her plan, but had yet to successfully pull off the move.

She was trying her best to approach the task in the way Bagsy would. First, she’d combined different things she already knew about and then she’d broken the task down into manageable steps, working her way up to the final production. She could summon flames and she could change their colour using the palleos transfiguration. Creating a spiral of flames and changing them to the green kind floo stations created had been difficult enough but, with careful and quick enunciations of the words, it had eventually become second nature. There was only the briefest of moments where the flames were orange, beginning to flow from her wand, before they snapped to the emerald hue she desired. Combining these spells with a third was where Mezrielda had hit her first serious hurdle. The fire-warding charm was a tricky spell already but trying to cast it quickly enough to keep herself unharmed from the green flames she summoned was even trickier. Eventually, after weeks of trying on and off, with plenty of sulking and giving up in-between failed attempts, and singed robes, she had the movement under control.

On top of the difficult skill Mezrielda was trying to master, pangs of sharp pain would overcome her every few hours, and she’d collapse to the floor, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for it to pass. She refused to cut off what she was sure was Bagsy from the corvid coven, it was the last piece of confirmation she had that Bagsy was alive. Mezrielda didn’t care what Starrett had claimed about coven threads maintaining after life had ended because Bagsy couldn’t be dead. Mezrielda would rather die herself than cut Bagsy off from the coven, even if it meant keeping the severance inconsistent and the uneven magic eating her up from inside.

Mezrielda was currently curled below her duvet, raging against the difficulty of casting all three spells sequentially without uttering a verbal syllable, when there was a knock at her door. Mezrielda glanced at her sundial watch seeing it wasn’t yet lunch time. ‘I want to be alone,’ she called to whichever of her parents it was.

‘There’s a letter for you,’ Palid murmured softly.

Mezrielda got out of bed and strode to the door, grabbing the handle and pulling it open, she looked up at her mother. Her eyes snapped down to the letter in Palid’s hands before she snatched it from her. Mezrielda hesitated, noticing the glum shadow over her mother’s eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to grab it so rudely,’ Mezrielda offered quickly, reaching a hand forward to take one of her mother’s and squeeze it.

‘What would you like for lunch today?’ Palid asked, smiling weakly at her. Even if Mezrielda was grounded to her room, her parents still offered to prepare for her whatever she wanted.

‘Some soup would be more than adequate.’

‘Of course.’ Palid inclined her head towards the letter. ‘It’s from Nevis. Is he one of your school friends?’

Her hope leaving her, Mezrielda looked down at the letter to see it was, indeed, from Nevis and not the anonymous figure. ‘You could call him that,’ Mezrielda admitted. She only really had one friend, and Mezrielda was going to get her back. Opening the letter and scanning the words, Mezrielda saw Nevis was asking her to come to St Mungo’s. Teresa’s condition had worsened since the incident with the breathing blight and the healers expected she had a few days more, at the most, and Teresa had requested Nevis reach out to ask Mezrielda to visit before her end arrived.

Mezrielda slowly folded the note. She’d been so preoccupied with Bagsy and her search for her she’d all but forgotten about Teresa, the one other person at Hogwarts Mezrielda might dare to call a friend. Even if they’d had their issues in second year when Teresa had thought she’d destroyed her worm farm and Nevis’ dress, they’d bonded over their mutual distaste for Professor Mephit and whilst Teresa was often unsympathetic, but she had stood up for Mezrielda on many occasions.

Handing the note to Palid for her to read, Mezrielda folded her arms and looked at her room’s fireplace. It wasn’t linked to the floo network, so her parents weren’t concerned about her leaving that way.

‘Oh, little bat,’ Palid sighed, having read the letter. She took a step forward and put her arms around her. ‘We’ll come with you if you want to visit your friend.’ Mezrielda didn’t say anything. She simply nodded, keeping her answer as non-verbal as the spells she was trying to cast.

They entered St Mungo’s through the floo station, stepping into a small waiting room with white wooden floors, tiled walls and some wooden chairs in as much disrepair as the ones of Vespite Manor. It was crowded, and Mezrielda turned her nose up at the group of teenagers whose skin was changing from red to blue to green to yellow. Dantura did the talking for her, asking the man in lime green robes at reception where they could find Teresa Aviry.

The man looked from Dantura to Palid and back again. ‘Why do you want to see her?’ he asked suspiciously. Mezrielda took her eyes of a little boy whose back was covered in spikes, an obvious mis-transfiguration, to look at the healer. Even if opinions of vampires were leaps better than they had been previously it was clear that some still held their reservations.

Dantura explained, ‘My daughter here was requested to visit.’ He put the letter from Nevis on the counter as proof.

Pushing his glasses up his nose the receptionist lent over the letter, peering at it, even tapping his wand to it to check for forgery spells. Mezrielda held back a snarl. If she’d chosen to forge a letter there was little chance an imbecile like him would be able to tell.

‘Fine,’ the healer grumbled, gesturing down the corridor. ‘Sixth floor, room one.’

‘Thank you,’ Dantura said, a sly tone dripping off his words. Mezrielda knew he was deliberately flashing his fangs as he spoke and revelled in the fearful backwards step the receptionist took.

The Glints ascended the stairs, the steps growing thinner the higher they went.

Mezrielda said, ‘I didn’t realise there was a sixth floor.’

Palid glanced down at her as they moved. ‘It’s fairly new.’ They’d reached the door leading to the sixth floor and Mezrielda’s mother tapped one bony finger on the plate by it, announcing it had been opened only three years prior.

Dantura looked up and scanned the other plate above the door. ‘Palliative care,’ he uttered mournfully, giving his head a sympathetic shake. Mezrielda didn’t need to ask what that meant; this was the ward for those who had no chance of recovery, and who the healers were trying to provide as painless an end as possible to.

The door was heavy, and Dantura and Palid had to lean against it together to push it open. Slowly, it revealed a short corridor, with two doors on each side, and wooden floors the colour of black tea. Room one was immediately to their left and Mezrielda could hear hushed voices from within. Dantura hung back with Mezrielda, placing an affirming hand on her shoulder, while Palid gently knocked on the door. The murmuring from within stopped and there was the creak of floorboards as someone heavy walked over to the door and opened it.

A short ginger woman looked at them through the doorway, her cheeks sunken and deep bags below her eyes. ‘Hello,’ she greeted, her hoarse voice barely audible. ‘You must be Mr and Mrs Glint.’

The Glint family looked back at the woman in silence for a while.

At last, Dantura said, ‘You are correct.’

Palid, straightening herself to her full height, clasped her hands together regally. ‘Our daughter was invited to visit young Aviry.’

The woman nodded slowly, looking like she didn’t know what to make of the Glints, before stepping aside and letting them in. Palid and Dantura processed into the room, Mezrielda a few steps behind.

Room one was large, it had multiple beds and couches, and on the shelves were crammed an assortment of different cages and perches, filled with magical creatures of all sorts. Mezrielda puzzled at the pets. If her memory was anything to be trusted, and Mezrielda very much believed it was, none of the pets were ones she’d see Teresa owning before. She couldn’t see any of the winged puppies, bats, or even the flying death’s head hawk moth, Hops, that had been so proudly displayed at the petting zoos.

A tall man, whose hair was as ginger as the woman’s, was leaning towards a slight figure buried below blankets. He nodded his head as he spoke in hushed tones to them before his lips pursed as his eyes found Mezrielda. The next moment he stood up, self-consciously straightening his tie. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he offered. ‘I’m Brian Aviry. You’ve already met my wife, Mairi, of course.’ He gestured at the woman who’d let them in. She dipped her head politely.

The figure below the blankets turned her head like it was on a rusted hinge to look at the Glints. Mezrielda barely repressed a flinch at the sight, her hands curling into fists. Teresa was so pale she was the same colour as the sheets she was buried below but beneath her skin thick black veins that looked as solid as rock criss-crossed her body. Her hair, which had once been long and like a lively flame bursting out of her hairband, was now a few wisps of colourless straw. Sitting on the bed next to Teresa, holding one of her hands in his, was Nevis.

‘Our daughter wants to speak with Mezrielda alone for a moment,’ Brian Aviry explained, walking over to Mairi Aviry and taking her hand. Mrs Aviry didn’t look keen, casting her eyes up and down Mezrielda disapprovingly, who looked coldly back, keeping her expression perfectly still.

Palid and Dantura murmured to each other. Mezrielda couldn’t hear every word, but they seemed concerned she would take the unsupervised opportunity to run off.

‘I won’t leave this room,’ Mezrielda assured them, giving her parents the same expression she’d just given Mrs Aviry. With a final concerned exchanging of looks, her parents nodded and exited the room. 

‘We’ll get you some water,’ Mrs Aviry said, moving over to Teresa and placing her hand on her shoulder for a moment before leaving, her husband following closely. The door closed with a soft thud, and Mezrielda heard the four adults moving off the sixth floor and down the steps.

Awkwardly, Mezrielda stood where she was, looking at the bed, the deathly ill Teresa upon it, and the exhausted looking Nevis sitting by her side. She unclenched her fists and forced herself to move to the seat on the other side of the bed from Nevis and sat down.

‘I’m…’ Teresa began to say, her voice a whisper, her lips barely able to move at all. ‘Glad you came,’ she finished, after licking her lips to loosen them a bit.

Nevis pushed his glasses up his snub nose and sniffed. ‘How have you been?’ he asked.

Mezrielda looked around the room. There were spare beds that she assumed Teresa’s parents had been staying in, given the suitcases next to them. ‘Let us not talk about me,’ she said at last. ‘How are you?’ she directed her question as Teresa.

Teresa ran her tongue over her lips again, moving them against each other as she tried to prepare for speech, her eyes the colour of stale bread as she tried to focus on Mezrielda. ‘My parents won’t accept that I’m going to die.’

Nevis let out a sharp breath, his grip on Teresa’s hand tightening.

Teresa smiled as much as her constrained skin would allow. ‘Nevis is in denial too.’ Nevis just shook his head. ‘It’s funny. I’ve already gotten over it, accepted what’s going to happen. Everyone else though…’ she trailed off, sounding as if she’d just told a hilarious joke. She shot a look at Nevis, her eyebrows raised as if to say Am I right or am I right? ‘It’s fine,’ she added, seeing the look on Nevis’ face. ‘You all have longer to come to terms with it than me, anyway. Take as long as you need.’

Mezrielda couldn’t say anything at first, her throat was tight and her eyes stung and, for a second, she found herself somewhat glad she was physically incapable of crying. ‘I didn’t come sooner,’ Mezrielda said. ‘But I’m here now.’

The momentary softness of humour was gone from Teresa’s face and Mezrielda braced for her to accuse her of being thoughtless. ‘I should have asked you to come sooner. The truth is…’ Teresa paused, swallowing to clear her throat as her voice trailed away from her. ‘I have something selfish to ask of you.’ Nevis put his other hand over Teresa’s as well, clasping it as if that could stop her from leaving.

Mezrielda furrowed her brow. ‘Go on.’

‘I’ve only told Nevis because I don’t want my parent’s view of me to be tarnished by what I did.’

Mezrielda’s frown deepened. ‘What did you do?’

Teresa drew in a breath. It was a slow and painful process to watch, as if her air ways had been detracted to nothing more than a bent straw. ‘Last year I was working with the breathing blight.’

Mezrielda shot to her feet, her chair scraping back. Nevis shrunk down, flinching in fear.

Teresa pushed on, ‘I thought that the breathing blight had the same goals as us, to protect and liberate magical beings and I thought, unlike the refulgents, he would be willing to take the drastic action necessary. I thought you were all being oversensitive and that, eventually, I could get you all to understand the miscommunication between the refulgents and Lewis.’

‘How stupid, how utterly moronic, can you possibly be?’ Mezrielda spat, not knowing when her wand had found its way into her hand, only that it had.

Teresa forced her hardened eyelids to blink, turning her misted eyes to look up at Mezrielda. ‘I realised my mistake. Ironically, it was Bagsy and Primrose who convinced me. Primrose tried to help Bagsy escape, but she must’ve failed because I found Bagsy again and when I did I tried to help her get away, but Lewis and that woman with him they… they killed all of my creatures. Then, in the skirmish, I got hit with a nasty case of the flu.’

Mezrielda glanced back at the pets in the room, realising now why none of them were ones she’d seen before. ‘Did you tell the Ministry this?’ she murmured. ‘Not about your involvement, but about Bontie’s?’

Nevis looked confused. ‘Bontie?’

‘Bagsy’s sister,’ Mezrielda lied. She couldn’t be bothered to explain her friend’s complex familiar relations. ‘The woman you saw with Lewis was Rebontil Beetlehorn.’

Nevis and Teresa stared at her.

Teresa was the one to speak first. ‘That was her sister? I’d only seen her a few times while I was working for Lewis… I had no idea.’

‘Did you tell the Ministry?’ Mezrielda pushed. The Ministry may twist every word Mezrielda would say, but Teresa may well be believed.

Teresa nodded. ‘I gave them a description of her but I didn’t know her name, or that she was Bagsy’s sister.’ That was another thing to investigate at the Ministry, Mezrielda thought. Perhaps the Ministry did suspect Bontie. If that was the case it could be profitable to come forward and speak about what happened after all, if only to take Bontie down. Teresa kept speaking, her voice growing quieter with every sentence she spoke, ‘I asked you here because I wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened. I tried to help her escape but I failed. Bagsy’s dead because of–’

‘She’s not–… She’s fine. I’m going to get her back,’ Mezrielda cut over her harshly. Teresa had the gall to blink pityingly up at her, as if she were the one dying from the breathing blight’s plague. Mezrielda nearly reminded her who was really sick, but bit down on her tongue.

Nevis said, ‘She is, Mezrielda. She’s gone. You shouldn’t meddle with the dead. You can’t bring her back.’

‘Is that the only reason you asked me here?’ Mezrielda interrupted once more, unfolding her arms and moving towards the door.

Teresa let out a slow breath, her chest shuddering as she did. Mezrielda imagined it was lined with thick mucus from the ill appearance of the girl. ‘No,’ Teresa croaked out. ‘I have no right, but I wanted to ask if you could… if you could…’ She closed her eyes, as if looking at Mezrielda was too hard. ‘If you could forgive me for what I did.’

Mezrielda’s hand was halfway to the door handle when she froze. ‘Absolution, then,’ she muttered. She looked at Teresa, propped up by a mountain of pillows, her frame shaking from the cold she must be feeling there was hardly an inch of fat on her. ‘You won’t find it from me. You are responsible. You did cause this. You are guiltier than your miniscule brain could ever fathom, and I hope your end is as slow and painful as possible.’ Mezrielda didn’t wait to see the fury light in Nevis’ eyes, or the tears form in Teresa’s. Instead, she pulled the door open and marched out, pointed her wand at the heavy door leading to the steps, bursting it open, and hurried downstairs, her breaths coming in fast.

She felt like her mind was splitting in two. A pang of pain from the uneven coven magic within her was spirally up her spine, whilst her thoughts were racing at what she’d just done. Half of her wanted to turn around and tell Teresa that it was alright, that she did forgive her, while her other half wanted to return with her wand levelled at the traitorous girl to shoot the curse at her that she’d caused Bagsy to take. Mezrielda didn’t know which she’d do so, instead, she found her parents in the reception and strode past them. Most of all, she was trying to ignore how her mind slid back to the caves. If she’d only been stronger, if she’d only dealt with her exhaustion better, she wouldn’t have placed her hand against the wall and she wouldn’t have been paralysed by the gunk left by the Kolabore. She would have been able to do something besides watch.

Bagsy wouldn’t have…

‘We’re going home,’ Mezrielda said to her parents without looking away from the floo station she was approaching. Confused, Palid and Dantura rushed out a goodbye to the Avirys before they followed her into the green flames.

Back in Vespite Manor, Mezrielda returned to her room without a word. When her parents arrived a few moments later with a soft knock, Mezrielda told them she wanted to be alone.

Dantura’s voice was strained through the door. ‘You can’t keep shutting us out. Talk to us.’

‘I want to be alone,’ Mezrielda hissed, walking over to her door but not opening it.

Palid’s voice was just as tight. ‘I’m going to get you some tea and biscuits, and then we’re going to join you in your room and read a book together.’

Mezrielda stiffened, before turning and leaning her back against the door. ‘You haven’t read me a bedtime story for a while,’ she murmured quietly. ‘Aren’t I too old for that?’

Dantura scoffed from the other side of the door. ‘Never. I still get Palid to read me the detailed geographic extension of different muggle countries. It’s fascinating.’

Palid spoke up again. ‘What bedtime story would you like? We still have the one on algebra, or perhaps you’d like the one on advanced wand movement theory?’

Mezrielda grumbled. She did like the sound of being read a story whilst drinking tea and eating biscuits. It would put her mind off things. There were simply too many emotions in her right then.

‘How about her favourite?’ Dantura suggested.

‘Oh, yes,’ Palid agreed, the pair’s voices growing quieter as they hurried towards the library. ‘Collins English Dictionary.’

Soon, the fire in Mezrielda’s room was happily crackling away, whilst Palid wrapped Mezrielda in a thick blanket and Dantura decided what section of the dictionary they’d read through. They settled on words beginning with “H”. Mezrielda listened sulkily, trying not to think about what she’d said to Teresa or about Bagsy.

Chapter Text

Summer was almost over and the pangs of pain the coven magic was giving Mezrielda had only grown in intensity. Every week she’d black out at least once, realising she’d fainted an hour or so later when she awoke, but she still refused to severe the connection. Her ministry test was so close, and she had almost perfected her plan. Mezrielda managed to dedicate an hour or so to ensuring she had the magic down before the evening of her test arrived.

Her parents were fussing over her suit and dress robes.

Dantura pointed to Mezrielda’s right shoulder. ‘You missed a grain of dust.’

‘Oh, yes, I did,’ Palid muttered, using her fingernails like tweezers to remove the miniscule speck with surgical precision. ‘Where did this come from?’ she murmured in confusion. Mezrielda, meanwhile, was giving her hair a quick brush, smoothing the sleek strands into perfect straightness, and hoping they wouldn’t notice the pouch of plain, unmagical dust she had hidden within her robe. Palid gestured at Mezrielda’s sun dial watch. ‘What time is it, little bat?’

‘Stop calling me that,’ Mezrielda protested, glancing at the watch. It had been a gift from her parents for her twelfth adoption day. The Ministry had never told Mezrielda’s parents when she’d been born, only that she was a new-born when they’d been given her. She’d been adopted by the Glint’s on the first of September so from then on they’d decided to mark her ascension through childhood by the day she was adopted. The added bonus was, by informing Hogwarts she was born on the first of September, which the Ministry had taken no issues with, Mezrielda was as old as possible for her year, allowing more time to prepare for the Ministry tests she’d be subjected too when her school career began. ‘We have fifteen minutes before we need to be at the checkpoint,’ she informed her mother.

Dantura reached above the fireplace for a handful of floo powder. ‘Perfection. We should arrive just in time.’

One by one the floo network swirled around the Glints, carrying them to the Ministry for Magic. Trying to calm her racing heart at the idea of what she was going to attempt after the test, Mezrielda stepped out after her parents into the entrance of the Ministry’s headquarters.

The Glints found themselves led through the checkpoint, guided by a tall and large person through the atrium with its central fountain and rising windows of ministry offices high above their heads. They were taken to the elevator that would lead to the testing room without incident, much to the Glints’ surprise. Soon, Mezrielda’s mother and father were giving her small, encouraging inclines of their heads as she was led into a large room. The doorway she’d walked through was sealed by a materialising silver door and it was with resigned acceptance that Mezrielda saw the gaunt, tall figure of Mr Mortem.

‘We need to stop meeting like this,’ Mortem said in his nasally voice, his beady eyes boring maleficently into her.

‘Nothing would bring me more joy,’ Mezrielda shot back, satisfied that she’d already caused the vein in his forehead to pulse angrily.

‘I am a high ranking official from the Ministry who, might I remind you, is conducting your test. You will show me the respect my title demands.’

‘You demand as much respect as a flaccid needle.’

Mortem spluttered indignantly, his face turning red and one of his eyes twitching, before swiping a clipboard up from a table that housed the usual scrolls that recorded Mezrielda’s performance during her tests. Each one was scribbling furiously, as was Mr Mortem onto his clipboard, and Mezrielda decided that it might be wise to control her temper.

Mortem put his clipboard down. Calming himself he took a moment to remove his tiny spectacles and clean them with an even tinier handkerchief before replacing them back onto the tiniest nose Mezrielda had seen on a human face. It was only made worse by the deep bags below his eyes, and the grey tinge of his skin, that made his face look like it was melting candle wax. 

The Ministry test was even easier than last time. Mezrielda had another year of practise under her wing, and the spells she was asked to cast she could have done with her eyes closed and hanging upside down like the bats her parents could shift into. The written section was a hilarious joke that Mezrielda smirked her way through and she didn’t bother asking Mr Mortem to provide her with a quill, she’d learnt from last year and had brought multiple of her own, just in case.

When it came time to brew the potion, however, she could admit to herself she was ever so slightly apprehensive. Last time, Mortem had refused to tell her what potion to brew, and the Ministry hadn’t bothered to send the letter Mortem had claimed they had to inform her ahead of time. It was a similar story this year. Despite checking every possible avenue they could receive news through no letter from the Ministry confirming what potion she’d have to brew appeared. Now a stack of ingredients faced her and, despite her best efforts to prepare for this, Mezrielda hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do. She’d read through a number of potions textbooks but it was a difficult subject and whilst she was competent if she had the instructions in front of her she couldn’t figure out what potion would need to be brewed from what was before her.

Mezrielda tried her best as she had last time and found that, just like last time, the cauldron changed her potion at the last second. It went from a muddy grey with fiery wisps that looked like poisonous gas into a wonderful haze of emerald and white.

Mr Mortem, who’d been closely watching the whole time, let out a growl of frustration and Mezrielda glanced at his clipboard, seeing him put a begrudging tick next to the potions section. She looked back at the cauldron. Last time this had happened it had been because Bontie had rigged the already rigged test the Ministry had given her. Mezrielda balled her fists below the table she was sitting at. She wanted to pass the test, but the last person she’d want to assist her was Bontie.

‘You passed,’ Mortem announced, as if he were informing her she’d stolen his family’s heirloom. ‘You can leave, now.’

‘One more test to go,’ she taunted as she stood up and moved towards the exit, where the silver door had dematerialised. Mr Mortem fumed silently. Next year she would be eighteen, and the Ministry would conduct their final test to decide if her parents had raised her in an adequate fashion. If they had, they’d consider changing the adoption laws around vampires. If not, she wasn’t sure what they’d do. She would be over eighteen and a legal adult so there would be little point in taking her from Palid and Dantura and, even if they did, they wouldn’t have the excuse of not wasting resources on childcare to terminate her from existence; they couldn’t waste resources on childcare when there was no child to care for.

Mezrielda dipped her head to her parents. ‘I passed.’ Palid and Dantura smiled their strange, vampirish smiles at her.

‘As we knew our esteemed prodigy would,’ Dantura sniffed assuredly, Palid nodding her agreement.

Mezrielda followed her parents back to the floo station quietly, glancing around the green tiled corridors as they did and holding back shudders as they reminded her of what had transpired last year, before she’d ended up in those caves. There wasn’t an option to keep her focus on the floor as she needed to absorb the information around her like a sponge. If all went according to plan she could be back here in a moment, searching for Bontie’s office.

They processed through the Ministry checkpoints without incident, Mezrielda casting her gaze back to the stacks of windows arranged orderly up the walls of the towering atrium. The noise of the fountain’s water echoed in the space as if it were a church bell, mingling with the hubbub of murmured conversations and pointed shoes tapping down on emerald tiles. Palid and Dantura paused by the floo station.

Palid motioned with a bone-coloured hand towards the fireplace. ‘After you.’

Mezrielda forced her shoulders to remain relaxed as much as her body was trying to tense up. This had to look as unsuspicious as possible if it was going to work. ‘Thank you, mother, I shall.’ She stood in the fireplace, pulling a handful of unmagical dust into her hand, hoping her parents would assume it was floo powder. She concealed her right hand behind her back, slipping her white wand out of her sleeve. She paused, running through what she was about to do in her head. She would have one chance at this, and no more. ‘Vespite Manor!’ she announced, throwing the fake floo powder down as she incanted three non-verbal spells in quick succession, the wand behind her back twitching with sharp precision. Incendio, she said in her mind. On ‘Vespite’ a spout of fire burst from her wand. Palleos, she followed immediately, as the first syllable of ‘Manor’ was slipping between her lips, and the fire quickly turned the deep green as expected of a floo station. Flammuo, she finished, feeling a few singes of pain on her hand but completing the spell just in time. Green flame consumed but with the fire warding charm she felt a gentle sensation of pins and needles. It tickled, if anything.

Mezrielda allowed the fire to thicken, obscuring her figure and then, rushing the fire up the chimney, she shifted into a magpie, hiding with the disappearing flames as she followed them up. She grabbed onto the side of the chimney with her talons, finding a brick sticking out just enough to give her grip, and waited. First Dantura stepped in and Mezrielda saw the bald patch on the top of his head before her father was green flames, passing her with a whoosh. Palid followed closely and, before her parents had a chance to realise Mezrielda hadn’t arrived back at Vespite Manor, she swooped out of the chimney and fluttered up to the ceiling. She swooped towards the atrium, flying as high as she could, hoping no one would notice one small magpie in the chaos of the headquarters.

Mezrielda started with the highest, window, landing on the gold bar decorating the window sill and, turning her avian head to the side, peering into the room. Animate elephant tusks were duelling each other, whilst two Ministry officials watched, making bets on which would win. Mezrielda’s feathers ruffled. She didn’t want to think about how many elephants had needed to be slain to create so many tusks. Certain that room wasn’t Bontie’s office Mezrielda fluttered to the next window, seeing spotty-faced interns who looked like they hadn’t slept in months. She didn’t doubt, knowing the Ministry, that they were unpaid.

Mezrielda moved to the next window, and the next. Ideally, she’d be able to get an elevator to the Department for the Rehabilitation of Magical Creatures, the department Bontie worked in and where she most likely was. Unfortunately for Mezrielda the elevators were busy, and she doubted a magpie flying in would go unnoticed. If she was discovered as an unregistered Animagus, which she most likely would be, she knew that would be the end for her time with her parents and her time in the living world. She was hoping that she’d be lucky and that Bontie, as a highly important Ministry official, had an office in one of the fancy rooms with a window overlooking the atrium and its fountain.

Mezrielda paused as she checked a tenth window. If this plan did fail, and the Ministry terminated her, it may not be the worst thing. If she was wrong about Bagsy being alive, though she was sure she wasn’t, there could be a friendly face waiting for her on the other side. Bagsy wouldn’t want her to think like that, Mezrielda knew, but the burning in her chest didn’t care.

Occasionally looking back at the elevators as she checked the windows, Mezrielda kept an eye out for an opening. At some point there would have to be an elevator no one needed to take which would be her chance to swoop in and sneak down to the DRMC where Bontie’s office was more likely to be.

As Mezrielda was checking her fifteenth window, there was just such a gap. Mezrielda prepared herself to jump from the golden railing when a great jolt rocked the entire structure.

The chatter of the spellcasters below cut to a halt. There was silence except for a pen jittering on a table and the water splattering in the fountain.

As if it had all been some amusing accident, the magic wielders began to murmur to each other, bursts of laughter or mutters of confusion carrying to Mezrielda, who’s small heart was beating incredibly fast. The Ministry officials seemed confident in the safety of the headquarters, but Mezrielda was not.

There was another jolt, water sloshing over the side of the fountain, and the talking cut out for a split second before people began to take the situation seriously. Aurors drew their wands, visitors hurried through the floo stations, and regular workers dashed to side offices. Mezrielda’s gaze slid to the elevators where people were cramming in, their faces panicked as another jolt rocked the building, sending dust falling. On the fourth jolt a few of the windows below Mezrielda shattered, the glass clinking to the floor.

That was when people began to scream.

Mezrielda had to act. She glided to one side of the atrium, behind a desk. She scanned around, no one was looking her way amid the chaotic exodus so she shifted back into a human and hurrying to the elevator, pulling her hood up. No one questioned her as she stepped into a cramped lift, shouldering past Ministry workers, and as the grill closed and workers pressed the elevator buttons over and over again as if that would increase the speed, there was a burst of sound. Mezrielda craned her neck as the elevator moved backwards, seeing a hole blown in the side of one of the floo stations. The gaping damage was the size of a double bus. Lumbering through it, Mezrielda caught a glimpse of haired creatures. Next, fire, bursting from the palm of a bald girl.

Then the sight was gone and Mezrielda was left with nothing but the press of bodies around her, rabbits packed into a collapsed tunnel, and the juddering of the elevator as it moved through darkness. As they moved away from the main atrium Mezrielda heard shouts, stings of spells rebounding off walls, and quakes from impacts. The light in the lift cut out and the noises faded before they came to a halt and light spilled into the small space from the corridor they’d arrived at.

The person closest to the gate threw it open and rushed out, followed closely by a horde of panicking spellcasters, clutching their hats to their heads and their wands ahead of themselves as they rushed away. Unseen, Mezrielda remained at the back of the elevator.

Once she was alone, she pushed a different button, and the gate shut once more. With a jerk, it moved backwards, before shooting down towards the Department for the Rehabilitation of Magical Creatures.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take Mezrielda long to find what she was looking for. The warren of corridors lined with reflective emerald tiles were empty, air filled with the distant commotion from the atrium far above, force shuddering through the earth. Dust crumbled from the ceiling as Mezrielda followed the signs to the DRMC.

Mezrielda reached the department and moved from door to door, shoving each open. The rooms were empty, the (very comfortable looking) chairs within still turning from where they’d been left in a hurry. Mezrielda glanced over her shoulder, hearing concerned orders further down, but the voices were moving away from her. Whatever was happening upstairs the entire Ministry was going into a frenzy over it.

Mezrielda turned a corner and saw a door at the end, Rebontil’s name emblazed on the front. It was tall, swallowing the corridor, and pure black, consuming light, making Mezrielda feel as if a black hole was pulling her in.

Ignoring all other doors, Mezrielda marched straight for Rebontil’s, seeing a black knocker in the middle in the shape of two antlers. Mezrielda raised her wand, checking for alarms but finding none. Thinking that was too easy, but not sure what else to do, she pushed against the door. When it didn’t open she hissed in frustration, before levelling her wand at the lock. ‘Alohomora.’ The door moved. Mezrielda stood still, eyes fixed on the widening gap as it swung. It was painstakingly slow but, eventually, there was enough space to squeeze through and Mezrielda stepped into the room.

It lit in red by cuboid lanterns, with the shadows of hands flickering within. On a console table was a muggle fan, whose blades were replaced with fake swan wings and, hovering throughout the room, and floating like fish in Hogwarts’ lake, were individual drawers, each one locked. Taking a step past the coat stand, laden with hats and robes, Mezrielda moved towards the desk in the centre, on which a plaque rested, confirming the room belonged to Rebontil Getrisha Beetlehorn.

Mezrielda felt her anger surge at the sight of the name.

No sooner had Mezrielda taken a step into the room than the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She looked around herself, feeling as if a burst of static had entered the air, but unable to place why. She moved her wand, checking for alarms again. Now that it had been triggered, Mezrielda easily identified one on the door. It had been masterfully hidden and Mezrielda kicked herself that she hadn’t been able to find it.

Hoping Bontie would be too distracted with what was going to bother her, Mezrielda turned to the floating drawers. She pulled one down using her wand and unlocked it with a spell. She rifled through its files, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds, worried she was hearing footsteps.

The first drawer was filled with inane Ministry reports that Mezrielda scanned before chucking to the floor. She’d already tripped an alarm; speed was her aim, not subtlety.

On the sixth drawer something caught her eye. Fit snuggly at the back was a curious looking folder. Mezrielda pried it out and laid it on the desk where she tried to open it, but it resisted. ‘Alohomora,’ she cast with difficulty, and the folder opened. She flipped through the pages, checking the corridor every few seconds. The folder was a mixture of different reports that seemed as innocuous as everything else, but these ones had been in a locked folder, so Mezrielda knew they deserved more attention.

She found page after page on newly hired workers within the Ministry, some with question marks written in thick ink next to their names, presumably by Bontie, whilst others had crosses next to them and some names were highlighted in a deep blue. As Mezrielda worked through the collection of papers she saw at least a hundred different names highlighted. What did Bontie want with all these Ministry workers? Were they working for her? Against her? Was it a hit list? Mezrielda didn’t feel satisfied with any theory she could think of, until she came to the last page.

A picture of Moro Loget stared back at her, his name was highlighted in blue and circled numerous times. Heart quickening, Mezrielda flipped back through the pages. When she paid more attention, she could see that Bontie had been taking notes on sudden changes in behaviour. ‘Oh, stars,’ Mezrielda breathed as she realised what this was. Bontie had been figuring out how many people were under the control of Philipupus, the marionette who had overtaken Bagsy’s mind in their fourth year. Mezrielda could guess why Bontie was so set on figuring out who Philipupus was controlling; if the Alden family were giving Philip this many people as his puppets, then the marionette was being given far too much power.

Mezrielda swallowed, putting the papers to the side for now, and searching through the remaining drawers. As fascinating as Bontie’s writings on Philip were, it had nothing to do with Bagsy, or where she was.

There was great jolt. Mezrielda froze. She heard thick chunks of rock falling onto floors and hoped the Ministry wasn’t about to collapse. She had important business to attend to.

As Mezrielda was about to push another seemingly unimportant drawer to the side she noticed an odd clicking noise as it moved. She levitated it back and felt around the top of the drawer. ‘Alohomora.’ A hidden compartment in the top fell down. She pulled the metal case out, unlocked it, and peered within, finding evidence of bribery within the Ministry. Mezrielda scanned the names. ‘Rachel Morrison?’ she murmured, wondering why the Ministry were planning on bribing members of the Wizengamot. When she checked over the other names, it seemed like they were all members of the high wizard council. She found a notebook at the back. When she opened it the pages were blank, but Mezrielda knew better than to believe that. ‘Revelio.’ With enough focus, the hidden words revealed themselves. Mezrielda flipped through impatiently. It seemed Bontie’s theory was that the Ministry weren’t satisfied with merely the influence Philip could exert using his puppets and wanted to reach into Hogwarts itself to replace its professors. Mezrielda narrowed her eyes. It was no wonder the Ministry had such iron control over everything given what they’d had at their disposal; memory and perception alteration, mind control from Philip, and corruption to bribe any and all who might be left standing against them.

Mezrielda paused, levitating a drawer she’d already checked back over to her. She glanced through the files until she pulled one she’d seen earlier out. It was a correspondence with Fitzsimmons, who’d politely declined replacing any of their staff with Ministry approved personnel. ‘But if the Wizengamot all agree they can overrule Fitzsimmons and ask for new professors,’ Mezrielda realised, looking back at the notebook. She glanced at the document showing the many puppets Philip controlled. No doubt the new teaching candidates would come from amongst them, allowing the Ministry and Philip to have direct access to Hogwarts.

Mezrielda knew all the kind press about vampires had been too good to be true. The Ministry were waiting until the fiasco with the vote was forgotten as they slowly wound their fingers back into the lungs of society, forcing them to breathe whatever they wished. 

Refocussing on the task at hand, Mezrielda searched the final drawer. There had to be something on Bagsy, or else her entire plan would have been for nothing.

Spotting the name Bagsy written on a file, Mezrielda snatched it out, only to be disappointed to see it was a transcript of Teresa’s testimony. In anger, she threw it down onto the desk and kept searching. When nothing else turned up, she snatched the testimony up again, her last hope giving out. Reading, she frowned. The description Teresa had given of the woman she’d seen working with Lewis was entirely wrong: it sounded nothing like Bontie. Mezrielda checked for forgeries but, though her magic could detect none, she was certain Bontie had fiddled with the file to cover her tracks. Teresa’s testimony of the woman’s appearance didn’t sound like how Teresa would talk, and the description was as opposite to Bontie as possible. According to Teresa, the woman had been small, with black skin, and wore a red robe. ‘She’s trying to frame Starrett,’ Mezrielda growled as her mind rummaged all of the pieces into logical order. ‘The only other person whose word might hold some authority if used against her.’ There was another shake, and Mezrielda had to grab the desk to stop herself from falling. She glanced at the trembling ceiling. ‘There has to be something.’ Mezrielda scrambled around the room, throwing furniture to the side with spells before checking for hidden rooms with another.

A voice cut into her frantic searching. ‘There’s a door on the back wall.’

Mezrielda’s wand snapped onto the figure at the end of the corridor: Bontie, clad I sleek robes and a neat pointed hat, breathing heavily with her wand held at her side.

Rage shook Mezrielda’s hand. She knew the spell. She didn’t hesitate. ‘Avada kedavra!’ A green jet left her wand, shooting towards Bontie, but she’d already ducked back around the corner.

‘I couldn’t do it,’ Bontie called. Mezrielda marched around the desk and into the corridor after her. ‘You can see the door now. Maybe you can manage what I could not. Do as I say. Try.’

‘The only thing I’m going to do is kill you!’ Mezrielda yelled, turning the corner and pointing her wand ahead of her, but Bontie was gone. Lowering her wand, her breaths coming in short spurts, Mezrielda glanced back towards the office. the world seemed to tip on its side, and she braced against the wall before slowly progressing back to the room. There was something on the wall behind the desk she hadn’t seen before, something she couldn’t have seen, if her instincts were correct and the fidelius charm had been upon it.

A door.

Ignoring the sounds of collapse, Mezrielda turned the handle and pushed the door open. There was a huge square room of concrete, with candles of green flames swinging from the ceiling, moved by the shake of the structure. On a metal table in the centre someone was lying down, a white sheet hiding them from view. Mezrielda’s heart stalled. The person was the right height.

Mezrielda’s legs struggling as she staggered forward and reached out a hand, pausing for a moment, before hauling the sheet off. Instantly, she rushed backwards, leaning against a wall as she felt herself hyperventilate. Bagsy’s body was lying peacefully on the table, looking just as she had when she’d been in her coffin.

‘Bagsy…?’ Mezrielda struggled to speak, her voice was choked by a swell of emotion.

Bagsy didn’t move.

Mezrielda stepped towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her friend a gentle shake. ‘Wake up.’ Nothing happened. Holding her breath, Mezrielda reached for Bagsy’s left shoulder, pulling her robe away, and suppressed a flinch of alarm at the sight. Her shoulder was completely healed – no mark remaining upon it. Mezrielda knew that, according to the magic of marking, if either the marker or the marked died the mark disappeared.

Mezrielda didn’t care. It meant nothing. Bagsy couldn’t be dead, not after she’d come this far.

Looking around, Mezrielda thought on how Bontie had said she’d tried something but hadn’t managed it. If she had been trying to bring Bagsy back to life, then Mezrielda would give her own heart to succeed.

A chalkboard was to one side and Mezrielda read everything on it, before turning over to the other side and reading that too. ‘You idiot,’ she hissed to herself. Bontie had done her own reading on doppelgangers and noted down all the information Mezrielda had spent so long discovering. On their shifting abilities, the speciality of their eyes and even on the ancient idea that, because doppelgangers had come from pewter, they would one day return to it.

Looking at the writing, Bontie’s research had led her to believe that doppelgangers could change their physiology by making themselves truly believe they were what they were trying to shift into. According to some myths and legends, doppelgangers were capable of surviving the killing curse so long as they trusted they were not about to receive it. According to Bontie’s theory, the doppelganger’s mind would shift in response to the killing curse, changing into a mind that was alive, as the brain’s owner would believe themselves to be, and not dead. ‘What utter nonsense,’ Mezrielda hissed. Bontie wasn’t stupid, so Mezrielda had no idea why she’d thought this would work when it looked like a desperate grasping of straws. There were papers next to the chalkboard, descriptions from failed attempts to bring Bagsy back to life, the writing growing more scrawled the further they went on. Mezrielda seethed. ‘If you didn’t want her dead why did you take her to those caves and why did you kill her?’

Mezrielda looked back at Bagsy, a scowl on her face. Then, the world jerking to the side again, the chalkboard tipped towards Mezrielda. Scrambling, she managed to get out of the way, the board falling to the floor with a thud, chalk dust emanating from the impact.

Chaos reverberated through the walls, but Mezrielda pushed them away and closed her eyes. She listened to her pulse and then, to her heart. She felt the small tug at the back but, this time, it was minutely stronger. Furrowing her brow in concentration, Mezrielda turned towards where it was pulling her. With a yelp, she tripped over the chalkboard and hit the floor, eyes opening. ‘Ignoramus,’ she chided herself, getting up and dusting the chalk off her robes. She looked at the corner of the room the tug had been drawing her too. There was a robe neatly folded on the floor, looking over-stuffed, and she recognised it instantly. It was Bagsy’s robe, no doubt filled with her inventions.

Confused, Mezrielda looked at where Bagsy lay on the table and circled around it, all the while listening to the pulling sensation. No matter where she moved, the tugging didn’t lead towards Bagsy’s but, instead, the corner.

Moving over to the robe, Mezrielda fumbled through its pockets. Each discovery was an extra cut to her heart, but she kept going, trying not to think about Bagsy’s excited smile when she’d explain one of her inventions. Mezrielda found the spell-sponge gloves, the magnet bat and ball, Bagsy’s wand, and a host of other inventions, but nothing that could explain why she was being pulled to this corner-

Wait.

Mezrielda went back to a previous pocket she’d looked through, pulling the walnut wand out from within it. Slowly, she let the robe go, and stood, inspecting the thing. It looked as ordinary as ever until she turned it over and saw a deep crack running its length. Mezrielda’s lips parted, feeling the tug in her heart pull taught, directed straight towards the wand. Hands shaking, she pulled out the tarot card she’d received from the anonymous figure. She was certain that the locked wand card depicted the walnut wand, even the crack drawn along it was a perfect match to the real thing.

Eyes flicking between the card and the wand, Mezrielda focussed on the grey moons, one above the wand and one below, standing out against the deep blue background.

Mezrielda forced her ice filled legs to move towards the chalk board. She pocketed the tarot card, drew her own wand, and levitated it onto its legs. Bracing herself against the wall as another quake went through the room, she focussed in on one specific line. ‘From pewter they came and to pewter they’ll return. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, pewter to pewter.’ Gazing at the walnut wand, Mezrielda’s hope caught fire. ‘They’re not moons.’ She placed her wand on the table Bagsy was lying on and snatched the tarot card back out. She squinted at the card, turning its orientation to landscape. The two grey circles could be moons.

Or eyes.

Mezrielda paced. ‘Stery said a doppelganger’s soul is in their eyes.’ She threw the tarot card to the floor and hurried to Bagsy. She pulled one of her eyelids back, just to be sure, and found empty sockets. Fighting the urge to be sick she closed her friend’s eyes, then moved Bagsy’s hands to clasp her walnut wand, holding it in place against her chest. The walnut wand’s core was special. Not dragon heartstring, phoenix feather or unicorn hair. ‘The killing curse causes the soul to leave the body and move on to whatever is after this life, or,’ Mezrielda ranted, taking her own wand into her hand and pointing it at Bagsy. A mad grin spread across her face and she held back a cackle. ‘In the case of doppelgangers, back into pewter.’

The wind picked up around Mezrielda as she summoned every ounce of power around herself like a shawl. With a burst of feathers her wings sprung out of her back, their tips brushing the walls. Her hair and robes buffeted behind her, the wind increasing ow, emanated from the tip of her wand as she felt her eyes burning, green light filling the room like two muggle torches of emerald.

Mezrielda needed a spell, something to take the pewter from the walnut wand, the pewter she now believed to contain Bagsy’s soul, and return it to her body. It would be some kind of transfiguration spell, she was certain, but nothing was springing to mind. No ordinary spell could return something to its former state, no textbook enchantment could restore the glory of something removed from its previous form.

Mezrielda’s grin dropped as concentration snapped a hold of her. She didn’t need any ordinary textbook spell for this because she’d already invented the perfect one herself, back in her first year of Hogwarts, back when she’d needed to transform the thorned gauntlet to its former glory.

‘Detego,’ Mezrielda began, her voice booming out of her as if with a life of its own, power crackling behind it like electricity. The crack in the walnut wand grew, splintering along the object. flecks of wood shot off, caught in the whirlwind. Molten pewter slipped out of the crack, floating into the air, as if all gravity had left the space. ‘Gloriam!’ The magic surged through Mezrielda like an inferno, her head thrown back and breath leaving her. She closed her eyes, barely feeling the pain throbbing in her head. She’d almost missed it but now it had grown so strong it was impossible go unnoticed. The uneven coven magic was eating her from the inside out, burning her flesh and bones. Mezrielda grit her teeth. If she wanted Bagsy back she had no other choice.

Mezrielda returned her focus to that pulling sensation in her heart and followed it, feeling as if she were holding a sticky, pulsing sphere in her hands. Though her body was still, in her mind she felt herself, fingers as light as the feathers of her wings, move the pulsing object. At first, she didn’t know what she was moving it towards but then she sensed a cascade of amber and brown hues. They were warm, comforting like autumn leaves, as she carried the pulsing sphere towards it, knowing it felt safe in her hands, knowing that she was incapable of doing it harm.

With a snap, the wind was gone, her wings had vanished, and Mezrielda was thrown to the floor. She cried out in pain from the impact, sliding across the floor until she hit a wall. Groggy, she raised her head, forcing her eyes open. Bagsy lay on the table as still as she had been before Mezrielda had cast the spell. Getting to her feet, using the wall to help her, Mezrielda staggered back to Bagsy’s body, her head feeling like how the walnut wand looked; split apart. She winced, then the wince turned into a groan, and then a sob of pain escaped her. The agony was wracking through her body and her muscles spasmed against it, the coven magic thudding within her like a spiked ball, slamming into her internal organs.

Mezrielda leant against the table, placing her hands over Bagsy’s, which were in turn clasping the cracked walnut wand. ‘Bags…’ she tried to say, the sound of her friend’s name barely an audible sound. Her voice was almost entirely broken. She opened one of Bagsy’s eyes, seeing the unfocussed pupil, now returned to her, and gave her hands a shake. ‘Bags.’ She struggled to get even one syllable out. Her eyes were back but Bagsy wasn’t waking. Why hadn’t it worked?

Mezrielda drew in a painful breath. The room was shaking violently now. When she glanced up she saw cracks in the ceiling. ‘Please,’ she cried, closing her eyes and resting her head on Bagsy’s shoulder. ‘I can’t… not without… please…’ She sniffed, taking her head off Bagsy’s shoulder and looking down at her. She could stay here, crying tearlessly into the fabric of Bagsy’s robe, letting the structure collapse on her so she could be with Bagsy again.

Mezrielda knew she couldn’t. Bagsy would feel awful if she knew Mezrielda had died on her account.

The pain was writhing within Mezrielda like a crow trying to hatch from an egg, only the egg was her skin. Mezrielda had no doubt she was about to be torn apart. If she didn’t cut Bagsy’s link to the corvid family and end the uneven severance, she’d die. ‘I’m sorry…’ She tightened her grip on Bagsy’s hand, searched for that tugging sensation. There, at the back of her heart, it pulsed gently. With a sad laugh that turned into a sob she cut it, severing Bagsy from the coven, and from herself, forever.

Chapter Text

The coven magic finally balanced, Mezrielda felt the power of the corvid family pour into her veins, settling in her blood. All connection to Bagsy was gone, but Mezrielda was alive. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, giving Bagsy’s hands a final squeeze and hesitating before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then, Mezrielda left. She didn’t need to wipe her eyes to clear her vision. Even now, with the person she cared most for in the world gone, she couldn’t cry about it.

She hurried down the corridor, dodging falling tiles and rock. Even looking at the damage, and feeling the shake of the Ministry’s headquarters, she still felt sure she’d have enough time to get to the atrium. Once there, she’d need to avoid whatever skirmish was going on and get to safety. With a pang of concern, she wondered if her parents had returned to the headquarters to look for her. She shook the thought away. She couldn’t lose her parents, not on top of everything else.

‘Mezrielda Glint.’

She nearly ran into a tall man as she rounded a corner, the nasally voice catching her by surprise.

Mr Mortem grabbed her arm, fingers digging in painfully. ‘Snooping around where you shouldn’t be.’

‘Now isn’t the time.’ Mezrielda glanced up at the crumbling ceiling. ‘We need to leave.’ 

‘I can apparate out any time I please.’ Mortem grinned down at her. ‘I had a hunch I’d find you sticking your nose where it isn’t welcome. How wonderful – I’ve been presented with an opportunity to have your death covered. If only you’d been good and obedient, if only you’d listened to the Ministry, you wouldn’t have been crushed by the collapse of the-’

‘Flipendo-’ Mezrielda tried to cast, only to find Mortem’s hand sharply move to her throat, shoving her against the wall and squeezing tightly. She croaked in surprise, finding herself lifted off the ground. She kicked at Mortem, but he was taller and stronger. Waiting a moment, Mezrielda tried to see if she could break free. As a last resort, she could shift into a magpie and flee, but then Mortem would know she was an unregistered Animagus. Deciding she had no other choice, Mezrielda was about to shift into a bird, but was rudely interrupted.

‘Minima Stupify.’ The spell hit Mezrielda full force. Even a lighter version of stupefy was mind-boggling and her vision shifted from side to side, compounding with the already collapsing corridor.

‘I…’ she gasped out, ‘hate you…’

Mortem grimaced triumphantly. ‘Good. You’re not unconscious. I want you to feel every second off this. We won’t be done until I say we’re done, and if I have to apparate you somewhere else to finish the job, then I’m sure I can find a place to hide the body.’ He tightened his grip around her neck, and Mezrielda saw stars at the edge of her vision. She tried to breathe, but there was no room in her throat, and her kicking legs slowed. Just as she thought she was done for, Mortem’s grip loosened, and she managed to suck in air. ‘Did I say we were done? You can’t die yet. Maybe this will make you rethink your disobedient life choices. Crucio-’

There was a thunk. One second Mr Mortem was in front of Mezrielda, holding her against the wall by her neck, and the next second he was thrown down the corridor like a ragdoll as a metal sphere collided with his face. Mezrielda’s feet landed harshly on the floor, a judder of pain shooting through her knees as she bent over and drew in gulps of air. Confused, she forced herself upright. Swaying on her feet, she looked down the corridor.

Shoulders rising and falling, with her bat held at her side, was Bagsy. ‘What on earth happened?’

Mezrielda stared, and then stared some more, all the while Bagsy watched her in confused silence. Mezrielda closed her eyes and rubbed them before looking at Bagsy again. It was Bagsy. Bagsy Bagsy. Messy hair and hazel eyes and overstuffed robe and all. Mezrielda took one step towards her, and then another, and then she was running. She collided with her friend, throwing her arms around her and grasping at her robe, scared she’d turn to dust in her arms. ‘You’re alive,’ she breathed, squeezing her tightly. ‘You’re alive!’

‘Of course, I’m alive,’ Bagsy muttered in confusion. ‘Are we in the Ministry? Bontie said I’d be somewhere safer when I woke up.’

Mezrielda let go of Bagsy, looking her in the eye. ‘You absolute buffoon! How dare you scare me like that. You’ve been dead all summer!’ Then, emotions swelling within Mezrielda again, she embraced her once more.

‘D-dead?’ Bagsy echoed in shock. There was a noise, and then Mezrielda was summoning a protego charm above them to ward off falling rocks.

‘No time to explain.’ Mezrielda grabbed Bagsy’s hand. ‘We need to get to the elevators.’ She halted when she saw Mr Mortem getting to his feet. His face was red with rage but seeing the corridor falling around them, and the two students prepping to face off against him, he decided to turn in place and apparate away.

‘We need more speed.’ Bagsy picked Mezrielda up, who let out a yelp of protest.

‘What are you-?!’ Mezrielda began to ask, before feeling a pulse of static electricity around her. Bagsy broke into a run, the green tiles of the walls blurring as they sped down the corridor. They were inside an elevator in moments and Bagsy put Mezrielda down before closing the elevator’s door, Mezrielda pushing the button for the atrium.

‘Why is everything collapsing?’ Bagsy breathed out, leaning against the side of the elevator, checking through her pockets.

At first, Mezrielda couldn’t speak, just look at Bagsy, her hands shaking as she did. ‘I’m not sure,’ Mezrielda admitted at last, swallowing to clear her throat. ‘I saw magical beings flooding the atrium when I went to find you. I’d assume the fight is between them and the Ministry officials.’ A smile broke out on her face, relief flooding her again.

Bagsy was alive!

They didn’t have to wait long to see what had happened with the fighting. As the elevator moved closer to the atrium the sounds of chaos grew and even when Mezrielda didn’t think the zing of spells, or the sizzle of magic, couldn’t get any louder it did.

Bagsy had slipped her spell-sponge gloves and slippers on and had her bat in hand. ‘We’ll need to be quick.’

Still in a daze that Bagsy was alive, moving and talking to her, Mezrielda simply nodded, staring. When the elevator came to a juddering stop and Bagsy used her foot to slide the door open before them was carnage. Bursts of light like fireworks flashed in the space, broken glass, tiles and puddles of water were scattered across the floor and spellcasters conjured shields to protect themselves or hurled curses at a torrent of magical beings. People with bright blue skin were controlling whirlpools of water stretching out from their heads, using it to lift magic users into the air and throw them across the room. Beings with claws or towering statures soaked up jinxes as they advanced on the panicked Ministry workers and filling the air were casters on brooms, trying to dodge beings with leather wings and talons.

Bagsy’s eyes widened. ‘The creatures from the hollow.’

Mezrielda’s face paled. ‘Look.’ She gestured to the centre of the fighting. A tornado of fire was surging out of a bald girl’s hand, who was laughing as if it was all some childish game. As bruises and cuts appeared on her skin from the Ministry’s attacks she healed in a raging storm of flame.

Bagsy and Mezrielda looked at each other in alarm. ‘Winifred,’ they said in unison, their expressions dark.

‘The beast!’ someone nearby yelled, racing towards the back of the atrium and pointing up. ‘She’s stopped attacking!’

Mezrielda’s heart stuttered as she craned her neck. Like a spider, the blood eyed beast was secured to the roof, their many white arms ending in nails fastened like harpoons into the ceiling. Her eyes of red sludge looked down at the scene, blinking slowly as the crimson substance dripped off them.

Hand moving like a crocodile seizing its prey, Mezrielda grabbed Bagsy’s left shoulder and pulled her robe down to look at it.

‘Hey!’ Bagsy protested. Mezrielda ignored her, looking at the three indents now returned to Bagsy’s shoulder; the mark from the blood eyed beast.

‘The beast,’ Mezrielda rushed out. ‘When she’s marked someone she can’t kill anyone else.’

Bagsy frowned, her breath coming out shakily, her body trembling. She looked terrified. ‘Y-yeah. That’s what Aot said back in our second year.’ 

‘Until a few moments ago you weren’t in your body, you were dead,’ Mezrielda said. ‘Now that you’re back, the beast can’t kill anyone until it’s killed you.’

Bagsy’s eyed widened. She leant out of the lift, her eyes darting up to the ceiling before she ducked back in.

There was a roar that rocked the air more harshly than the quakes of the fighting. On its sound, the magical beings paused, before backing towards the hole they’d ripped in the side of the Ministry’s headquarters. It seemed like a retreat.

‘Move!’ Mezrielda urged Bagsy, bursting out of the lift and heading straight for the fireplaces, taking the chance the escape offered to them. With a cry of dismay, Bagsy followed after her. ‘Protego!’ Mezrielda cast as a red streak of light shot towards them. As she focussed back ahead of her she saw a bright white spell speeding towards her face. The next second, a hand was in front of her, and the spell was caught in Bagsy’s spell-sponge glove. ‘Good catch,’ Mezrielda forced out as they ducked below the swinging arm of a gargantuan haired being, who unhinged her toothed jaw and let out a bellowing groan.

They were nearly at the fireplace when there was a thud like a thousand tons of wet towels hitting cement. Mezrielda glanced over her shoulder. The blood eyed beast, its skin a white so bright it was like a break in the universe, was in the fountain, the water a tumultuous mess of waves gushing over the sides from where it had landed. The beast’s red eyes were fixed not on Bagsy. It didn’t care about the Ministry workers or magic beings it barged through as it advanced on them like a scuttling spider the size of a house.

‘Mezrielda!’ Bagsy called as Mezrielda ran towards her. Bagsy had already reached the fireplace and was holding her hand back towards her. ‘Duck!’

Mezrielda slid the last few meters, the white hands of the beast brushing over the tips of her hair as she shot downwards, before impacting with Bagsy in the fireplace. There was already a handful of floo powder in Bagsy’s palm that she’d grabbed from the mantle, so Mezrielda took a hold of her hand and, together, they threw it onto the floor.

The beast leapt towards them, its teeth-lined, circular mouth opening, and Mezrielda found her mind thinking as fast as the beast was moving.

‘Durham!’ Mezrielda cried.

Green flames gushed up from the floo powder, surrounding them in a wall of blazing green. For a split second, the tips of white nails poked through the fire, before the flames grew in strength. There was a sensation as if Mezrielda and Bagsy were being shoved into a small tube and spun around before they were shot out of the toilet of an outhouse in a field in Northern England.

Mezrielda hit the grass with a groan of pain. Taking a moment to reel from the impact, she gingerly pushed herself up with her arms, her white wand still thankfully clasped in her right. ‘Bagsy?’ she muttered, squinting her eyes and looking to her side. For a horrifying second, she wondered if she’d imagined it all.

Bagsy rolled onto her side, gripping her shoulder and wincing. ‘Yup. I’m here.’

Mezrielda got to her feet. ‘The beast is alive and you’re still marked.’ Bagsy looked up at her in confusion. Mezrielda had missed her puzzled face so much, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. ‘It can sense where you are, can’t it? Using the mark.’

Casting a wide-eyed look at her shoulder, Bagsy nodded.

‘Wait here.’ Mezrielda shifted into a magpie, flapping up into the sky. She soared as high as she dared, her beady eyes scanning the horizon before she found what she was looking for. A house, a dot in the darkening sky, floating above some trees in the distance, moving at a slow pace.

Mezrielda descended quickly, shifting back. ‘This way,’ she instructed, imagining the beast rushing across the countryside from London. Starrett and Fitzsimmons’ house had the fidelius charm upon it, it should be able to keep the beast from knowing Bagsy’s whereabouts.

As they moved through the trees Mezrielda’s heart was in her throat and her wand was held in front of her. It was dark and easy for her mind to fill the shadows around them with threats but, eventually, she saw the house floating above them. She placed her wand to her throat, casting a charm to increase the volume of her voice. ‘Professor Starrett,’ she called. ‘Professor Fitzsimmons!’

‘What on earth?’ someone muttered in frustration.

‘Fitzsimmons,’ Mezrielda called up, knowing her request would be ignored if she directed it at Starrett. ‘Can you say the secret? It’s not a trick. You can trust me.’

Starrett hissed. ‘Do not!’

Fitzsimmons ignored Starrett, leaning their head out of one of the windows so it was beyond the fidelius charm and looking down at Mezrielda. They took a moment, casting a few spells, Mezrielda guessing to check her voice and appearance wasn’t some illusion, and then nodded. ‘There is a house floating above the forest,’ Fitzsimmons said simply. Bagsy grabbed the back of Mezrielda’s robe and pulled her back to avoid the glass ladder that landed in the leaves at their feet.

‘Fitzsimmons!’ Starrett said furiously, whilst Bagsy stared up at the house. Mezrielda wondered if she hadn’t been able to see it before, or if doppelganger eyes could see through even the fidelius charm.

‘Mezrielda is a child,’ the soft response of Fitzsimmons floated down to them as they began to climb.

‘Yes. A highly petulant child,’ Starrett snapped.

In the dim, Mezrielda tried her hardest to focus on the rungs of the ladder, she didn’t want to slip and reveal she was an Animagus. Without incident, she reached the door and tried her best to gracefully clamber inside. The small house’s downstairs room was awash with amber light from lamps that only made Starrett’s furious face appear redder as she bore down on her.

‘You have some nerve, Miss Glint-’ Starrett began to rant, before her eyes looked past Mezrielda and at the entrance. Her expression froze, and then fell into blank denial.

Bagsy stepped self-consciously into the room, her shoulders hunched and hands clasped. ‘Professor Starrett,’ she breathed quietly. ‘I was so worried you’d died, but you’re okay!’

Starrett and Fitzsimmons just stared numbly, unable to say a word.

Chapter Text

When Bagsy had climbed up towards the small house of wood and red bricks she’d had little clue where Mezrielda was taking her. She only knew she trusted her. She’d get answers soon enough. When she’d stepped through the oval door and seen Starrett, looking as healthy as ever, her pulse had jumped. The last time she’d seen Starrett she’d been pushed to unconsciousness by electrical shocks. Bagsy had worried she was dead.

Her feet moved without her telling them too as she rushed over and hugged Professor Starrett. ‘You’re okay!’ Her voice squeaked a little in disbelief. Starrett was stiff as a statue, unable to hug her back. Realising she might have overstepped, Bagsy backed off.

Starrett’s face fell into a scowl, as if Bagsy had failed one of her Artifisiary tests. ‘I don’t believe this.’ Her dark eyes turned to Mezrielda. ‘What kind of illusion have you summoned? What dark arts have you meddled with, Miss Glint?’

Mezrielda straightened indignantly. ‘I have done nothing of the sort–’

‘You have either deigned it appropriate to dabble in necromancy or decided to torment me with a mirage.’

Bagsy looked from Starrett to Mezrielda. ‘I’m not a mirage.’ Though, in truth, she wasn’t entirely sure what a mirage was.

Starrett closed her eyes. ‘Stop it, Miss Glint. This is low, even for you.’

Mezrielda took a protective step towards Bagsy which, in her opinion, was unnecessary. Starrett would never harm her.

‘I didn’t practise any necromancy. I didn’t need to. Bagsy’s soul hadn’t gone beyond the realms of this world. It was in her wand.’

Starrett seemed to lose all strength to disagree. ‘Do what you will,’ she uttered, collapsing into a red sofa.

Mezrielda clenched her jaw. ‘The Ministry were just attacked by the magical beings you were harbouring and yet here you are, hidden in this puny house.’

The look on Fitzsimmons face was dark with consideration. ‘The beast has turned the beings to her side?’ They gestured towards a stool and, with a wave of their wand, duplicated it into two. ‘I think it would be prudent to be seated for this conversation.’ Under their wary gaze, that felt accusatory, Bagsy wanted nothing more than to shrink.

Mezrielda sat on one stool, crossing her legs, folding her arms and swishing her hair over her shoulder with all the dignity Bagsy was accustomed to. It was a comforting familiarity that aided Bagsy’s legs as she sat next to her.

Fitzsimmons shut the oval door and activated six locks before settling themself onto a cream coloured armchair that let out a puff of dust at the action.

Starrett was shaking her head. ‘I don’t want to hear this.’ She kept avoiding looking at Bagsy.

Fitzsimmons lay their hands on the armrests. ‘Perhaps we should begin by seeing what Bagsyllia here knows.’

Bagsy fiddled with the hem of her robe. ‘One moment I was in the caves, and I was running from the beast, and–’

Fitzsimmons said, ‘How did you end up in the caves? You should have been safe at Hogwarts.’

Starrett let out a sharp breath, rubbing a hand over her face.

Bagsy looked at Mezrielda again. They’d left Hogwarts to go to the Ministry at Tod’s request. Revealing this would not only require an explanation of the refulgents, but of silver tongues, and they still weren’t sure if they could trust Fitzsimmons, especially now that Bagsy had seen the human form of the beast and could confirm they looked incredibly similar to them.

Mezrielda must have accepted the necessity to trust Fitzsimmons as, with a sign, she began the explanation, starting with her anger over the inexcusables list, and how she and Bagsy had constructed a plan to thwart it. ‘Which went very successfully, might I add,’ she slipped in haughtily. Bagsy pursed her lips, trying not to smile. She didn’t think Fitzsimmons and Starrett would approve, given how serious everyone was acting. Mezrielda outlined how they’d swayed opinions using the petting zoo, duelling club, Halloween feast and Magician’s Guide, as well as the speech at the Junior Auglympics.

Fitzsimmons said, ‘That explains Killian’s peculiar actions. That incident found its origin in the refulgents?’ The only confirmation Mezrielda offered was a cold blink. ‘Mr and Mrs Glint conducted similar hijinks before they had you. Have you realised, Mezrielda, how very much like your parents you are?’

At that, Mezrielda’s eyes narrowed, and she averted her gaze as if she’d been deeply insulted. Bagsy knew that look. Her friend was flustered.

Mezrielda’s voice was calculatedly level. ‘Be that as it may, our unprecedented and genius success led to the downfall of another student. You may have an inkling that our government is corrupt.’

Starrett let out a quiet bark of rueful laughter. ‘You are a rude individual Miss Glint. Of course we know.’

‘Starrett,’ Fitzsimmons cautioned her. ‘I do believe the Bagsyllia before us is indeed real.’

Starrett swallowed. ‘It can’t be. The world doesn’t work like that. It’s never been that nice.’

‘It’s not just corruption,’ Mezrielda pushed on, drawing Fitzsimmons’ attention back. ‘The Ministry are controlled by a powerful family, the Aldens. They have a secret gift only a handful of people know of. They can remove memories, and alter perceptions, with only their words.’ Fitzsimmons already large eyes widened, magnified by their round, bug-like glasses. ‘The Aldens have been using their powers for who knows how long to keep the wizarding world under their thumb. Their son, Tod Alden, had the same gift. But two years ago he was attacked and his tongue was cut off.’ Mezrielda glanced at Bagsy. ‘By Rebontil Beetlehorn.’

Starrett’s eyes snapped onto Mezrielda. ‘Bontie knew of this?’ Mezrielda inclined her head. Starrett’s burning gaze moved to Fitzsimmons. ‘She never told us. Her depth of deceit grows with each passing day.’ She added, sarcastically, ‘If only someone had seen this coming.’

Fitzsimmons closed their eyes and braced. ‘I thought she was our ally.’

Mezrielda continued, ‘Without his tongue Tod Alden lost his ability to alter memories so when the Aldens decided they needed to change the minds of all in the wizarding world to allow the inexcusables vote to pass they used Magnus Alden instead. Such a feat would overuse his power and destroy him. Tod knew Magnus wouldn’t survive.’

Starrett clenched her fists. ‘So you went with him to the Ministry to stop it and while you were there, Bontie stole Bagsy to the caves, where she was killed.’

‘No!’ Bagsy gasped, horrified, before cringing down. ‘S-sorry… it’s just. Bontie didn’t kill me.’

The look Starrett gave Mezrielda was murderous. ‘Stop. This.’

Mezrielda lent forward, baring her teeth. ‘Stery told me doppelganger souls are kept in a doppelganger’s eyes. There are countless myths that doppelgangers came from pewter and, one day, will return to pewter.’ Mezrielda turned to Bagsy. ‘Bagsy, give me your wand.’ She held her palm towards her without looking back. Bagsy fumbled through her pockets, pulling out her walnut wand. When she’d woken in the Ministry, alone and confused, she hadn’t had time to puzzle over the crack along it. Obediently, she placed it in Mezrielda’s hand, who swished her arm to present to Starrett. ‘This wand’s core was pewter. When Bontie cast the killing curse and broke Bagsy’s soul from her body it transferred into the wand, pewter to pewter. That’s why her eye sockets were empty when I checked them at the funeral you didn’t bother to attend.’

Bagsy recoiled. ‘Bontie was the one who…’ Her breath left her. She didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ Starrett grumbled, standing up.

Bagsy said in a small voice, ‘There was a funeral?’ Slowly, she looked at Starrett. ‘You… didn’t go?’

Starrett’s eyes glittered. She wiped them quickly. ‘Miss Glint, please.’ She was practically begging, her voice thick.

‘Her soul was in the wand!’ Mezrielda fumed. ‘And – without your help might I add – I broke into the Ministry where Bontie was keeping her body, having stolen it from the grave, and transfigured her soul back into her eyes.’ Mezrielda stood up, then, too. ‘Her soul never left this world, professor, that’s why I could always feel her.’ She put a hand on her chest, where her heart was. ‘Her soul was locked in this wand.’ Mezrielda shook it. ‘Look if you don’t believe me.’

Starrett glanced at Mezrielda, eyes darting over her expression, before she turned her attention to the wand. As if it would explode, Starrett gingerly took it and turned it over in her hand.

Bagsy stood as well, stepping around Mezrielda and awkwardly moving towards Professor Starrett, who kept her eyes fixed on the wand, all her focus on the gaping damage in the wand’s side.

‘Tell me something only Bagsy would know,’ Starrett murmured, and it took Bagsy a second to realise she was speaking to her.

Bagsy shifted from one foot to another, sheepishly eyeing Mezrielda and Fitzsimmons. She lowered her voice, ears burning, hoping only Starrett would hear. ‘I, um… I called you mum. Once.’

Starrett finally looked at her. Her lip wobbled for a second and then she reached a thin arm up, resting it on Bagsy’s shoulder. She gave it a small squeeze, before drawing in a long breath and letting it out. When she spoke her voice was perfectly level, but Bagsy could sense it was taking a great effort to keep it so. ‘I’m… Oh stars. I’m so glad you’re back.’

Mezrielda made a face. ‘You called her mum?’

Starrett tossed the wand back at Mezrielda, turning and sitting back on the sofa. ‘We have a lot to discuss,’ she snapped as if they were in the Charms room and this was a lesson. ‘Sit down and do as I say.’

Bagsy and Mezrielda did so, Mezrielda appearing far less happy about it whilst Bagsy was still thinking on what Mezrielda had said.

Bontie had cast the killing curse on her.

Starrett’s posture was instantly different, as if her magic had been stolen from her but had been abruptly returned. ‘You said the Ministry were attacked. When, by whom, and how do you know?’

‘Moments ago, perhaps even still,’ Mezrielda answered. ‘By a collection of magical beings, presumably on the side of the blood eyed beast, given the monster was there. I know because, as I said, I broke into the Ministry. I suspected Bontie had more information on Bagsy and low and behold, I was precisely correct. More than correct.’ Mezrielda’s eyes darkened as information tumbled out of her, Bagsy barely taking it all in. ‘I found out more than I could have hoped. Bontie knew about Philip. He’s a marionette – a being that can control people like puppets. He works for the Aldens and, according to Bontie’s research, he’s amassed a hundred Ministry officials into his troupe. Not only this, but The Ministry are trying to bribe the Wizengamot so they can replace Hogwarts professors with people under his control. They aim to return the wizarding world back to its original opinion of magical beings through his influence.’ Mezrielda paused, taking a breath. ‘Bontie found me poking around and told me of the room she’d hidden using the same kind of fidelius charm guarding this house. The room was filled with research on how to bring Bagsy back. Bontie hadn’t managed to succeed, but I did, and the attack seemed to be ending by the time myself and Bagsy were fleeing.’ She gestured at Bagsy’s shoulder. ‘When Bagsy’s soul was returned to her body, the mark from the beast reformed. The attack must have been hindered when the beast was suddenly incapable of murdering. With the mark returned, until Bagsy dies, the beast won’t be able to kill anyone else.’ 

Considering this, Starrett looked at Fitzsimmons. ‘We’ll need to shield her from the beast. That mark will let the beast into her mind, even find her location, if we don’t do something about it.’

Mezrielda perked up. ‘That’s why I brought us here from the Ministry,’ she said, her words barbed. ‘I knew this house had the fidelius charm upon it. The beast shouldn’t be able to sense her here, correct?’

Fitzsimmons inclined their head. ‘The beast shouldn’t be able to. Though they may have noticed Bagsy was north and could be looking for us as we speak, and the beast does have mental abilities that could probe past the defences if they came within a close distance.’

Starrett hummed thoughtfully. ‘I assume you arrived by floo?’

‘Yes.’

Starrett said, ‘You won’t be able to leave the same way, they may already have laid a trap. It’s too dangerous.’

Fitzsimmons removed their glasses, dabbing their eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Magnus Alden, then…’ they said. ‘I take it his abrupt withdrawal from Hogwarts by his parents is a cover for his death.’

Mezrielda said, ‘Precisely. I saw him die myself. I imagine that’s why the Aldens are giving Philip so much power. Without any children left to sacrifice, they can’t control minds as easily. They’re getting desperate.’

Fitzsimmons said, ‘We’ll need to keep an eye on Tod. His safety is at risk as well.’

Mezrielda scoffed. ‘Tod is the enemy.’

Bagsy had gone very quiet. As the others talked it was beginning to dawn on her everything that was being said. ‘I’ve been dead for ages,’ she murmured quietly. ‘How long has it been? Have I missed any school?’

There was a pause, and then a small laugh from Fitzsimmons. Bagsy looked at them in alarm, worried she’d said something silly.

‘Apologies, Bagsyllia,’ Fitzsimmons said. ‘It is admirable that school is your first concern.’

‘Teresa!’ Bagsy burst out, turning to Mezrielda. ‘She was hit by the breathing blight’s illness. Is she alright?’ A shadow fell over Mezrielda’s face and goose bumps shivered along Bagsy’s skin.

‘No,’ Mezrielda murmured.

Fitzsimmons waved their wand and a letter hovered over to the coffee table. ‘I’m sorry to inform you that Teresa has passed,’ they said softly. ‘Her funeral was a few days ago.’

Bagsy’s throat tightened. At first she looked at the note, landing on the table, not wanting to read it but, after a pause, she grabbed it, pulling the letter out. Unfolding it, she scanned the words, finding Fitzsimmons claims confirmed, and her heart sunk. Teresa had died last week, and her funeral had been three days ago. Bagsy sniffed, rubbing her sleeves over her face, before her shoulders started to shake.

Fitzsimmons said, ‘We can give you two some space, if that is what you’d like?’

‘I think that’s best,’ Starrett whispered back, ‘Bagsy’s been through a lot.’

Bagsy nodded, feeling a sob wrack her body that she couldn’t hold back.

Fitzsimmons rose to their feet, ascending the thin stairs leading to the attic. Starrett lay a hand on Bagsy’s shoulder as she passed, which Bagsy appreciated, before following.

‘She…’ Mezrielda’s voice trailed off weakly. She cleared her throat, but her throat still sounded blocked. ‘She was in St Mungo’s palliative care ward. They would have done whatever they could to alleviate her pain.’

Bagsy put her face in her hands, hating herself for crying, but not able to stop it. There was the scrape of stool legs, and then there was a warmth against her side and an arm around her. Mezrielda sat with her quietly whilst she acclimatised to the news. Teresa had worked for Lewis but, ultimately, she’d tried to help Bagsy escape, and thinking over everything Teresa had said, Bagsy could understand why she’d done what she had. She’d just wanted justice for magical beings like the rest of them, and Lewis had twisted her good intentions to suit his own ends. The idea that the creature-obsessed, quidditch teammate, unsympathetic but fiercely protective Teresa was dead felt like a stab of ice in her spine.

At some point, Bagsy stopped crying and simply sat, looking at the letter on the coffee table, feeling empty. ‘She was working with Lewis,’ she said quietly.

‘I know.’

‘When the cards were down she tried to help me escape. She realised Lewis was manipulating her and fought to keep me safe, but it was too late.’ Mezrielda didn’t respond to that. ‘Is Nevis okay?’

‘He’s… I don’t know.’

Bagsy put her face back in her hands.

It wasn’t for another half an hour or so before Bagsy felt able to begin talking again. She gave Mezrielda a small nod to let her know she was ready, and Mezrielda called for Fitzsimmons and Starrett to re-join them.

Fitzsimmons settled back into their dusty armchair. They regarded Bagsy in silence before they spoke again, as if worried any noise might break her. ‘With Bagsy, Mezrielda and Starrett to testify, it is possible to bring Bontie to justice.’

Mezrielda picked up the letter from the table, putting it back into the envelope. ‘Bontie already altered Teresa’s testimony. The Ministry doesn’t suspect her.’

For once, Starrett seemed to agree with Mezrielda. Bagsy would have been more surprised if she still weren’t looking at the letter, now in Mezrielda’s hands.

Starrett said, ‘Bontie is a high-ranking Ministry official. In her years working for them she’s quickly risen through the ranks. It will take a lot more than two troubled youngsters and one of the Ministry’s least favourite professors – who they are looking for an excuse to arrest – to convince them.’

Bagsy sat up straight, clenching her hands. ‘I won’t testify against Bontie.’

The others baulked at her.

Mezrielda found her words first. ‘You have got to be kidding. She used the killing curse on you.’

Bagsy looked at Mezrielda with a firm gaze. ‘The beast would have caught me and consumed my body. Bontie didn’t have a choice and, from the sounds of it, she had some kind of plan to bring me back.’

‘Her plan failed.’

‘She was trying to protect me. I’m not saying I forgive her, because I don’t. I just… I don’t want to throw her under the bus.’

Starrett leant against the back of the red sofa. ‘That woman is playing her own game for her own goals. If she was trying to keep you alive it was for her own reasons. She must have some use for you. The second that use is expended, her protection will vanish. Remember, Bagsy, if she had really wanted to keep you safe above all else she never would have taken you to those caves.’

Bagsy looked from Mezrielda to Starrett. Her gut was telling her that, as many times as Bontie had lied to her, she still cared for her. But considering the dark expressions on Starrett and Mezrielda’s faces, she found that feeling fading. She was always making mistakes on who to trust, or what to think. Starrett and Mezrielda were right. Bontie had taken Bagsy to those caves, where she’d been forced to kill her, and had then failed to bring her back.

Bagsy’s shoulders sagged miserably as she pushed down her own opinions. The others were probably right.

Starrett said, ‘Either way, there’s no point in trying to bring her down. We won’t be believed. The Ministry will find a way to throw me in Azkaban, use the incident as an excuse to remove Mezrielda from her parents, and force Bagsy to return to one Aesher common, where Bontie will have free access to hurt her as she sees fit.’

Bagsy flinched at Bontie’s name, feeling the sting of tears. If the others were right, then Bontie had never cared about her, had only ever been using her. Bagsy had trusted her and, in return, Bontie had taken her directly to the beast and removed her soul from her body.

Fitzsimmons clasped their hands together and rested them in their lap. ‘So be it. We won’t be testifying against Bontie, but we will need to threaten so.’

Starrett quirked an eyebrow, before seeming to catch on. ‘I assume that you will not wish to return to life at one Aesher common, Miss Beetlehorn?’

With a moment of consideration, Bagsy agreed. The name Bontie made her want to break down in a puddle of tears. She couldn’t stop thinking about the idea that Bontie had only ever been using Bagsy for her own ends. The thought of just being a tool to Bontie was excruciating, a knife lodged in her throat.  

Fitzsimmons continued, ‘We can threaten to go public unless Bontie gives you permission to reside elsewhere. She registered herself as your emergency contact and next of kin in your third year, so she’d have the authority and, as still a minor, you’ll need her permission. We must find somewhere appropriately safe for you to stay when you aren’t at Hogwarts.’

Starrett furrowed her brow thoughtfully, and moved over to a bronze cabinet, rifling through its drawers. ‘We can’t stay here,’ she decided. ‘This house isn’t big enough for us all, and whilst the fidelius charm is strong we cannot assume it is fool proof to a creature like the beast when they already have our general location. We’ll need to find somewhere else to hide that can have a new fidelius charm placed upon it.’

Bagsy felt confused once more. ‘Vespite Manor?’ It was certainly big enough.

Starrett shook her head. ‘It’s too isolated, a prime target for the beast, and it’s too large. Casting a new fidelius charm on it would be impossible and, as a registered vampire lair, illegal.’

Craning their neck, Fitzsimmons’ bug-like eyes peered over at Starrett. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘This.’ Starrett click-clacked back and placed a document on the table. The last will and testament of Opius Pepsini looked up at the four of them. ‘You’re alive once more, Bagsy. Naturally, all of Pepsini’s belongings are yours again, including his house, as according to his will.’

Bagsy gaped. ‘I have a house?’

Fitzsimmons seemed satisfied. ‘We’ll leave for Pepsini’s before sunrise. We will need an item to cloak Bagsy from the beast before we depart both for the journey, and to ensure no mental powers are exerted towards her.’

Mind ticking, Bagsy reached into her robe and pulled out her muggle torch, wrapped in magic isolation material, one of her own creations. ‘I might have an invention for that,’ she murmured, turning the torch over in her hand. She looked to Mezrielda, seeing her face was flushed, and a mixture of grief and joy were battling in her narrowed eyes, flared nostrils and pursed lips. ‘Are you alright?’

‘You really are back, aren’t you?’ she asked.

Bagsy forced a smile, her mind instantly turning to the Hufflepuff who hadn’t made it, who’d been infected with Lewis’ plague because she’d been trying to save her. ‘I am.’

Chapter Text

There was no library in the tiny abode Starrett and Fitzsimmons called home. Bagsy had asked. Sometimes wizard spaces were larger on the inside, so even if the exterior was a small cuboid shape with a stretched out triangular attic, that didn’t rule out a library the size of a warehouse. Starrett casting her a disparaging look and shaking her head in response to her question, however, did.

‘No library,’ Starrett confirmed, whilst sending a letter to Mezrielda’s parents letting them know where she was, and that she was safe. She attached the letter to an owl barely the size of her palm with yellow eyes and feathers that stood on end as if it had electricity racing through its plumage.

‘What do you need for your invention?’ asked Fitzsimmons. ‘We can contact a colleague versed in artificing. They may be able to bring adequate materials.’

Starrett side-eyed Fitzsimmons. ‘Doesn’t Vage have another of those necklaces like the one he gave you the last time Bagsy was being shielded from the beast? There would be no need to create something from scratch, then.’

Fitzsimmons shook their head. ‘Something as rare as that is hard to come by. Vage only had the one, and it was difficult enough to convince him to give it up the last time.’

Starrett held her hand out to Bagsy. ‘Let me see that magic insulation material.’ Bagsy handed her the muggle torch wrapped in the stuff. Starrett murmured to herself, inspecting it.

Bagsy tilted her head to the side, wringing her hands together in thought. ‘I’ll need something that amplifies or magnifies. I’ll also need something that can transmit and something that can stretch the material out.’

‘What’s your plan?’ asked Starrett.

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Bagsy admitted. ‘I just have an idea.’

Starrett crossed the room to the console table and began writing on a piece of paper. ‘Our resident artificer will be pleased at the opportunity to help.’

Fitzsimmons looked as if they were holding back a laugh. ‘Or they won’t be. Or they will be. Or perhaps they won’t be after all. Or maybe, just maybe, they will be.’

Starrett smirked, before her eyes slid onto a photograph on the mantel piece, and her amusement vanished.

Confused as to what was so funny Bagsy watched Starrett attach the letter to a second owl, this one only an inch larger and whose feathers were just as messy, before setting it loose out one of the circular windows. ‘He should arrive soon. We’ll have to let him see the house.’ She turned to Fitzsimmons. ‘We won’t be able to stay here anymore. To many people know the secret.’

Fitzsimmons blinked slowly. ‘Yes. We won’t.’

Starrett looked around the living room, a mournful pull on her lips. Bagsy tried to ignore the tug of guilt in her belly. It was only because of her they’d have to leave.

A few hours later and the items of the small house had been magicked into cardboard boxes. Bagsy was leaning over her left-over scraps of magical-isolation material, sketching in a notepad Starrett had lent her and trying to figure out a way to hide herself from the blood eyed beast. She was silently grateful she had left over magical insulation material – making it from scratch required ingredients they didn’t have access to.

Startled out of her concentration by the locks of the door opening with six loud clunks, Bagsy turned towards the entrance.

Starrett opened the door and descended the glass ladder to the floor. They were floating above the houses in a small, inclined street and a few moments later Starrett returned, a tan skinned man entering behind her. Bagsy’s mouth fell open when she recognised the top-heavy frame of Professor Mephit. His muscly arms bulged below a thick jumper, whilst his lanky legs were clad in baggy trousers. Despite his best attempts to appear like a muggle, he’d seen no issue in leaving the floating panel of glass that hovered in front of his eyes in place.

Mephit smiled widely at them. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you all. Or, well, not really, under the circumstances. But, then again, it’s always nice to see familiar faces. But, I suppose, I wouldn’t want familiar faces to be going through what I hear you are going through. However–’

Fitzsimmons cut over him. ‘Hello to you too.’ They indicated the stool next to Bagsy, the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been packed away alongside the coffee table Bagsy was working on.

‘Right, yes.’ Mephit busied to the stool and sat down, placing a large bag on the floor. ‘Shall we begin?’ Bagsy simply stared at him, bewildered. ‘Of course, we don’t have to if you aren’t ready. But, then again, time is of the essence, so it is best we get going. Though, I don’t want to rush you.’ He gave an awkward laugh, running a hand through his short, dark hair that was spattered with white stripes from where it was greying.

‘R-right,’ Bagsy stammered.

The panel of glass hovering in front of Professor Mephit’s eyes magnified as his eyes looked closely at her magical insulation material. ‘Hmmm,’ he murmured, eyes narrowing. ‘So, you need to hide from the beast…’ His eyes flicked towards Starrett. ‘It would have been nice to have been told about all this earlier. Of course, I understand why you had to keep it secret, and I know I’m a loud mouth, but I can keep some secrets, even though sometimes I can’t. I suppose it was necessary not to tell me. But then, I would have liked it if you-’

‘Vage,’ Starrett interrupted. ‘Focus. Time is limited.’

Mephit grumbled, then turned his attention back to the material. ‘I’ve brought some things that may be useful. They may not be. But I reckon they should work fine.’

Bagsy’s eyes widened even further when Mephit upended his bag and a cascade of items fell onto the floor. Starrett, who’d just finished tidying, fumed. Mephit didn’t notice.

It didn’t take them long. Even if Mephit loved to constantly contradict himself, or go back on his own words, and even though his way of thinking and planning made Bagsy’s head swim in confusion, it did pay off. Deferring to Mephit’s wisdom, Bagsy was happy to let him make the decisions, only making small contributions when prompted. Thanks to the items Mephit had brought, Bagsy had managed to turn a portion of the magical insulation material into a thin bracelet filled with tiny beads that, according to Mephit, would project the magic insulation around her person.

Mephit had said, ‘Usually these are used to keep someone warm. I have no idea where you got this magical insulation material from but without it I doubt we’d have found a way to hide you.’ He’d tilted his head to the side. ‘Then again I’m sure, in the end, I would have come up with something. But, without this material, it would have been much harder. Maybe even impossible, or maybe…’ As he’d rambled Bagsy had tried to tie the bracelet around her wrist. It was difficult with one hand and soon she found Mezrielda’s hands brushing the skin of her wrist.

Bagsy turned her head shyly away. ‘T-thank you,’ she managed to say, her face flushed, once the bracelet was affixed.

‘I am the world’s kindest person, aren’t I?’ joked Mezrielda.

Starrett made motions with her hands at Professor Mephit. ‘We’re done with you. You can leave now.’ With some protesting, Mephit was forced out of the house. Starrett closed and locked the door. ‘I despise that man,’ Bagsy just heard her mutter in frustration to herself. Starrett turned back to face them. ‘The sun will be up in a few hours’ time. We must depart.’ 

Mezrielda folded her arms and looked at the locked door. ‘And how do we do that?’

Fitzsimmons pointed their wand at the wooden boxes, arranging them carefully onto the rug, before packing away the two stools and the coffee table. ‘Sit down in the middle of the rug, and hold on tightly,’ Fitzsimmons instructed, as two hand-holds appeared from the rug’s fluff.

As Bagsy and Mezrielda sat, with a confused glance at each other, Starrett and Fitzsimmons conducted a final check of the house, making sure they’d left nothing behind. When they seemed happy with their efforts they sat on the front section of the rug. 

Starrett raised a hand in front of her, her fingers spread wide, and there was a pulse of magic. The house around them swayed and then, as if it were a cardboard box, unfolded around them. The walls fell to its side one moment and the next they shimmered out of existence. The rug was all that remained, hovering in the air above the houses below.

Bagsy gulped.

Then, with a flick of her hand, Starrett sent the carpet into the sky, whilst Fitzsimmons conjured a bubble around them. Bagsy wondered for a moment what it did, before Fitzsimmons noticed her curious inspection.

‘It keeps us out of sight of muggles,’ they explained. ‘And it keeps the wind away. For someone with hair so precisely positioned as mine, it’s indispensable.’

The countryside passed below in a blur of dark greens until it was the smoggy skyline of London they were bearing down upon.

‘Where is Pepsini’s penthouse?’ Starrett asked.

‘I have a penthouse?’ Bagsy squeaked.

Fitzsimmons turned a map around, trying to figure out if it was upside down.

‘Any time today,’ Starrett added snappily.

‘Maybe if you didn’t fly so fast this would be easier,’ Fitzsimmons responded calmly. Starrett snorted in response.

Bagsy leant towards Mezrielda, keeping her voice low. ‘Why are they arguing like a married couple?’

Mezrielda eyed the two professors. ‘Because they might be,’ she said, to which Bagsy raised her eyebrows. ‘Or something similar to it, at least. I’m not really sure, to be honest.’

‘Right...’ Bagsy trailed off.

‘St Pancras,’ said Fitzsimmons, holding the map for Starrett to glance at as she steered the carpet in the dawning light. The map zoomed in on the lines of the roads and houses until they morphed into a detailed drawing of a tall building with crimson and cream bricks and pointed spires.

‘At last,’ Starrett said, her voice clipped. She turned the carpet abruptly through the air and Bagsy gripped on tightly. Starrett brought the carpet to a calm hover above the red bricked building and narrowed her eyes, scanning the windows. Bagsy followed her gaze, her own eyes pushing past a wall of mist that felt as if it was hiding something from her. Paying it attention, she saw through the illusion to see a rooftop garden hidden behind some of the spires.

‘There, professor,’ Bagsy said, gesturing. ‘There’s a garden hidden behind some kind of illusion.’

Glancing back at Bagsy, Starrett turned her attention to where she was pointing. She waved her free hand, the one not steering the carpet. ‘Revelio.’ Bagsy watched, amazed, as a spell twisted out from her fingers. She tacked the spell, seeing it collide with the misty wall and vanish it. Able to see the garden, Starrett landed the carpet on the small, square rooftop. The floor was black and gritty and there was a planted pot in the corner next to a trapdoor with a black and yellow wasp painted onto it. It definitely looked like the entrance into Pepsini’s penthouse. Bagsy took a breath, hugging herself and trying not to shiver, thinking on how the last time she’d been to this penthouse Pepsini had thought she was an innocent, sweet child, instead of a doppelganger he needed to kill.

Fitzsimmons and Starrett stood up, levitating their cardboard boxes and rolling up the rug as they approached the door.

‘Hold on a moment,’ said Mezrielda, stepping off the folding rug. ‘Pepsini liked to leave intruder traps. There was a phrase that ended them…’ Mezrielda frowned, thinking.

‘We won’t need it,’ Starrett said curtly, waving her hand and opening the trapdoor before dropping into the apartment, Fitzsimmons turning into a moth and fluttered down after her.

Mezrielda grumbled something before stepping up to the entrance. She waited expectantly by it, giving Bagsy the distinct impression she wanted her to go first.

‘How gentlemanly,’ Bagsy teased, trying to push the thought of Pepsini from her mind. Mezrielda levelled her with a cold stare that Bagsy knew was affectionate as she dangled her legs into the room below. Bagsy gave herself a moment to calm herself before pushing off and falling down.

Thaumaturgy and a roll softening her landing, Bagsy found herself standing up in a mezzanine overlooking a grand foyer. The mezzanine split into a set of double staircases that led to a gleaming tiled floor. Oak doors the colour of chocolate with handles golden and engraved with patterns of wasps dotted the landing. On the floor below console tables decorated with ornaments, flowers and strange modern art filled the rest of the space.

‘Move out of the way,’ Mezrielda called from above, and Bagsy did so. Her friend slowed her fall with a charm but Bagsy still instinctually reached out to help her down. When she did the world around her contorted and a sickness bubbled in her stomach, a warning for the activating intruder alarm Pepsini had left who knows how long ago in the home.

Starrett, from the floor below, tutted. ‘How tedious.’ She clicked her fingers and the intruder alarm vanished. The feeling of sickness ebbed and Bagsy let out a breath of relief, before realising she was still holding Mezrielda and politely letting go.

Fitzsimmons was arranging their cardboard boxes in a corner of the entrance room, the rug leaning against the towering containers. ‘You know I dislike asking this of you but only you are capable,’ Fitzsimmons murmured once they were done, turning back to Starrett.

Starrett’s lips were a thin, dark line. ‘I know.’ She raised her frail hands. Her eyes narrowed to slits and she began to walk around the penthouse, Fitsimmons following, opening doors for her before the two walked into another room.

‘What are they doing?’ Bagsy asked Mezrielda as Starrett walked back into the centre of the foyer, tracing lines through the air with her eyes shut.

‘My best guess is that she’s hiding this apartment using the fidelius charm. It’s horrifically difficult to cast and takes ages.’ She gave an impressed nod of her head. ‘Clearly, she has some competency in spellcasting.’

Bagsy shot Mezrielda a look. Coming from her, that was high praise.

As Starrett continued, Bagsy and Mezrielda performed their own exploration. They found multiple bedrooms, two kitchens, and a bowling alley, as well as three large living rooms and a small storage space that was stacked high with odd looking inventions. Bagsy’s eyes shone at the sight.

‘Another time,’ Mezrielda said, pulling her away and closing the door. ‘We don’t want to accidentally explode this place when we’ve only just arrived.’

‘I guess,’ Bagsy agreed reluctantly, a sour look on her face. She really wanted to see what sorts of inventions Pepsini had left behind, even if he had turned out to be a not so nice person.

The adults still busy casting some strange spell on the apartment, Bagsy and Mezrielda settled themselves in the smallest of the three living rooms. It was as expensively and plushily decorated as the rest of the house. The marble floor was warmed by a fluffy rug, the cold walls softened by the purple curtains covering massive windows, and the dark brown bookshelves overburdened with the knowledge their books contained. Armchairs circled a coffee table, looking as soft and squishy as bean bags. A sense of déjà vu tugged at Bagsy’s shoulders like a cloak as she sat down in one of them, relaxing at how much more comfortable it was than the carpet they’d been sitting on for hours. Mezrielda sat on the armchair next to her, crossing one leg over the other. Tired, Bagsy yawned and curled up, Mezrielda seeming to form a similar idea. They talked in hushed tones for a bit before giving in to sleep. The dawn light had strengthened into late morning by the time they roused.

Bagsy stretched, regretting not having made the small journey to one of the bedrooms. Her sleep had been bad enough, given the images that had flashed in her subconsciousness: Teresa’s face slowly eroding, black lines stretching beneath her skin and eyes turning a misty white.

Squeezing her eyes shut Bagsy tried not to think about it, or Bontie, and the flash of green she’d seen when she’d been in the caves. Thankfully, a loud rumble from her stomach aided her distraction. ‘I’m hungry,’ she muttered. She realised she quite literally hadn’t eaten all summer. Almost as soon as the words left her mouth a full tea set appeared on the coffee table. Dainty cups perched in patterned saucers clinked into existence, joined by a small bowl of sugar and a plate of bread and tomatoes. Bagsy let out a squeak of surprise. ‘Ghosts!?’ she fretted, turning around to scan the room. ‘Where did these come from!?’

Mezrielda, having barely flinched at the suddenly appearing crockery, put a hand to her chin in thought. ‘I believe that Pepsini might have employed house elves,’ she said. Bagsy tried to cast her mind back, but she’d visited Pepsini’s penthouse too long ago to remember much of the conversation.

Bagsy said, ‘If that’s the case does that mean I now employ house elves?’ She made a repulsed face.

‘If you do, there’s one way to find out.’ Mezrielda blinked expectantly at Bagsy, who had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Ask them to join us,’ she elaborated.

‘Oh. R-right.’ Bagsy clasped her hands together, looking at the floor as if house elves hid just below it. ‘U-um… hello, Mr and Mrs house elves, and house elves who aren’t Mr or Mrs and uh… I think the term is Mx? I just wanted to ask if you could, if it’s possibly alright, come and say hello? Only if you want to, of course.’ There was a moment of silence, in which Bagsy grimaced at Mezrielda in helpless confusion, before small pops sounded around her. Three house elves blinked their large, misty eyes in her direction. Bagsy let out another squeak of alarm, hands flying in front of her face. ‘I’m sorry!’ she cried out instinctively.

The elves looked at each other, and then at Bagsy.

‘You are our new master?’ one of them asked.

Slowly lowering her hands Bagsy looked at the one who had spoken. She nodded slowly, unable to find her tongue.

‘What would miss like us to do?’

Mezrielda’s eyes narrowed, looking ruffled by the words they were speaking. ‘Are you not free?’

The elves looked at her, scandalised.

‘Free?’ one of them gasped. ‘No, no, no. We serve Pepsini. We are good elves. We are not free like these modern elves with careers and salaries.’

‘Oh no,’ Bagsy groaned miserably, putting her head in her hands. ‘I don’t employ elves… I have slaves.’

Mezrielda folded her arms. ‘You were meant to have been released centuries ago. I always knew some families continued to keep house elves illegally and I suppose this confirms my suspicions.’

Bagsy shook her head over and over. ‘No, no, no.’ She felt itchy all over. It was like how the Alden family had elves serving on them. ‘I do not want this.’

As they were mid-conversation Starrett walked into the room, Fitzsimmons opening the door for her as she wafted her hands through the air. Bagsy, Mezrielda and the elves watched as she walked into the centre of the room. Bagsy realised Starrett had been up all-night casting the fidelius charm.

At last, Starrett clasped her hands together, white mist pouring out from between her fingers and drifting through the air. She opened her glowing eyes. ‘Fidelius.’ There was a surge of light. When it dimmed Bagsy blinked her eyes painfully and saw a white luminescence settling at the corners of the bannisters, edges of the doors, and in the lines of the walls.

Starrett collapsed onto an armchair, breathing slowly.

‘Professor!’ Bagsy let out in alarm.

‘Miss Beetlehorn,’ Starrett breathed weakly, her brow furrowed. ‘I am too tired for your nonsense.’

Bagsy looked at Fitzsimmons nervously. ‘Is she alright?’

Fitzsimmons inclined their head, using their wand to levitate a blanket over the now sleeping Starrett. ‘She has just spent the night casting the fidelius charm on this apartment. Given it is a highly difficult spell she will find herself exhausted for a long time until she has fully recovered.’

Mezrielda sat up in her chair. ‘That should give us plenty of time to sort what needs sorting.’

Fitzsimmons blinked their large eyes at Mezrielda. ‘What would that be?’

Mezrielda said, gesturing at the elves around Bagsy, ‘For starters that mess but, more importantly…’ A dark expression fell across her face. ‘Your supposedly missing memories.’

Chapter Text

Opius Pepsini’s penthouse was filled with all sorts of goodies for Bagsy to enjoy, his extensive collection of inventions and artificing parts were only the tip of the iceberg. He had a fully stocked potions store and a mountain of different herbological interests in a conservatory that reminded Bagsy of the cazza back in Quolldron college, but it was hard to enjoy it when, with each blink, Bagsy saw black veins spreading below Teresa’s skin, or a bolt of green magic, or blonde hair falling through the floor.

At least Bagsy could distract herself with a small mystery. Fenced off at the back of the large conservatory a strange willow tree stood that was eerily familiar, the name of which she couldn’t place. An even better distraction, which she threw herself whole-heartedly into, was her new mission for lost memories.

‘Fitzsimmons says their memories are gone?’ Bagsy checked, sitting crossed legged in the conservatory, surrounded by the buzz of insects and a plethora of potions ingredients. Brewing silver cleanse was second nature to her by that point. As hard as it was to make, and as precise and constant as all the steps were, she easily held a conversation whilst doing it. She barely even looked at her cauldron as she worked, her hands were so used to the motions.

‘Yes,’ Mezrielda confirmed. She was sitting demurely on a stool she’d brought into the room. ‘It’s a pathetic lie.’

Bagsy hummed thoughtfully as she added the zout to the mixture. Thankfully, the conservatory at Pepsini’s had weeping weeds. ‘I don’t know… If Fitzsimmons really was working with the beast I feel like I’d already be dead.’

‘You were dead,’ Mezrielda reminded her. ‘Kind of. Jury’s still out on how exactly we should define what you were.’

Bagsy carefully divided the silver cleanse between a handful of vials, once again fighting down the thoughts trying to bubble to the surface of her mind. ‘My soul was fine and I’m back in my body now,’ she offered, suppressing a shudder. The idea that her soul, her eyes, had been contained in her wand for an entire summer was disturbing. She still had her walnut wand, but it was empty now, and the idea that what was essentially her mind had been trapped within it was unpleasant. Looking at the wand it felt like looking into an empty skull. It certainly couldn’t be used to cast spells anymore, so she’d have to get another.

Mezrielda gestured at the vials. ‘Finished?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s find Fitzsimmons.’

Professor Starrett was still exhausted from the fidelius charm and was sleeping in one of the many bedrooms, so it was just the three of them gathered in the living room. It was still light outside and the warm gold of evening graced the armchairs and coffee table.

‘I’ve spoken with the house elves,’ Fitzsimmons said, sitting in the armchair opposite. ‘It is as suspected. They are some of the remaining elves who have not yet been freed from the mystical contract that placed house elves as subservient. I shall be dealing with them from now on, giving the sensitivities of the matter.’

Bagsy worried her lip. ‘Sensitivities?’

Fitzsimmons sighed. ‘This is what made elvish liberation so difficult. House elves are bound by a contract than enforces they wish for servitude. It is a distressing process to be released from and takes time, which is why it took many years when it was first legislated they be released. That is why I must ask you do not make orders towards your house elves and avoid interaction with them as much as possible.’

‘Of course, anything to help fix the situation.’

Mezrielda didn’t seem satisfied. ‘If house elves have been released from their servitude how come they aren’t seen in regular wizarding society?’

Fitzsimmons eyed Mezrielda. ‘They have been released from their servitude in much the same way vampires have been welcomed into society.’

‘I see,’ Mezrielda grumbled. ‘The Ministry release them from slavery to save face, but don’t allow elves to take ordinary jobs or own property. Let me guess, the Hogwarts governors would never let elves work as professors?’

Fitzsimmons inclined their head in resignation. ‘Despite my best efforts, that remains the case. I even have one house elf in mind who might suit the job rather well, but the governors will not hear of it. You know Horba, do you not, Bagsyllia?’

‘Yes.’

‘Horba is the single most talented magic wielder when it comes to cleaning charms. I had hoped he would work both as our cleaner, for he has expressed his love for cleaning, but also as a home tech professor. The curriculum desperately needs one and I am certain Horba would shine in the role. Alas.’ Clasping their hands together, Fitzsimmons shook their head. ‘One day, perhaps.’

Mezrielda cut in, putting a vial on the coffee table with a clink. ‘Be that as it may, it is high time you drank this and spoke truthfully to us.’

Fitzsimmons took the vial. ‘Mezrielda, I assure you, I have always endeavoured to be truthful with my students where appropriate.’ Then, with a swift movement, they drank the potion, before placing the empty vial on the table.

Folding her arms and leaning back, Mezrielda glowered at Fitzsimmons, whilst Bagsy fidgeted nervously.

Fitzsimmons eyes were closed for a very long time. Bagsy saw the muscles of their face working as they clenched and unclenched their jaw. After what felt like half an hour, the evening light waning, Fitzsimmons slowly opened their eyes. ‘Oh dear,’ they said quietly.

Mezrielda raised her eyebrows expectantly. ‘Go on. Spew more of your lies.’

‘Mez.’ Bagsy nudged her friend, encouraging her to be silent.

Fitzsimmons said, ‘My memories were taken from me many years ago by one of my own students.’

Bagsy bristled. ‘Who?’

Fitzsimmons frowned in thought. ‘Tracy-Jane Alden.’

Bagsy felt her blood drop. ‘Tracy-Jane? Tod’s older sister? The one that died?’

Fitzsimmons nodded.

Mezrielda said, ‘Why would she take your memories?’

‘I imagine because I was getting in her way. I knew about the thorned gauntlet. In fact, I do believe I was the one who hid it so well.’

Bagsy’s eyes widened. ‘You were the one who hid the thorned gauntlet?’

‘Indeed. Many centuries ago, half a millennium even, I transfigured it into a brick and hid it in the owlery. Hogwarts was, and always has been, the safest place. Anywhere else and the gauntlet would have been found at some point over the centuries.’

There was a scoff from Mezrielda. ‘If you wanted it hidden why did you leave riddles to help its discovery?’

‘I didn’t,’ Fitzsimmons corrected her. ‘Yes. I remember now. After the beast was sealed away it bided its time. When students began to return to Hogwarts after the near extinction she whispered puzzles in their ears, hoping to lure one of them into releasing her. I realised what she was doing and informed the Ministry. Together we moved the pocket dimension, the other Hogwarts, she was residing in to the Ministry’s headquarters, where she was kept under mental suppression, secure and cut off from the world and her own mind. I left Hogwarts for many hundreds of years and, at some point, I returned and became head professor. Perhaps I wanted to be near the beast. Perhaps I sensed her return, and wanted to prepare, or at the very least, keep a close eye on things. Either way, when I realised Tracy-Jane was searching for the gauntlet, having gone so far as to figure out the gauntlet was hidden in the owlery, I tried to explain to her why this was a foolish endeavour. Upon speaking with her she set quickly to removing all knowledge of the beast from my mind. Were it not for the Ministry reports each head professor is given when beginning their role, which I had filed away, I would have known nothing about the beast at all.’

Mezrielda bared her teeth. ‘This explains nought. Why do you look so similar to the beast? How did you know what I wished for when I used the gauntlet? Why was it you that hid the gauntlet in the first place?’

Fitzsimmons raised a hand. ‘If you would, try to imagine the difficulties of gaining hundreds of years of memories in the time it takes a kettle to boil.’ Wrinkles formed on their forehead as they thought. ‘To answer all these questions requires quite the story. Are you sitting comfortably?’

‘Are you serious?’ Mezrielda grit out.

‘I’m pretty comfortable,’ Bagsy said at the same time, before the two looked at each other.

Fitzsimmons hummed. ‘Then, let’s begin.’ They drew in a breath. ‘There used to be a kingdom of peaceful beings. They had no names and no age, but they knew themselves as the dreamers.’ Fitzsimmons’ lips quirked. ‘Humans knew them as wishing fairies. These wishing fairies were threatened by powerful semi-aquatic hunters who, once they had marked their pray and consumed them, gained the abilities of their meal.’

Hand involuntarily moving to her left shoulder, Bagsy swallowed.

‘The dreamers were advanced and isolated from the surface, and they held the power to grant wishes but could not make wishes themselves for they lacked motivation and wills. Were one of them to be consumed by the hunters who mark their prey, the hunter would be able to make and grant its own wishes. This was too much power for any being to hold so to ensure this never happened the dreamers cast a powerful magic to weigh the magic of marking. Beings who marked, consumed and stole the strength of their prey could grow no longer than their fingernails. The wishing fairies could never be consumed by the markers, and a being whose power could destroy the world would never be born.’

Bagsy said quietly, ‘So that’s why the only creatures that can mark are so small.’

Fitzsimmons tilted their head to the side. ‘I wasn’t there when the dreamers cast their spell, but I recall its legend, and I recall my sibling.’ Tears formed in Fitzsimmons’ eyes, and they removed their glasses to wipe them away, seeming surprised by them. Bagsy waited patiently, whilst Mezrielda drummed her fingers. ‘We dreamers were always born in pairs.’

Mezrielda sat stiffly upright at that. ‘We?’

‘Yes.’ Fitzsimmons looked at Mezrielda and then at Bagsy. ‘I am a wishing fairy. It is strange to realise I forgot, but it is the truth.’ Bagsy’s mouth went dry. ‘I had a twin.’ Fitzsimmons voice wavered. ‘We were reckless, my brother and me. We wanted to see the world beyond our own, but a human found us. He was startled by us and he–’ From the tone in Fitzsimmons voice you would think the events had happened yesterday, not centuries ago.

Bagsy felt sympathy tug at her heart. ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’

A weak smile spread on Fitzsimmons face. ‘I’m alright. Thank you, Bagsyllia.’ They paused. ‘The human shot my sibling and they died. Seeing he had killed a mere child, and seeing my misery, the human wished there was something he could do to console me in my grief. It was then I laid eyes upon his daughter. His wish became true and I had myself a new sibling.’

‘The beast,’ Mezrielda guessed, to which Fitzsimmons inclined their head.

‘The man’s daughter, according to his own wish, returned to the world of the dreamers with me. Through the power of his wish the human identity of my new sibling was hidden from the other wishing fairies. She had never liked her father, and she found a home with the dreamers. We were inseparable, even if my brother could never be replaced, I had found a friend. Our bond was famous amongst our own kind. Vinidia was her name,’ Fitzsimmons said it in a whisper, as if it were delicate crockery. ‘Her father did not forget her. He dedicated his life to finding her and when he did…’ The colour drained from Fitzsimmons face and they closed their eyes again. ‘He should not have been able to enter. No one with a will to wish should have been able to break through the wards without a wishing fairy to let them, but he found a way, and his brethren came with him.’

Fitzsimmons eyes snapped open, their face flashing to fury. ‘They slaughtered us whilst we slept. When Vinidia and I awoke everything we knew had been lost. Vinidia was the only dreamer able to wish and so she wished for our safe passage out of our destroyed home, and she wished for our kingdom to be sealed, the invaders trapped within to waste away.’ Their fury calmed, and Fitzsimmons let out a slow breath. ‘As we grew Vinidia moulded herself after me. She wanted to be my twin and because of the wish that bound her to me, she slowly morphed to be more like myself.’

Mezrielda snapped, ‘That’s why you look alike. Marvellous. One question answered. So why was it you that hid the gauntlet, and how did you know what I wished for back in my first year?’

Fitzsimmons considered Mezrielda silently for a moment. ‘My sibling, Vinidia, vowed vengeance for the destruction of the home she’d come to love. She sort four allies and made wishes on their behalf in return for undying fealty.’

Bagsy clenched her hands. ‘The apostles?’

Fitzsimmons took their pointed hat off and placed it in their lap, folding it neatly. ‘She decided what wishes would be made and I granted them. She found a crow and offered it coven power, and Cora Foncée was born. The beast whispered to the worms and wished for them a mind, and Aot was born. The beast wished for disease itself to take form so that she might plague her enemies, and an eternally teenaged boy of sickly complexion and straw-coloured hair appeared; Lewis. He was in constant, total pain from his sickness and the beast, as the only one able to grant it, promised an end to Lewis’ immortality if he fought for her.’

The idea of being immortal and yet eternally in pain made Bagsy’s muscles tighten. She hated the glimpse of empathy she felt for the breathing blight in that moment.

Fitzsimmons continued, ‘Finally, Vinidia found an old woman. She was friendly to the crows and worms, and it was on Cora and Aot’s insistence that she became the fourth apostle. The old woman wished she could pull on the threads of fate the same way she did the quilts and robes she mended. The beast made her wish for her and I, the wishing fairy, granted it. The Fate Weaver was born.’ Fitzsimmons pursed their lips. ‘I should have refused the wishes, but back then I had little will to call my own.’ 

‘The old woman is Lady Fate, isn’t she?’ Mezrielda said. ‘It has to be.’

Bagsy furrowed her brow, looking at Mezrielda in confusion. ‘Lady Fate?’ she asked, before her memory caught up to the conversation. Lady Fate had worked for the Ministry as their most trusted time scribe and thread reader. ‘She’s also known as the oracle or the seer, right?’ Mezrielda shot her a confirming look. Bagsy rifled through the memories she’d taken from other people. Something had jogged in her mind and she found there, in one of the memories she’d seen in Primrose’s mind, what she’d been looking for. ‘The oracle is the person who prophesised that Primrose would be a villain and help bring about the end of magic.’

Mezrielda murmured, ‘She sure gets around. Perhaps she’s been meddling with the threads of fate ever since the beast gave her that power.’

Fitzsimmons looked up, mulling Mezrielda’s words over. ‘You wish to know why it was me who hid the gauntlet, and how I knew your wish. We are approaching the answer, but it will mean nought without context.’

With a grumble, Mezrielda settled back down into her chair, crossing her arms.

Fitzsimmons continued. ‘With her apostles the beast set upon the land, amassing a grand following. One day we passed a castle almost as ancient as the land of the dreamers.’ Fitzsimmons’ hands clenched. ‘As more joined the beast’s ranks to bring about a new world, all she saw were strengths she didn’t have. She was human, you see, her only strength came from my wishes and her apostles. When we walked past that castle and she saw mere children wielding power that could never be hers something snapped within her and she asked for a wish I never should have granted.’ Fitzsimmons closed their eyes again. They raised a hand to cover their mouth, horrified at whatever it was they had done. ‘I didn’t see the jealousy in her heart. Her jealousy of magic. I trusted her.’

Uncomfortable at the words, Bagsy squirmed in her seat. She knew all too well what that jealousy felt like.

‘What did you do?’ Mezrielda pushed. Bagsy was grateful for her question. She didn’t feel able to ask it herself, but she desperately wanted to know.

‘She asked for the power of marking, free of the weight my own kind had laid upon it. She claimed she would only use it on those evil enough to deserve it but once I granted her the wish she shunned me. I learnt of her actions through rumour. She had hunted the evil monsters of the world; those that scurried in the shadows. Her strength and speed grew, but it wasn’t enough for her. As our rebellion raged, fighting for supposedly peaceful ends, the beast encountered those with intellect fair above hers, charisma beyond her wildest dreams, and wisdom wealthy from lives she could never live. Soon, it was not just monsters she consumed. Members of the rebellion began to vanish. We assumed it was the Ministry. As she ate more of her own, her form split in two. There was my sibling, Vinidia, and there was the beast.’ Fitzsimmons pursed their lips, sitting in stiff silence for a moment. When they spoke again, it seemed each word was a painful scratch along their skin. ‘The beast’s flesh was bloated and grew arms with each meal, their skin the palest and brightest of whites and their eyes a sludgy blood-red. Her teeth turned sharp to better consume her prey, her heart turned to ice to better ignore their pleas and her greed yawned like an abyss below her soul.’ Fitzsimmons stopped talking and the silence that followed crushed Bagsy. She felt herself surrounded by red, an intense heat burning around her, and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly.

Fitzsimmons’ grip on the hat in their lap tightened. ‘It wasn’t long before the beast needed not followers, so she consumed all of them but the apostles and me, for she was strong enough on her own. It was only her own mental denial that spared myself and the apostles. If she consumed us she’d have nowhere to hide from what she’d become – she’d have to admit she wasn’t the world’s saviour, that her atrocities weren’t justified by the ends of vengeance and justice, and that all of her actions were now only in service of her selfishness. Cora was enamoured by her strength, wanting her to join the coven, while Aot hid. The living pestilence, Lewis, stayed, relying on the beast for the possibility of his own death. I know not what became of the Fate Weaver, who may indeed have become Lady Fate, but she very well could have survived to this day. By the time the final non-apostolic members of the rebellion were consumed it had been years since the beast had shared any of her plans with me, but I had an inkling of them. She could only restrain herself for so long and, as she rampaged across the country, consuming everything in her path, there were two powers always at the back of her mind she wanted, but didn’t yet have. One of them was magic itself, something that she discovered very quickly she couldn’t gain through marking and consuming. The other power she longed for…’

‘The power to grant wishes,’ Mezrielda guessed.

Bagsy gaped at Fitzsimmons. ‘She was going to kill you to gain your power? But you were her sibling! You grew up together!’

‘Greed, Bagsyllia, is a terrible thing. I had no hope of defending myself or hiding, Cora’s crows watched the nation’s every movements, so my feet led me to that castle, where she’d first made that terrible wish.’

‘Hogwarts,’ Mezrielda guessed.

‘Hogwarts,’ Fitzsimmons confirmed. ‘When I found myself there I was hidden by the headmaster, who intended to make a final stand. They hid me in a sealed staircase to try and keep me safe, but it was not enough. The beast arrived at the castle and she–’ Fitzsimmons took a second, stilling their shaking hands. ‘She murdered them all. The paintings hung empty, the corridors fell silent, and the lake lay void of life. The beast found the staircase I was hiding in, but she hesitated as she went to mark me. I offered her a wish in place of my life, asking her to wish for the power to grant her own wishes; promising a gauntlet containing my power. With it she could keep the powers of a being that marks, a being that wishes, and a being that grants. The greed in her eyes could have burnt me alive but she trusted me.’ Fitzsimmons looked at the hat perched in their lap, unfolding it and running one of their hands over the material. ‘I tricked her. There were unspoken stipulations. The gauntlet was created, and my powers were drained from me and placed into it, but it was a gauntlet of thorns that could only grant weak wishes and would break upon use. My wish also created the other Hogwarts, the Hogwarts I stood in becoming the blueprint for the pocket dimension where the beast was trapped and the spiral staircase becoming the link between the real and the other. Though the beast could use the gauntlet to grant her own wishes within the other dimension, I had failed to inform her the gauntlet would remain in this world, enchanted to never enter the other Hogwarts and rush away from it should it come close. I also failed to mention the fact that she would be trapped in the other Hogwarts forever more.’ Fitzsimmons eyes moved to look at them. ‘Because of the wish there was a link between the beast and the gauntlet. The gauntlet could not enter the other Hogwarts, but it also could not move far from the beast, so I hid it in the owlery, and then, like the apostles, I vanished. The world wanted us dead for we had aided the beast.’ Fitzsimmons carefully put their hat back on. ‘There you have it, Mezrielda. That’s why I hid the gauntlet, and how I knew what you wished. You see, when you made your wish you were doing nothing less than using the last power on this earth to grant wishes, a power that was directly linked with me. It was I who granted that wish for you, and that is why I knew what it was, even if I didn’t understand how at the time.’

Mezrielda was on her feet, her wand pointed at Fitzsimmons. ‘You admit it then. You were working with the beast.’

‘Yes,’ Fitzsimmons agreed, remaining entirely calm.

‘Why shouldn’t I just kill you know?’

‘Mezrielda!’ Bagsy gasped, moving between Mezrielda and Fitzsimmons. ‘Weren’t you listening?’

Mezrielda narrowed her eyes at her. ‘You’re defending them?’

Bagsy said, glancing back at Fitzsimmons, ‘You said the wishing fairies had no wills or motivations, right?’ Fitzsimmons gave a muted nod. ‘Mezrielda, don’t you see? Fitzsimmons didn’t have free will back then.’

Fitzsimmons spoke up. ‘Until the day on the staircase. It was the first day I ever decided something for myself. I’m not sure I’d call it free will but, instead, consciousness. Before then I’m not sure you could have called me entirely sentient.’

‘So what, then?’ Mezrielda fumed, keeping her wand raised and trying to move so she could point it past Bagsy. ‘We’re supposed to forgive them?’

‘Yes,’ Bagsy said firmly, keeping Fitzsimmons shielded. With a frustrated huff Mezrielda lowered her wand. ‘There was no intention. There was no free choice. Without either of those how can someone be held responsible for what they did?’

Mezrielda crossed her arms, tapping a foot angrily on the floor. It was at this moment that Starrett pushed the doors open and entered.

‘Ah,’ Fitzsimmons said, a hint of sarcasm in their tone. ‘Emese. You join us at a most pleasant moment.’

Starrett held a letter in the air. ‘This just arrived.’ She threw it onto the coffee table, her eyes moving from Fitzsimmons to Bagsy to Mezrielda, evidently curious as to what had been happening before she’d entered. ‘Bontie’s agreed to our terms.’

Chapter Text

The shock of information from Fitzsimmons was dulled by the surprise of Bontie’s terms.

‘Something’s not right.’ Starrett fell into one of the armchairs as if she hadn’t slept in centuries, even though she’d been sleeping almost constantly for a week. ‘Her terms are too… nice.’

Fitzsimmons fished the letter from the table, adjusting their glasses before passing the note to Bagsy.

Bagsy clasped it tightly, tilting the letter so Mezrielda could stand next to her and read along. ‘This is good, though, isn’t it? Bontie’s agreed to let me stay wherever I want, so long as we don’t speak publicly against her.’

Mezrielda shook her head. ‘She’s also said she’ll handle the announcement that you’re still alive and she wants nothing in return for this besides our silence.’

Starrett said, ‘It’s too good a deal. Something else is motivating her.’

Bagsy put the letter down, feeling the familiar rise of tears. She clenched her jaw, her brow furrowing against anger, confusion and guilt. Teresa was dead because of what had happened in the caves and it was Bontie who’d taken her there in the first place. Bagsy worried what the others were saying was true, that this was only a good deal because Bontie was getting something out of it.  

Starrett said, ‘I know Bontie. That woman doesn’t do a single thing that isn’t perfectly calculated to advance her plans. She must gain something else from this.’

Fitzsimmons said, ‘For now we should be thankful that this has worked out as well as it has. It could have been worse.’ They rose to their feet. ‘Emese, are you strong enough to walk?’

‘To the next room, perhaps.’ Starrett stiffly got to her feet.

‘We have much to discuss and we should leave Mezrielda and Bagsyllia in peace for a moment.’ Fitzsimmons gave them a weak smile that Bagsy couldn’t bring herself to return, and Mezrielda warded away with a silent snarl.

With Fitzsimmons’ help Starrett limped from the room. The door closed behind the two professors and Bagsy and Mezrielda were alone.

‘What utter nonsense,’ Mezrielda fumed. ‘They expect us to believe any of that?’ Bagsy wrung her hands together awkwardly. ‘You believe Fitzsimmons’ story, don’t you?’

‘Everything they said explains why they knew what they knew, and yet had so few answers for us. Tracy-Jane Alden removed those memories from Professor Fitzsimmons so they couldn’t stand in the way of her getting the gauntlet, but she never got a chance to get it because she had to sacrifice herself making everyone forget something.’

Mezrielda looked at Bagsy, paced, and then looked at Bagsy again.

‘You know it makes sense,’ Bagsy pushed, sensing she was close to convincing her. ‘You just don’t want to trust them.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘You’re in the habit of not trusting them.’

‘A wise habit, I’d wager.’

‘Maybe not.’

Mezrielda clenched and unclenched her fist. ‘Fine,’ she relented. ‘I suppose it would be beneficial to tentatively accept the story proposed by Fitzsimmons. But we should still not trust them.’

Bagsy gave in, accepting Mezrielda’s reasoning. Bagsy had trusted Bontie, and that had led her to the caves, and too the killing curse. After everything that had happened, it was slowly dawning on her that what she could trust the least wasn’t other people but her own decision making.  

Bagsy and Mezrielda left the topic of Fitzsimmons and their version of events there. They had a quick meal, Bagsy being sure not to accidentally summon the house elves every time she asked Mezrielda to pass her a knife whilst they made a simple tomato and courgette stew, before turning in for the night.

They paused, stood between two doors, each leading to a separate bedroom.

‘Night,’ Bagsy said uncertainly, reaching a hand towards the handle of one door.

‘Good night,’ Mezrielda responded curtly, her back to Bagsy, not moving.

Bagsy’s hand rested on the door knob and pushed it open as she shifted from one foot to the other. She took a step into her room then, her resolve breaking, she glanced back at Mezrielda. ‘Maybe it would be safer if you–’

‘Absolutely.’ Before the sentence was out of Bagsy’s mouth, Mezrielda turned to barge through the now open doorway. ‘If something were to happen and I was in another room it would take me ten times a long to assist you.’

‘Exactly!’ Bagsy agreed in relief. ‘And if something were to happen to you and you were in a different room it would take me three times as long to get to you.’

Mezrielda shot her a look as she flopped onto the double bed. ‘Three times?’

‘I’m faster than you.’

Mezrielda scoffed. ‘I’m plenty fast, I’ll have you know.’

‘Are you, now?’ A wicked grin spread on Bagsy’s face as she reached her hands in front of her, stalking towards the bed.

A look of concern sunk into Mezrielda’s features. ‘Bagsy…?’

With a cry and a burst of speed, Bagsy lurched at Mezrielda, lightly jabbing her hands into her sides.

Mezrielda let out a bark of laughter, trying to worm out of her grip. ‘Stop that!’ she laughed as Bagsy tickled her. ‘I’ll kill you!’

‘If you were faster you could escape,’ Bagsy taunted her.

‘Levicor-’ Mezrielda desperately tried to cast, but Bagsy turned to tickling Mezrielda’s neck, and Mezrielda let out an undignified yelp, ducking her head like a tortoise retracting into a shell. When Bagsy finally released her, Mezrielda was red faced and feigning fury.

‘You’ll pay for this,’ she threatened, as if she were laying a curse upon Bagsy, glaring at her from below the duvet like a bog hag in a swamp beneath a lily pad.

‘Sure, I will.’ Bagsy hopped onto the other side of the bed, settling down. ‘Good night, Mezrielda.’

‘Don’t let the bed bugs–’

‘Eat my internal organs, yeah, yeah. I won’t. See you in the morning.’

Mezrielda grumbled something before settling down herself. Bagsy found it difficult to sleep with how much she wanted to smile and then, as the time went on and her mind drifted back onto what had happened, found it difficult to sleep for an entirely different reason. She lay still, staring at the velvet curtains drawn over the window, not sure how to stop reminding herself of everyone who had died and, unlike her, hadn’t come back.

The weak before their return to Hogwarts was peaceful. Mezrielda had accepted some kind of truce between herself and Fitzsimmons and merely gave them a cold shoulder anytime they were near, instead of trying to kill them. It was an improvement, Bagsy decided, especially given Fitzsimmons was the one cooking for them. Starrett was too weak, and Fitzsimmons admitted that without Starrett’s help they sucked at cooking themselves. Bagsy didn’t mind the flavourless pasta dishes or cold soups Fitzsimmons tried their hardest to make, though Mezrielda refused to eat them without first checking for poisons.

Mezrielda also explained, when they had moments alone, everything that had happened to put Bagsy back into her body. She told her about the missing eyes, the empty grave, the anonymous letter, the locked wand, the strange figure and the information she’d gained from Keeda and Starrett when she’d visited them.

‘You did all that?’ Bagsy breathed.

Mezrielda averted her eyes. ‘I didn’t have a choice.’

‘You did.’

‘You wouldn’t do the same for me?’

Bagsy opened her mouth then closed it. They both knew she’d do the same, so she left it there.

Bagsy’s belongings arrived a few days after Bontie’s letter. Bagsy herself wasn’t allowed out of the penthouse, given there was a beast loose in the country that wanted her dead, so Fitzsimmons and Starrett had left to collect her things for her. When they’d returned Bagsy had openly cried at the sight of her pet owl.

‘Eldritch!’ she said, opening his cage. Her tiny fluff ball of an owl hopped onto her arm, as silent as ever, but with wide eyes that betrayed his shock and joy at seeing her. Eldritch barely left Bagsy’s shoulder the remainder of the week they had before returning to Hogwarts, seeming to think one blink of his owlish eyes was all it would take for her to disappear again. With how little Mezrielda refused to leave Bagsy’s side, Bagsy worried Mezrielda thought the same. She couldn’t complain – she liked being around Mezrielda.   

It wasn’t just Bagsy’s belongings that arrived, though. Starrett had managed, despite her frail condition, to get them a copy of The Daily Prophet. According to the front-page article the Ministry headquarters had been attacked by a group of magical creatures and left barely standing, saved thanks only to the work of their officials.

Mezrielda tutted in disapproval. ‘Of course, they’re claiming they won. It’s only because the beast lost the ability to harm anyone besides Bagsy that those magical beings retreated. It has nothing to do with the competency, or lack thereof, of the Ministry.’

Bagsy turned the page and scanned the end of the article. ‘It’s still good that the Ministry didn’t fall.’

‘Yes,’ Mezrielda agreed grudgingly. ‘I suppose they are preferable to a tyrannical beast. Just.’

Bagsy froze when she saw the next article featured in the paper, her finger hovering over the title. Noticing her alarmed expression, Mezrielda leant over from the armchair she’d been reclined luxuriously in.

Back from the Dead: The Misdiagnosis of Bagsyllia Beetlehorn

By Julia Seasare

An embarrassing slip up by a rookie healer has led to a grim misunderstanding. Bagsyllia Beetlehorn is the daughter to Mr Himble Beetlehorn and Mrs Florentchia Beetlehorn, owners of Beetlehorn Potions, and younger sister of Rebontil Beetlehorn, a trusted and high-ranking Ministry official. Earlier this summer, Bagsyllia was pronounced dead and it was thanks to the diligent work of Rebontil Beetlehorn that the mistake was eventually uncovered, finding that young Bagsyllia had been under the effects of a potent draught of living death and had been unconscious the entire time. Bagsyllia has been recovering at home in private since the ordeal.

“It is unfortunate,” Rebontil told me when I asked her about the incident. “These mistakes do occur. I only regret that I didn’t see the issue sooner, but words cannot describe how grateful I and my family are to have Bagsy back, safe and sound, and ready to continue her education.”

From my time speaking with Rebontil, it was clear to me how family oriented she is, and how fiercely loyal she must be to have moved the mountains of paperwork necessary to realise the error. What is most astounding is that Ms Beetlehorn managed all of this whilst announcing and beginning her campaign for Minister for Magic, as Moro Loget’s seven years draw to a close, and a re-election looms on the horizon.

Snapping the paper closed, Bagsy put it on the table, as if the pages would burn her hands. ‘That’s why she agreed to the terms so easily,’ she realised, her voice shaking. Bagsy really was just a tool for Bontie to use, or an obstacle in her way.

‘She wanted to minimise damage to her image before her campaign,’ Mezrielda murmured, before pointing her wand towards the paper and looking questioningly at Bagsy. ‘Shall I?’

‘Please.’

With a quick spell the paper was burning to ashes. Bagsy watched it with sour eyes.

She pushed Bontie from her mind for the remainder of the holidays as term time fast approached. One good distraction was the strange willow tree at the back of the conservatory – kept out of reach by a fence – that whispered as its hanging leaves swayed, looking like white ribbons of lace, or even pale roots of an overturned tree. Her belongings returned to her, Bagsy flipped through her crammed, messy notebook, just managing to locate the slips of paper with the notes she’d taken when she’d visited Quolldron college. She’d remembered that they’d had a tree like this there, as well.

‘Perhaps the most dangerous tree of all,’ Bagsy read her notes quietly to herself, before turning her gaze to the tree. It was called a Kingslayer and now that she was looking at it again, the hanging leaves looked more like the tendrils of a thousand jellyfish clustered in the deep sea. It was an eerie sight.

According to her notes all kinds of beings, magical or not, found themselves caught and forever trapped by the tree. Bagsy placed her finger to where she’d sketched what Professor Stery had described. She’d drawn a human trapped in the tendrils, the pale vegetation slithering over their arms, neck and legs, reaching towards his mind. A few had already reached the victim’s head, and the eyes of the person she’d drawn were vacant; their mind overwhelmed by the tree, removed from his own free will. She glanced at what she’d noted next to the drawing. The victim would be kept by the tree until every last ounce of energy had been drained from his body and because no magic could pass through any space where the tendrils of the Kingslayer tree were there could be no rescue, either. Suppressing a shudder, Bagsy had decided to dedicate her remaining time to making the fence warding the Kingslayer tree even stronger.

At night, if Bagsy startled awake with harsh breaths, and Mezrielda was at her side instantly to remind her where she was and that she was safe, no one else needed to know. If Bagsy sometimes roused to Mezrielda’s pained cries, and woke her to comfort her in return, stroking her hair and assuring her she was alive and not going anywhere whilst Mezrielda’s held onto her so tightly it hurt, as if letting go would allow Bagsy to die all over again, then no one needed to know about that, either.

The day before they were due at Kings Cross for the Hogwarts express Starrett, limbs still shaky from her exertion casting the fidelius charm, summoned Bagsy away from her building of the fence around the Kingslayer tree. Bagsy put her tools down and waved a goodbye to Mezrielda, who was sitting on a stool she’d brought into the conservatory transfiguring two gems into each other. Mezrielda watched her go, seeming nervous at Bagsy leaving her sight, but Bagsy hadn’t thought Mezrielda was someone who did things like be nervous.

Starrett sat down on an armchair in the grand foyer, unable to make it to the living room, and motioned Bagsy sit on the seat opposite her. ‘Despite everything going on you are still a student. When you return to Hogwarts you will be in your sixth year. You will need to choose your NEWT classes. There will be time during the first week to make your decision, but it is the job of parental guardians to provide their children with advice before the school year. I realised this might be difficult for you to achieve so I am offering to step in. I can provide insights into which NEWT classes I feel you should take.’

Bagsy stared at Starrett, her hands tightening on the material of her robes. ‘You want to help me chose?’

‘Your future is at stake. Your NEWT classes will significantly impact the career path you set upon.’

Bagsy wasn’t sure she’d ever had an adult care about her education. But then she realised that, ever since Starrett had begun privately tutoring her, she had been doing all the caring Bagsy could hope for. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to say, her voice thick. She tried to turn her head to the side, wiping her eyes as subtly as she could. ‘I’d really appreciate your advice.’

There was a small tug at the corner of Starrett’s mouth. ‘In that case, you should read through this.’ She placed a leaflet on the table. ‘I would highly recommend Alchemy and Artificing. It is a subject that combines the theories of potions and herbology, both of which you excel in, and also calls for the more advanced skills of invention. It would be the perfect subject to give you access to a career in a range of engineering-based pursuits such as Mystichanics.’

Unfolding the leaflet, Bagsy avidly read through the Alchemy and Artificing section. The course sounded like a dream; it involved the history of Artificing, the properties of different metals, crystals and minerals, and the intricacies of significant inventions. ‘It looks at time travel?’ she gaped, checked the description over.

‘It briefly looks at the seven-hour notitia loop and the time-winders as a case study for risk-assessment and power requirements in Artificing. It’s… slightly interesting.’

‘Slightly…?’ Bagsy echoed, disbelievingly. She couldn’t comprehend how such a fascinating subject existed. She was already decided. She was going to take Alchemy and Artificing if it was the last thing she did.

‘You should also look at these.’ Starrett put down a yellowed letter.

Bagsy picked it up and turned it over in her hand. ‘What’s this?’

Starrett did smile then. ‘Your exam results.’

Bagsy tore it open. She accidentally ripped her results, so held the two pieces together, her heartbeat racing as she tried to recall what grades meant what.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

BAGSY BARCIRY BEETLEHORN HAS ACHIEVED:

Astrology: E

Charms: P

Defence Against the Dark Arts: T

Herbology: O

History of Magic: A

Potions: O

Thaumathletics: E

Transfiguration: T

Starrett added, ‘Were Artifisiary an official subject you would have achieved an E in that, as well, and you were very close to passing Charms.’

Bagsy couldn’t hold back her tears, crying happily at the sight. She’d achieved a whopping five OWLS! At one stage, she was certain she’d only manage two. She didn’t mind her two Troll grades, she wasn’t surprised she’d utterly failed Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark arts, but she was shocked that she was one grade away from passing Charms.

‘With those grades there will be plenty of NEWT classes open to you.’ Starrett paused, before gesturing at a bag to the side of the chair Bagsy was sitting on. ‘It’s too dangerous for you to visit Diagon Alley right now so I had Fitzsimmons fetch the necessary equipment for the year. Specialised textbooks and other resources can be allocated once you’re at Hogwarts.’ Reaching towards the bag, Bagsy pulled the drawstring to peer inside. It was filled with an assortment of old books, Potions equipment and other items neatly packed together. ‘You’ll find a wand as well. Red oak, unicorn hair, ten inches. Consider it a late birthday gift. You missed yours, after all.’ Starrett shrugged. ‘It’s too dangerous for you to go to Ollivander’s right now and though the wand should choose the witch hopefully this will do for now.’

Bagsy fumbled through the bag until she found the wand box, carefully opening it and staring at the glossy, auburn wood.

‘I’m rather partial to red oak myself given my old wand was made from it,’ Starrett continued, the unspoken words ‘Before Bontie snapped it in two’ hanging in the air.

Bagsy looked back at Professor Starrett. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, sniffing. She didn’t know what to say. Nothing seemed to explain the gratitude she was experiencing, or the sharp resentment she felt at the thought of Himble and Florentchia’s doors back at one Aesher Common, telling her to leave them be and not disturb them or, even worse, the pain at the idea of Bontie taking her to the caves despite knowing what was waiting for them there. ‘Did you get yourself a new wand? Do you need one? You keep casting spells with your hands.’

Starrett looked at her. ‘I shall tell you this because I trust you to keep it to yourself, but I have not been casting spells with my hands, though it might appear so. I have been casting vicariously through a wand on my person, but not in my hand. It’s an advanced technique. Few are even aware it’s possible.’

Bagsy gaped at Starrett. ‘That’s incredible!’

Starrett’s expression turned serious. ‘It’s necessary. I can’t have someone snapping my wand at a crucial time again. That mistake was inexcusable. Now, one last thing.’ Starrett handed her a slip of paper. ‘You know the drill.’

Bagsy looked at the slip with Starrett’s name on it, knowing if she ripped it Starrett would be called to help her. ‘But last time–’

‘I failed you.’

‘It was a trap!’

‘I’d rather risk being caught in a trap than leave you without means of calling for help.’

Bagsy was silent before, with slow hands, she pocketed the slip. ‘Thank you,’ she said one last time, and Starrett smiled thinly, seeming too tired to speak. 

When it was time to catch the train to Hogwarts, Professor Starrett and Fitzsimmons walked on either side of Bagsy and Mezrielda. Fitzsimmons’ wand was in their hands, hidden below their large sleeves, and Starrett was sharply alert. Bagsy felt entirely safe as they walked through the hidden barrier onto platform nine and three-quarters.

Smoke billowed through the air, the slash of red the Hogwarts express coloured the environment with a familiar sight. Pushing through the crowd of parents and students and trying to ignore the odd looks she was receiving as a dead-girl who’d only recently come back to life, Bagsy got onto the train.

Fitzsimmons handed Bagsy and Mezrielda their bags. ‘We’ll be at the front most carriage if you need us. We’ll see you at Hogwarts.’ They nodded at the bracelet on Bagsy’s wrist. ‘Keep that on.’

‘I will,’ Bagsy responded, holding her wrist up as evidence to show the bracelet that blocked her location from the beast and kept her mind safe from its grasp. ‘See you,’ she added with a smile at Starrett, who merely nodded her head and let out a grumble.

Mezrielda and Bagsy struggled to find an empty compartment.

‘Are there more first years this time, or is it just me?’ Mezrielda complained, shooting a glare at a tiny first year as they hurried past, like a lion growling at a small bird.

‘The train does feel more crowded,’ Bagsy agreed. ‘Hey!’ she added, taking a hold of Mezrielda’s sleeve to pull her to a stop, gesturing into the compartment ahead of them where Itsuki, Jon and Nevis were. ‘We could sit with them?’

‘I’d rather sit alone.’

‘I think it might be either them or strangers.’

With a sigh, Mezrielda opened the compartment door, levitating her and Bagsy’s things onto the train.

Jon and Itsuki leapt to their feet while Nevis cast a slow look in Bagsy’s direction.

‘Bagsy!’ Jon and Itsuki said in unison, rushing her. Bagsy cringed, already knowing what they were going to do. With a yelp, she found herself hugged tightly.

‘I couldn’t believe it when I read the paper.’ Jon squeezed before letting go. ‘How on earth did that healer mistake your death?’

Itsuki let go of Bagsy as well, who was still cringing from the physical contact. ‘It’s unbelievably stupid.’

Nevis said nothing, looking back out the window at the laden trolleys juddering over the stone floor whilst Mezrielda watched Nevis with an odd expression.

Jon and Itsuki spoke in light tones as they travelled to Hogwarts, the countryside trailing lazily past, but Bagsy saw the looks they kept sharing. There was a painful gap in the seat next to Nevis were Teresa would have been.

Nevis shifted in his seat, adjusting his round glasses and giving a small sniff.

‘So, uh,’ Itsuki said, his voice uncertain as he tried to keep the focus away from Nevis. ‘What NEWT classes are you thinking of taking? I’m really excited for the class fair. I can’t wait to see what History of Magic is like at NEWT level. I did really well and got an O in it.’

‘Class fair?’ Bagsy asked.

Mezrielda’s eyes snapped onto Itsuki. ‘NEWT classes!’ she said in shock. ‘I completely forgot we had to choose those this year.’

Jon laughed. ‘How do you forget something like that?’

‘I was preoccupied,’ Mezrielda shot back. ‘Naturally, I achieved ten OWLS, with four O’s and six E’s. I can pick almost any NEWT class I want to.’ Mezrielda folded her arms and glared at the floor as she became lost in thought as to which she should chose. Bagsy didn’t know what other subjects she’d chose, but she already knew she’d pick Alchemy and Artificing, before looking glumly at Nevis.

Teresa wouldn’t be picking any.

Chapter Text

The sorting ceremony was longer than usual and Bagsy was beyond certain there were twice as many first years as there had been previously.

Professor Starrett was sitting at the teacher’s table, with Professor Wattleseed on one side of her, whispering in Professor Kim’s ear, and Belta Zotova on her other. Bagsy saw a new face at the teacher’s table: a large woman with tan skin, green eyes like gems and blonde hair flowing over her shoulders smiled kindly at Professor Hilkins as the ancient wizard showed off a half-plate half-bowl he seemed fascinated by.

Fitzsimmons stepped forward to the podium, politely indicating the new woman the staff. ‘I would like to welcome Professor Allthorn to our faculty,’ they said. The large woman, Professor Allthorn, stood up and gave a curtsey. Bagsy’s head whipped towards the Gryffindor table, finding Arice Allthorn sitting next to his younger sister, Lorna Allthorn. Arice shot her a look and nodded in proud confirmation, puffing out his chest. The new professor was, evidently, his mother, and the author of the Ministry exposé that, when she’d published in The Daily Prophet, had got her fired.

The remainder of Fitzsimmons speech was short, but when they brought up Teresa Aviry’s passing Bagsy had to look at her hands. Slowly, she clenched her fists. She’d had a brief moment of sympathy for the breathing blight when Fitzsimmons had explained that Lewis was constantly in pain and simply wanted his existence to end but now, thinking about Teresa, she wanted nothing more than to grant the breathing blight’s wish. 

Bagsy didn’t eat much and turned in early, secluding herself in her private room. She couldn’t sleep, so she tinkered away at a few inventions. A self-cleaning toothbrush here, a floating candle there, nothing too difficult, just enough to keep her mind off of things. Eldritch happily perched on her hunched shoulder as she worked, keeping her company, and Bagsy lamented not being in the Slytherin dormitory with Mezrielda. It felt strange having an empty space behind her where Mezrielda would usually be, were they back in Pepsini’s penthouse.

The following morning was a Sunday and the Hufflepuff common room was buzzing with life. Students crowded around the notice board signing up for the quidditch try-outs and Bagsy eyed them uncertainly. They were all fresh, young faces she’d seen around the common room, but beyond the fact they were Hufflepuffs, she didn’t know much more about them.

Since the Hufflepuff victory last year, and the presence of a professional quidditch player as the Hufflepuff coach for part of the year, the popularity within the house for the sport had exploded. Jon Krinkle stood next to the notice board, smiling widely at the younger students and egging them on, urging someone to try for seeker, given Greenda was no longer at Hogwarts. Some of them were marvelling at his perfectly dyed blonde hair, whilst others were pointing, wide-eyed, at Itsuki whose mohawk was being returned to him by the cacti.

Bagsy looked at Jon more closely, seeing the badge on his robes announce, proudly, that he was quidditch captain. On her way to the breakfast hall Bagsy gave him a small dip of her head and quiet clap in congratulations. Jon nodded back, but his smile fell, and Bagsy reckoned she knew exactly why, because a similar weight was pulling on her. It was the second year running where a member of the quidditch team would be missing, never able to play again. Bagsy hoped, wherever Teresa and Emmeline were, they were having a peaceful time.

It was with a sigh of gratitude that Bagsy found Mezrielda sitting down next to her in the great hall, distracting her from her woes.

‘The NEWT fair is today,’ Mezrielda informed her. ‘After the fifth years have had their talk on OWLS.’

To pass the morning they ate and headed to their favourite nook in the library. Mezrielda walked quickly and Bagsy had to half-run to keep up with her.

‘Why are you in such a hurry?’ she asked.

‘There’s something I want to research. You remember I told you I visited Keeda when I was following those anonymous letters? Keeda told me something when I was there. The beast, the last time she tried to take control, was searching for something deep below the earth. She had the Aot of that time send his worms in search of it, but they never found it.’

‘What was she looking for?’ Bagsy asked as they pushed open the door to the library and walked in.

Mezrielda paused, giving the old librarian a double take as the woman sorted through some books. Mezrielda gave her head a small shake and marched towards the nook. ‘Keeda said it was called the world heart,’ she whispered conspiratorially to Bagsy.

‘I suppose we’ll be searching for it, then,’ Bagsy guessed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘And risk Starrett and Fitzsimmons overhearing? You might trust them, Bagsy, but I’m too wise for that.’

Bagsy just rolled her eyes as they sat down in the nook before turning to the living stampelia in the window and gasping. ‘No!’ The tall plant had previously grown up and stretched around the edges of the window but now its leaves were withered. Its petals, previously a vibrant pink, were drooping in miserable grey. In a rush Bagsy fetched water and plant food, setting to work. As she tended to the dying plant, burying scones and waffles of sun and minerals into the soil, Mezrielda amassed a pile of books. She popped off to different sections of the library, climbing up ladders, summoning books attached to the ceiling, or checking the small alcoves.

By the time Bagsy was letting out a breath of relief, seeing the colour returning to the stampelia’s petals, and giving the bark a happy pet, Mezrielda seemed satisfied with her collection.

Bagsy moved around the table, peering at the different titles. ‘What’s all this?’

‘Books on hidden treasures below the ground, ancient powers, mysteries of the earth, or anything that mentions the world heart.’

Bagsy suggested, wringing her hands together sheepishly, ‘Maybe we should tell Professor Starrett and Fitzsimmons about this?’

‘No. We shouldn’t trust them. At least, we shouldn’t trust Fitzsimmons. What’s to say they won’t take this information to the beast when the time comes between choosing us or their sibling?’

‘They already made that choice,’ Bagsy said quietly. ‘They locked their sibling away for what they thought would be forever.’

Mezrielda looked at Bagsy in silence, before returning her attention to the books. ‘There must be something here,’ she said instead. ‘Help me look.’

Obliging, Bagsy rifled through the books.

Mezrielda pointed to the far side of the table. ‘Put the ones that seem irrelevant over there, ones you are unsure off in the middle and promising books near me.’

Following Mezrielda’s system, it wasn’t long before every single book was piled on the other side of the table from them.

Mezrielda clenched her jaw. ‘Useless. No information, as usual.’

‘I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a point to libraries at all,’ Bagsy lamented. Mezrielda hummed her agreement. Leaving the young librarian to return the books – the old librarian having taken a break – they left for the NEWT fair.

The great hall was emptied of its long tables to make room for an assortment of stalls. Some were like a dense thicket of jungle, pine trees, venus fly traps and vines twisting around the professor sitting within. Others had floating spheres with sand making strange patterns within or others, like the stand for History of Magic, simply had one dusty book with a spiritless ghost sleeping in a chair behind it.

Corby Abraham, a seventh year Ravenclaw, was standing at the entrance. He was the head boy that year but, despite his prestigious rank, he turned his nose up at Mezrielda and Bagsy, withholding the leaflets he’d been giving out to other students. The head girl, standing at his side, awkwardly handed one first to Mezrielda and then, with a widening of her eyes and a shaking hand, another to Bagsy.

A sly smile spread across Corby’s face. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ he said to the head girl, who glared back at him.

‘Pack it in, Corby,’ she said, before casting a grimly curious look at Bagsy.

Mezrielda gave the head girl and boy a glare before ushering Bagsy onwards. Bagsy tried not to think about the fact she’d been classified as dead for the majority of the summer.

The NEWT fair was uncomfortably crowded. There were a host of subjects to choose from and whilst some professors were more than happy to wait for students to approach their stall and ask questions only if they wanted to, others demanded students take a look.

‘Bagsy! Mezrielda!’ Wattleseed called abruptly, hidden by the mass of foliage cramped into the small stall space he’d been given. He waved frantically at them to come and take a look, the large leaves shaking as he inadvertently hit them.

Bagsy happily trotted over, craning her neck to see the palm tree stretching up to the bewitched ceiling that showed the cloudless sky beyond.

‘You simply have to choose Herbology, Bagsy,’ Wattleseed said, before setting off on a rant about the wonders of magical plants. Bagsy listened politely. She’d already decided to take Herbology, but she felt guilty asking Wattleseed to stop talking when he was so enthusiastic. When Wattleseed moved onto the other NEWT subject he taught, Modern Cuisorcery and all the forms of baking, grilling and roasting it looked at, Bagsy grimaced, wondering how long he would talk for.

Mezrielda finally said on Bagsy’s behalf, ‘If you don’t mind we need to look at the other subjects, too, and there are a few students waiting to speak to you.’ Mezrielda indicated the queue impatiently eying Mezrielda and Bagsy.

Wattleseed gave an awkward laugh, stroking his goatee. ‘Right! Right. Off you pop then. But take a piece of forget-not fudge first!’ He held a tray of brown cubes towards them. Bagsy took one, smiling her thanks, whilst Mezrielda moved on with a swish of her hair.

‘How childish,’ Mezrielda tutted as Bagsy took a bite of the fudge.

‘It’s yummy,’ Bagsy remarked, offering to rest to Mezrielda, who crinkled her nose. ‘If it were pumpkin flavoured would that help?’

Mezrielda scoffed. ‘Of course. Pumpkin is infinitely more mature.’

When they passed the Potions stand, neatly lined with gleaming cauldrons, Professor Stery didn’t say anything, merely twirling the star-shaped beads on the end of his long, white beard and arching an eyebrow at her. Bagsy gave him a small smile, before continuing along. She was also definitely going to take Potions.

Mezrielda was interested in the Ministry Management course, run by the Muggle Studies teacher Professor Barnsley.

‘Mezrielda,’ Barnsley greeted her. ‘Will you be taking Muggle Studies at NEWT level?’

‘Unfortunately, no,’ Mezrielda said, taking one of the slips from the table and examining it as though it were an ancient transcript. ‘Though I am intrigued by the Ministry Management class.’

‘It’s perfect for those with ambitions for the Ministry,’ Barnsley encouraged her. ‘Especially Minister for Magic itself.’ His eyes glinted knowingly.

‘Perhaps I’ll see you for Ministry Management, in that case,’ Mezrielda responded coolly, though Bagsy could tell she was excited by the way she neatly folded the slip and put it in her pocket, giving it a pat to make sure it was secure.

They moved on and stopped when they saw Starrett, Mephit and Fitzsimmons at stalls next to each other. Starrett and Mephit had one stall each and another between them. Starrett’s stall was simple; a plain red cloth over a table with a sign-up sheet for those wishing to take Charms at NEWT level.

Starrett made a cordial dip of her head in their direction, before pushing the sheet forward. ‘You received a O in Charms,’ Starrett addressed Mezrielda. ‘If you can refrain from insubordination I might consider you for the NEWT class.’

Gritting her teeth, Mezrielda snatched up the quill and signed in her curling, calligraphy-eques writing. ‘No promises,’ she said in a low voice.

‘No promises, professor,’ Starrett corrected for her.

Mezrielda straightened, nostrils flaring as she began a staring contest with Starrett. Bagsy watched on, helplessly accepting the stubborn show.

‘As you wish, professor,’ Mezrielda drawled out at last.

Mephit wafted his hand through the air, the muscles of his arm bulging below his button-up shirt and robes. ‘Emese, is there really need for that?’ Starrett gave him a look a thousand times worse than the one she’d held against Mezrielda. ‘But, of course, it’s important students understand authority. But, then again, respect should be earned, not expected. Though, I suppose-’

As Mephit rambled, and Starrett pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and presumably counting to ten, Mezrielda moved to Fitzsimmons’ stall where she swiftly signed up for Defence Against the Dark Arts, before motioning Bagsy over.

Bagsy gave Starrett a small goodbye wave as she moved on. ‘Hello Professor Fitzsimmons,’ she greeted before blinking down at the stall. ‘You teach two NEWT subjects?’

‘I do,’ Fitzsimmons confirmed. ‘Like many teachers at Hogwarts.’ They tapped the pile of dusty old books on the left side of their stall. ‘Phypnotic. It’s philosophy with a focus on the magical significance of different ways of thinking and how they impact auras and behaviour.’ They opened one of the ancient books – the pages yellowed and wrinkled – and pointed. ‘We look at the meaning and power behind symbols and symbolism, abstract thinking, and the workings of the world at large. It’s a relative of Divination, hence why Mephit is next to my stall.’ They gave a polite nod in Mephit’s direction, who was now ummmm-ing and ahhhhh-ing to Fiona and Killian, who were considering if they wanted to sign up for Divination or Care for Magical Creatures.

Bagsy took a moment to mull the subject of Phypnotic over in her mind. It sounded a bit like Opius Pepsini’s Unseen Connections and a small part of her was still frustrated she had never fully understood the book. Bagsy asked timidly, ‘Professor, what would someone have to have got in their OWLs to take Phypnotic?’

Fitzsimmons leant back in their chair. ‘Are you interested? Phypnotic is open to all students irrespective of grades.’

Beaming, Bagsy signed her name. Mezrielda followed soon after.

‘Mez?’ Bagsy questioned. She hadn’t expected Mezrielda to be interested in taking Phypnotic. It didn’t sound like her kind of thing. Mezrielda simply shrugged, not offering an answer. Bagsy would have pushed her on it had Killian not abruptly throw his arms over their shoulders, taking them by surprise.

‘Hello,’ Killian said happily. ‘After a long summer we meet again, at last. Paths separating, paths crossing, twining like the rivers of an ever-changing forest. Heraclitus said you can never step in the same river twice.’

Fiona added, as Killian released Bagsy and Mezrielda, ‘And I used to think that I wouldn’t have to listen to the same boring philosophies over and over again, yet here we are.’

Killian pouted. ‘What do you have against Heraclitus?’

Fiona made a face. ‘I’d have less against him if you didn’t bring him up every two sentences.’ Bagsy couldn’t help feeling deep relief that Killian and Fiona were both acting so normal, she would have hated it if they’d brought up the fact she’d been supposedly dead over the summer.

Fitzsimmons sat forwards in interest. ‘Killian, I was hoping to see you.’

‘I bet you were!’ Killian signed his name assuredly down. ‘I’ve been waiting my whole life to take Phypnotic!’

‘I’ll see you in class.’

‘Come on,’ Fiona urged Killian, dragging him away from the stand. ‘I want to sign up for Modern Cuisorcery and sneak another free fudge.’

Bagsy watched the two boisterous students leave. ‘Modern Cuisorcery?’ she said, looking at Mezrielda.

‘Magic baking,’ Mezrielda filled in for her. ‘What Wattleseed was talking about earlier.’

Their next stop was Professor Allthorn’s stand, where Arice and his younger sister Lorna were speaking with Oscar. It looked heated.

‘An author should be careful with what they publish,’ Arice was arguing. ‘It can have a harmful impact on the world!’

Lorna, a tiny girl with tan skin, blonde hair in pigtails and green eyes as bright as her mother and brother’s, looked a few moments away from a tantrum. ‘But those mean beasties need to be told on! Authors should tell people how nasty they are!’

Oscar was drumming his fingers on his side furiously, his hand twitching every few moments. His shoulders were hunched and tense and Bagsy didn’t think she’d ever seen him so unhappy. ‘An author should observe and report what they see, and strive to improve,’ Oscar countered. ‘Also, call them magical beings – not beasties.’

Professor Allthorn stood up from her seat, raising her large arms for silence. ‘You all make good points,’ she said, before putting her hands on her hips and turning her attention to Lorna. ‘Except you, young missy. We’ve been over this before. Articles can have hidden reasons to say what they are saying.’

Lorna looked at her feet, scuffing them on the floor. ‘Yes, mum,’ she said, sourly.

‘Oscar, was it?’ Professor Allthorn checked, smiling warmly at him. Oscar, eyes averted from everyone else, gave a mute nod. ‘You make a compelling point. Authors should report what they see and strive to improve, but sometimes they need to bide their time until they have enough evidence or if the information is particularly sensitive. And Arice,’ the professor turned to her son, ‘you are right, sometimes what is published can hurt the world, but sometimes an author needs to be brave and take a risk.’ Her speech finished, Professor Allthorn clasped her hands together and beamed happily at Bagsy and Mezrielda, who’d been standing off to the side watching. ‘Interested in Acta and Journamancy?’

‘Uhh,’ Bagsy fumbled, eyes scanning the display of newspapers, specialised cameras and basins where moving pictures were being developed. She wanted to lie and say yes, then find some excuse to avoid signing up, but then she looked at Arice and realised she should just be upfront. ‘Not really. Sorry.’

‘Not to worry. And you?’

Mezrielda gave her head a shake. ‘I’m quite alright.’

Oscar, however, produced one of his quills from his bag and wrote his name carefully, using only straight lines, as though his writing were a piece of art demanding the upmost precision. Keeping his eyes averted he gave Professor Allthorn a nod, Arice a nod, and Mezrielda and Bagsy a nod before carefully walking past them, keeping his distance.

Bagsy and Mezrielda moved quickly on to look at the Enchraftment stall, which trained students in the creation and enchantment of all forms of art. Professor Hilkins offered the subject, but also taught Transfiguration. Mezrielda ignored Enchraftment and quickly signed up for Transfiguration whilst Bagsy noticed Itsuki and Nevis’ names down for the art-themed subject. It only made sense, she figured, they had created lots of kinds of art over their years at Hogwarts.

They continued their journey around the hall, allowing the crowd to carry them. Bagsy signed on for Herbology, with a wide grin from Professor Wattleseed and an extra slice of fudge, and Thaumathletics, with an equally wide grin and two thumbs up from Professor Kim, though no fudge, and Professor Barnsley looked pleased when Mezrielda returned to sign her name for the Ministry Management course.

On their second lap of the fair they came to Professor Stery’s stall, who paused the twirling of the star-shaped bead at the end of his beard as they approached. ‘G’day. Signing up for Potions?’ He tapped a finger on the sheet. Bagsy nodded, scrawling her name on the line. As she did Mr Jones, the school nurse and twin of the Astrology professor, Professor Jones, scuttled over on his small legs and settled down next to Stery.

‘Another one, another one?’ Nurse Jones, a small, hunched man, asked, looking as exhausted as usual as he adjusted the triangular shapes plugged in his ears that trailed the coloured wires he used to asses injuries.

‘She seems to be signing up for Potions,’ Stery said. ‘Perhaps she would be interested, though. Bagsy, does Medicine and Magical Maladies sound intriguing to you? Nurse Jones and I teach it.’

Bagsy paused, looking at Mr Jones’ side of the stall where there was an assortment of crystals, brews and herbs. It looked similar to Potions and her mind was already alive with ideas on how she could use healing remedies in her inventions. Impulsively, she signed up for it, too.

When they moved away, Mezrielda was shaking her head.

‘What?’

‘Trust you to sign up for Medmad,’ Mezrielda murmured, Bagsy realising she looked slightly amused.

‘It looked useful.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fantastic at it, too,’ Mezrielda added. ‘I would note that it’s known for being a tough subject – they don’t call it Medmad for nothing. I’ll say good luck and leave it at that.’

As they followed the movement of students they found themselves back in front of Starret. There was one more subject Bagsy wanted to sign up for, even if Mezrielda seemed certain she was taking too many.

Bagsy asked, ‘Professor, where do I sign up for Alchemy and Artificing?’

Starrett gesturdc at a small stall between herself and Mephit, ‘Professor Mephit and I run Alchemy and Artificing.’ On the stall sat an assortment of cogs, glinting jewels and coloured powders, in front of which was a sign-up sheet.

Mezrielda looked at Bagsy. ‘You’re going to take this, aren’t you?’

‘Definitely.’

‘I shall too, then–’

‘Not so fast,’ Starrett interrupted, picking the quill up from the table before Mezrielda could grab it. ‘To take artificing you need an outstanding OWL in both Potions and Herbology.’

Mezrielda narrowed her eyes. ‘I achieved exceeds expectations in both,’ she retorted hotly. ‘Surely that is enough?’

‘Not for Alchemy and Artificing. You might have talent, Miss Glint, but your test papers showed a weak commitment to revision. Lack of laziness is paramount in Alchemy and Artificing.’

Mezrielda pointed angrily at the items on the table. ‘How do Potions and Herbology even relate to Alchemy and Artificing?’

Starrett blinked slowly at Mezrielda, a sly smile spreading on her face. ‘If you wanted to know you’d need to take the subject, wouldn’t you?’

Mezrielda’s hand curled into a fist. Bagsy looked at Starrett with a frown.

Starrett drew in a breath, dropping her smug expression reluctantly at Bagsy’s look. ‘It has been proven that minds attuned to Potions and Herbology are the minds that can grasp and progress in Alchemy and Artificing. It is a toiling, difficult work that requires a particular kind of persistence most tested by Potions and Herbology. It is for your own good that you are not allowed to take the subject. It wouldn’t suit you.’

Mezrielda looked ready to bite Starrett’s head off but Bagsy put a hand on her arm and Mezrielda, too, drew in a breath. ‘So be it. Go on then, Bagsy.’

‘But–’ Bagsy tried to protest, feeling guilty for signing up for something Mezrielda couldn’t but wanted to.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Mezrielda chastised her. ‘You’ll be the finest artificer this world has ever seen, don’t go squandering your gifts on my account. Sign your name.’

Starrett held the quill out to Bagsy, looking somewhat pleased with Mezrielda for once. With a small hesitation, Bagsy took the quill from Starrett and signed, stuttering in surprise at the other name on the list. Once she was done, she gave the quill back to Starrett, straightened, and looked around the hall.

There had been only one other name on the sign-up sheet.

Primrose Vinski.

Chapter Text

That evening Bagsy and Mezrielda theorised why Primrose had signed up for Alchemy and Artificing as they settled into the library nook.

‘She’s never shown an interest in it before,’ Bagsy all but wailed. ‘She’s going to ruin the best subject in the world!’

Mezrielda cast her a sympathetic look. ‘It is highly unfortunate she chose to take it.’

‘Yeah,’ Bagsy agreed sullenly, voice muffled as she’d placed her face flat on the table. She banged her head down a few times, only to find Mezrielda had transfigured the wood into fluffy pillows.

‘Your brain is too important to damage it like that,’ Mezrielda offered as her excuse. ‘Besides, I’m not sure you have the braincells to spare.’

Enjoying the softness of the transfigured table, and the joking mockery from Mezrielda, Bagsy turned her head to the side, letting her eyes flutter closed. ‘It’s not fair,’ she complained, before she heard footsteps approaching. She opened her eyes to see a tall boy with dark hair falling in his face walking over. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders were back, and a crooked smile spread lazily across his face.

‘Hello,’ Tod Alden said and Bagsy sat up straight instantly, Mezrielda’s wand already in her hand. It wasn’t pointed at Tod, but she was making it plain she could use it if she felt the need. Tod eyed the wand. ‘There’s no need for that. We’re all friends here.’

‘Are we?’ Mezrielda snarled.

The previous animosity Bagsy had felt for Tod had melted when she’d seen what he’d been through. He’d lost his sister when he’d been younger and then, more recently, he’d lost his brother. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Magnus was alive and well with his family, but Tod knew the truth. Bagsy swallowed. In a way, Magnus had died because of the refulgents, but if they hadn’t fought back against the Ministry’s propaganda they would have taken Mezrielda’s parents. Bagsy’s head swam with too many thoughts to understand who was to blame, but she knew that she could understand Tod. He’d been afraid. Bagsy, more than anyone, could relate.

‘What is it?’ Mezrielda pushed. ‘Need another favour?’

Bagsy expected Tod to flinch at the comment but his crooked smile was unwavering.

‘I’m here to offer my services,’ he drawled, his brown eyes flicking from Bagsy to Mezrielda. ‘As a spy.’

Thinking someone had poured a bucket of freezing water over her, Bagsy blinked at Tod.

Mezrielda seemed unconvinced. ‘Of course, you are, and I’m someone that needs your help. Any other lies we should get out the way?’

Tod’s smile fell. ‘I’m serious. My parents are trying to bribe the Wizengamot so they can send professors into Hogwarts under Philip’s control. I’m keeping tabs on their progress and I thought you might want to be in on the loop, too.’

Bagsy struggled to breathe for a moment, gripping the table tightly. ‘Do you mean that?’

Tod regarded her. ‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.’

Bagsy’s brow furrowed. ‘But wouldn’t telling us that put you in danger?’

Tod shrugged and looked to the side. He didn’t answer.

Mezrielda folded her arms, leaning back and looking satisfied that she’d figured him out. ‘What do you want in return?’

Tod fixed his eyes steadfastly on Mezrielda. ‘Nothing.’

Silence settled around them. Bagsy wondered if Mezrielda and Tod had been frozen by a spell, until Mezrielda’s eyebrows rose and she unfolded her arms, gesturing for Tod to leave. ‘Fantastic to know. Keep us informed. Now shoo.’

With one last crooked smile Tod turned and left them alone.

Bagsy turned to Mezrielda, throwing her arms wide. ‘What does this mean?’ she squeaked out quietly, trying to keep her voice low. ‘Is he on our side again?’

‘No.’ Mezrielda placed a hand to her chin, looking at where Tod had left. ‘This means we can trust him even less.’

Bagsy dropped her arms to her side. ‘Why?’

‘If he wants nothing in return from us then he’s gaining something somewhere else, namely, from the other Aldens. He really means to spy on us for them.’

Hope fading like a snuffed candle, Bagsy looked sullenly in the direction Tod had gone. She’d hoped that, for once, he was looking at the world without thinking of transactions. Once again, Bagsy had reached a dumb conclusion. ‘Right,’ she bit out.

Mezrielda said, ‘I don’t think we’ve played a game of traitor since you’ve been back.’ Her friend shuffled through the wealth of transfigured items in her bag to fish out the pack of cards. ‘Shall you draw first, or shall I?’

Finding herself forgetting about Tod already, Bagsy reached forward, grateful for the change of topic. ‘I’ll draw. You always win when you draw.’

Mezrielda let her take the cards, snorting in amusement. ‘I also always win when you draw.’

‘Not that one time,’ Bagsy countered, giving the cards a shuffle.

‘That doesn’t count. It was dark. I couldn’t see how red your lying face was.’

Bagsy stuck her tongue mockingly out at Mezrielda, who tried to subtly cover her mouth. Bagsy knew she was smirking and found a fluttering in her chest at the sight. She couldn’t feel too bad when she, inevitably, lost, because she was losing to Mezrielda.

They had played a few rounds, the sun long since departed from the sky, when Mezrielda tilted her head in thought. Bagsy watched her as she reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of paper, ripped on one side, that was thick and crinkled.

Mezrielda placed it on the table. ‘I took this from the hut Keeda and I talked in,’ she explained, indicated the cursive writing. ‘It was from a list of vows knights took. Muggle knights,’ she clarified.

Bagsy read it out loud. ‘Sir Pavot, Vow of Vanquish. What does that mean?’

‘I haven’t the slightest notion but look at the year the knight made the vow.’

 ‘1804…’

‘The year of the great decline, and near extinction, of wizard kind.’

‘The year the blood eyed beast rose to power,’ Bagsy realised. ‘And when she was defeated.’

‘Exactly. It wouldn’t surprise me if this muggle knight made a vow to slay the beast.’

Bagsy looked at the knight’s name mournfully. She doubted he had survived the ordeal.

‘I saw the date and took it, in case it was useful.’

‘I guess only time can tell,’ Bagsy said.

‘Indeed.’

The first thing they did when term began was hand out letters, laced with the perfect amount of denigration substance to vanish once read, to the refulgents present in Hogwarts, explaining everything that had happened and most of what they knew. Bagsy had convinced Mezrielda that explaining the return of the beast to them was necessary, as was the truth of Bagsy’s mistaken death and everything else that had happened at the end of the last school year. Mezrielda hadn’t been keen on the idea, but with the reasoning that the refulgents had always been helpful and could only continue to be so by being informed, she’d given in. Bagsy was glad Mezrielda had agreed to her reasoning, it meant Bagsy’s poor decision-making skills had lucked their way onto something correct for once.

The letter to the refulgents wasn’t the only letter Bagsy saw as the school year began again. At one breakfast, she found a barn owl swoop low over her plate, dropping a note into her lap.

Mezrielda squinted at the letter, leaning over curiously as Bagsy picked the scroll up and unfurled it. ‘Who’s it from?’

‘Greenda,’ she said softly. She hadn’t seen Greenda since the night they broke into the Ministry. Quickly, pushing the thought of Bontie from her mind, Bagsy read the letter.

‘What does it say?’

‘Greenda’s confused,’ Bagsy murmured quietly. ‘She’s got an internship at St Mungo’s and she doesn’t see how any healer, rookie or not, could mistake a draught of living death for the killing curse. Not under close examination, anyway.’

Mezrielda furrowed her brow. ‘What should we tell her?’

Bagsy didn’t respond at first. She was busy reading the rest of Greenda’s letter, who said she dearly missed her, and Hogwarts, and was complaining about the intense work hours of being a trainee healer but most of all was threatening to kill Bagsy if she ever scared her like that again. As awful as Bagsy felt about what Bontie had done, the pain seemed somewhat subdued by the evident concern Greenda felt for her. ‘The truth,’ Bagsy decided, preparing to write a response.

‘Hilarious,’ Mezrielda muttered, shaking her head, before realising Bagsy was serious. ‘You can’t be that stupid, can you?’

‘I aim to surprise,’ Bagsy retorted, not sure what about her action was stupid. Then again, she was always making mistakes. It wouldn’t surprise her if she’d been about the make another one.

‘The letter could be intercepted.’ Mezrielda fixed her with a look as if it was obvious which, Bagsy supposed, it should have been.

‘Oh,’ she said quietly. ‘Good point.’ Instead, she scrawled a quick response, expressing how much she missed Greenda, how strange the situation was, and claiming she had no clue herself what had happened. She felt itchy writing the lies. Even so, Mezrielda nodded in approval as she sent the barn owl away with the letter.

‘We have to be careful,’ Mezrielda reminded her. Bagsy just nodded.  

When lessons began, Bagsy had the strangest experience in her life, which was saying a lot: she loved every single one of her lessons.

In Thaumathletics she worked her muscles, slowly but surely improving her speed as she dashed over gullies of tar that shifted into hands reaching up towards her or slid across the ground to pass below the juddering belly of a gargantuan trollephant. The obstacle rush had been upgraded over the summer and now had a larger variety of obstacles and magical creatures for them to deal with, owing to the Live Picture Projector 2.0 that had been installed within, creating life-like images of the creatures they had to avoid.

Bagsy was beginning to keep pace with Killian and Fiona and found that she was a little more competitive that she’d first realised. Before Fiona had been sour when Killian had teased her about being faster, but now that they’d communicated more clearly to each other their taunts were friendly and bashful. When they began directing them at Bagsy, urging her to run faster, cut corners quicker, and pull off trick jumps as extra flourishes when dodging the creatures, Bagsy was warmed by it. She ignored their advice, of course, she was far too frightened to run faster than she was comfortable with, but if she pushed a little extra thaumaturgy into her legs for a slightly larger leap, she figured it didn’t matter much anyway.

In Potions her mind was alive with the craft. The demands of NEWT level potions were a huge leap above what had been demanded of her at OWL level and, for once, she felt challenged. Each lesson asked for the simultaneous brewing of at least two difficult potions and if Bagsy had thought Stery was strict in OWL classes she had been sorely mistaken. He demanded nothing short of perfection from his NEWT students and wasn’t averse to vanishing hard-worked potions if there was even a smidge wrong with them, keeping students through break and lunch to complete the work correctly.

‘Do it again, mate,’ Stery would say, calm but firm, tapping his hand on the desk. ‘It’s important you get this right. The limb-tingle brew needs absolute precision. Can’t have you learning and remembering the wrong methods, now, can I?’

Fiona, who Bagsy had been surprised to find also taking Potions, had let out a frustrated sigh and started from scratch meanwhile Oscar, fiddling with his quill and drumming his fingers on the desk as he worked, followed every instruction obsessively. It was a strange experience as his station was next to Bagsy’s and, though Bagsy had the distinct impression Oscar wasn’t copying her, they moved in tandem as they followed the instructions in exactly the same manner.

Bagsy also shared Herbology with Oscar and Fiona and they sat next to each other in the smallest of the greenhouses. They’d never been allowed it in before as it was filled with plants far more dangerous than the others. Bagsy felt an odd privilege at being trusted around the stinging rose-fangs, or the thwacking thistles.

Wattleseed spoke a mile a minute and they desperately scribbled notes or, in the case of Oscar, fell behind whilst writing with perfectly straight-lined letters. He crafted highly detailed and neat notes, but it took him far too long and he always ended up behind. Bagsy happily leant Oscar her own notes so he could catch up. Oscar would look displeased at the disorder of Bagsy’s notes which, at first, made Bagsy a little self-conscious, until Oscar returned her notes with a few curt suggestions on how to organise them and a thank you for lending them to him in the first place. Bagsy tried not to be offended and found herself only grateful when, following his advice, her over-stuffed notebook found some semblance of order. Even Mezrielda had raised her eyebrows in surprised appraisal of the new system. Bagsy, finding her notes now took less than half-an hour of searching each time she wanted to find something, decided it was a good thing.

The red oak wand Starrett had gifted Bagsy was difficult to work with. The wand hadn’t chosen her, after all, and Bagsy already struggled with spells so she wasn’t surprised to find herself incapable of casting once more. It was exhausting going through the experience again but at least, given her subjects weren’t spell focussed, it was easy enough to push the issue from her mind.

On Thursday mornings Bagsy and Mezrielda had double Phypnotic – the one subject they both took.

‘At least I share most of my free periods with you,’ Bagsy said as they followed the direction of the map they’d been given. Phypnotic wasn’t held in any classroom they’d used before.

‘That’s because, unlike you, I wasn’t mad enough to take six NEWT classes.’

‘They’re all so interesting, though!’ Bagsy defended herself.

‘I’m sure they are but you tend to overwork yourself, or have you forgotten that time you were unconscious for five days because you’d resorted to a potion that faked sleep?’

Bagsy ducked her head, not mentioning the fact she still had a few vials of exhaust-gone here and there for rainy days even if she now tried to avoid it in favour of sleeping draughts of dreamless sleep. ‘That’s a good point.’

‘You can do as you like when it comes to low stakes choices like subjects, you’re your own person after all,’ Mezrielda said. ‘Just promise that if it starts to get too much you will drop something.’

‘Sure,’ Bagsy agreed, before a smile tugged at her lips. She didn’t know where the words came from, but they bubbled up her throat and out her careless mouth. ‘You’re cute when you care about me.’

Mezrielda’s eyes shot wide open and she nearly tripped over, grabbing onto one of the paintings on the wall to recover.

‘Let go of me!’ the man pushing a pram in the painting cried indignantly.

Mezrielda shot the painting a glare, pointedly removing her hand and showing her palms to him as evidence she’d let go. Folding her arms, Mezrielda continued walking. ‘I am not cute,’ she said. ‘And,’ she added, her voice growing so quiet Bagsy had to strain her ears, ‘it’s not when I care about you. I always care.’ She shot her a sharp look. ‘Because I’m such a wonderful person, of course. Someone as flawless as me is naturally in possession of a wealth of empathy and compassion.’

‘Oh, naturally.’ Bagsy nodded enthusiastically, trying not to laugh as Mezrielda avoided looking at her.

They took a set of moving stairs, stone scraping on stone as they shifted, before navigating a maze of passageways. The maps in their hands formed into arrows that turned and guided them through the confusing layout.

‘Is the castle really this large?’ Mezrielda murmured in confusion as they turned yet another corridor and came to a stop. The arrows on their maps had risen off the pages and were pointing upwards. Slowly, Bagsy and Mezrielda craned their necks. A waiting black hole was above their heads. ‘What’s this?’

‘It’s Professor Fitzsimmons’ office,’ Bagsy realised, she’d been inside a few times since she’d joined Hogwarts. The words were barely out of her mouth before a ladder of glass shot out of the hole and stopped with a clink on the stone floor. Bagsy leapt back, clutching the map to her chest, whilst Mezrielda’s eyes had calmly tracked the object to the floor.

‘Time to ascend,’ Mezrielda concluded, folding and pocketing her map before climbing up. Bagsy followed, hearing soft chimes from the ladder with each rung she used. Reaching the top, she stepped into the familiar lantern-lit room. Its domed ceiling arched high above and dust hung in the air or settled on the cream drapes with holes nibbled in them. Moths fluttered from one lantern to another and at the top of the room was an empty hammock made of interwoven ropes strung from the ceiling. 

‘Hello!’ A Scottish voice called from below them and Bagsy and Mezrielda turned to look down the hole. Killian didn’t bother climbing up, instead using his thaumaturgy to jump into the room, exuding anticipation. ‘I’ve never been more excited for anything in my life. My mind at last reaches its true destination. This is the beginning of a lifelong journey, and it all starts with a ladder, and you two.’ Killian beamed at them. Bagsy and Mezrielda just looked at Killian, nodding slowly with blank expressions.

They each took their seats in one of the many plush stools. Bagsy glanced up, eyes darting from moth to moth, until she noticed one at the back corner of the room. Her eyes told her it was Professor Fitzsimmons and now she knew how she could tell; her doppelganger eyes allowed her to.

Itsuki joined them a few moments later, to Bagsy’s surprise, and sat happily next to Killian. ‘I like the new patterns,’ Itsuki said, gesturing at Killian’s dark hair. It was buzz-cut short with an array of different images carefully styled by how it had been shaved.

‘Right? They’re really cool.’ Killian nodded at Itsuki’s mohawk. ‘Have you ever thought about dying your hair? I think a bit of blue would look really cool.’

Itsuki reached a hand up towards his hair, looking abashed. ‘You think?’

Killian and Itsuki trailed off into a detailed discussion about hairstyles, with Killian arguing that a man’s hair was an expression of his inner soul whilst Itsuki contended it was more about the pioneering of fashion, before they came to the agreement that it was both.

Bagsy shot Mezrielda a look. ‘If hair is meant to represent someone’s soul what would you say my soul is like?’

Mezrielda smirked. ‘Messy. Disorganised. Somehow both mouse and squirrel-like at the same time.’

Bagsy’s mouth hung open in mock offence. ‘Well your soul must be very, uh… sleek and…’ She looked Mezrielda’s hair up and down. ‘Dark?’

‘You are a master of words, truly.’

‘Brushed often, as well?’

Mezrielda held back a snort of laughter. ‘My souls is brushed often? How kind of you to say.’ Bagsy’s shoulders shook from quiet laughter before she saw Tod Alden’s face appear from the opening. Tod looked at her, then Mezrielda, then climbed into the room and silently sat on a stool furthest from everyone else. He was in Bagsy’s Potions’ lessons, too, but so many students took potions that it was easy to ignore him, whereas there were only five of them in the Phypnotic class so far.

When the moth in the corner fluttered over them and shifted into Fitzsimmons, Bagsy had a feeling all the students who took Phypnotic had arrived.

Floating to the floor, Fitzsimmons landed gently, a small wave of dust falling from their cream coloured robes. They swished their wand and the light from the lanterns burned brighter. ‘This will not be like your other subjects,’ they said, slowly sitting on their own stool and placing their hands in their lap. They eyed the students calmly with their magnified eyes. ‘Phypnotic improves the skill of thought. Nothing more or less.’ Killian smiled wide, looking like he might burst from excitement, while Tod was watching Fitzsimmons carefully, not looking in Bagsy’s direction. ‘Before we look into auras, we will consider a philosophical conundrum. The man in the locked room.’

Eyes sparkling with joy, Killian leapt out of his seat. ‘By John Locke! The ancient English philosopher who–’

‘Killian,’ Fitzsimmons cut over him, eyes narrowing. ‘Do not interrupt. In these lessons we speak calmly and with respect. Sit down.’

Giving a slow nod, and rubbing the back of his neck nervously, Killian sat back down. ‘Right. Sorry, professor.’

‘You are correct,’ they continued, expression neutral. ‘You have a good knowledge of philosophy, Killian. The question is; if a man is in a locked room but does not wish to leave, does he have free will? Before anyone answers, we will take a moment to think on this question.’ Fitzsimmons turned their eyes to the floor seeming in deep contemplation even though, Bagsy assumed, they had taught this lesson many times before. Focussing herself, Bagsy furrowed her brown and pursed her lips, looking up at the ceiling, her eyes tracking the moths. If the man was locked in the room then he couldn’t leave, so he wasn’t free, but if he didn’t want to leave then he’d never find out he was locked in and so would feel free.

Bagsy’s brain hurt.

Tentatively, Killian raised his hand.

Fitzsimmons dipped their head towards him. ‘Thank you for your patience. What do you think, Killian?’

‘The man isn’t free. He’s locked in the room so he can’t be! You can’t be free if you’re in a prison. It’s emblematic of life itself. What is life if not one great unseen prison from which we can never escape? The real question is whether this prison is one we enjoy or not. The mysteries of the prison of life can be fantastical, but that doesn’t make the bars vanish.’

Tod looked mildly disgusted. He was hunched forward on his stool, his hands in his pockets. ‘That sounds like rubbish.’

Killian looked to Tod, seeming excited by his brash disagreement.

Fitzsimmons turned a sharp look in Tod’s direction. ‘We speak with respect in this class.’

‘Apologies,’ Tod said thickly, turning to Killian. ‘Your opinion is interesting, but I disagree,’ he rephrased. ‘I don’t think there’s some deeper meaning here about life being a prison. I think the real question is what happens if the door isn’t locked.’

Killian and Fitzsimmons seemed to be the only ones to understand what Tod was getting at, tilting their heads to the side in thought. Itsuki shot Bagsy a puzzled look and Mezrielda seemed annoyed – even insulted – that she couldn’t figure out what Tod had meant.

‘The man is free,’ Mezrielda announced, crossing her arms. ‘He doesn’t will to leave the room so it doesn’t matter if the door is locked or not. He can do exactly what he wills and so he is free.’

Tod tutted, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Again, I disagree. Mezrielda, think about it. Whether the door is locked or not, the man isn’t free.’

Itsuki was rubbing his temples. ‘My head hurts,’ he complained, Bagsy internally agreeing. ‘I don’t get it.’

Killian leant towards Itsuki, murmuring an explanation in a low voice to him.

Tod leant back. ‘No matter what the man ends up willing he didn’t decide that’s what he was going to will. If he doesn’t control his own will it doesn’t matter if he wants to stay or go, or whether either option is possible. He never made a choice to be the kind of person that wants to stay or leave. Such a choice is impossible. He isn’t free.’ There was something deeply depressing in the expression on Tod’s face when Bagsy looked at him. He looked saddened by his own argument.

Killian, having finished explaining to Itsuki, was nodding along, looking pensive and entirely undisturbed by the idea. ‘If that were the case then life would be a train track and we the passengers incapable of escape.’

Tod’s expression only darkened at that and Bagsy found herself blurting out before she thought better of it. ‘I disagree!’ She glanced at Fitzsimmons to check she hadn’t spoken disrespectfully. Fitzsimmons blinked at her, waiting patiently. ‘That can’t be where the question stops,’ Bagsy insisted. ‘Whether we’re on a train track as Killian says or whether we aren’t, surely all that matters is that we enjoy the ride?’

It was barely perceptible, but Tod’s eyes opened a fraction before he looked away.

Itsuki, looking like he finally understood, raised a hand. ‘I disagree with Bagsy,’ he said, once Fitzsimmons had called on him. ‘It does matter if we’re on a train track, right? It’s like the idea of history repeating itself over and over again. If we don’t have control of things, and so bad things keep on happening and we never learn from our mistakes, then that sounds pretty miserable to me.’

Bagsy swallowed, looking at Itsuki for a very long time, and finding his words utterly terrifying as her mind desperately tried to find a way to counter them but found none. She could only think about all the mistakes she’d ever made, and how much misery had come as a result.

Mezrielda shrugged, seeming less annoying than she had been a moment ago. ‘If we’re now just discussing whether or not actions are decided and whether or not this matters I’d think the answer is rather obvious, isn’t it? Given there exists people who can look into the future through reading the threads of fate which are based on causation?’

The conversation quickly moved onto things Bagsy had no hope of understanding, especially with how downtrodden her emotions were from what Itsuki had said but, eventually, they moved off the topic of the man in the locked room.

The rest of the lesson was rather dry in comparison to the lively, and existentially terrifying, opening discussion. They studied a different theories on free will, and how different perceptions of it impacted the strength of an individual’s magic, before it was time for lunch.

‘Thank you, professor,’ Bagsy said politely at the end, before climbing down the ladder. Mezrielda was waiting for her on the corridor below, the other students having already left. Tod had been the first to leave, remaining tight lipped as he did so, Killian had jumped down to the floor and Itsuki had used his prehensile hair to navigate the ladder swiftly.

Bagsy’s brain felt fuzzy after all the strange concepts they’d been talking about and Mezrielda seemed equally befuddled, which was a nice change of pace. Mezrielda had seemed to find some footing in the conversation but, as the lesson had dragged on, had slid back to being frustrated and confused.

Bagsy pointed out, ‘For once it’s not just me that’s struggling.’

‘At least we’re suffering together,’ Mezrielda grumbled as they found their seats in the great hall and Bagsy tried to ignore the few stares sent her way. At least as people acclimatised to her being alive again the novelty of the situation wore off and they left her mainly in peace.

‘That’s true,’ Bagsy agreed, not mentioning that if she had to drop a subject, Phypnotic would be the first to go, and feeling guilty for it.

Chapter Text

The fuzziness Phypnotic had caused Bagsy’s mind was a pain when it came time for Medicine and Magical Maladies after lunch.

So far that term, she’d had two lessons of Medmad in the Medmad classroom which was like one giant work shop, with multiple stations filled with precise vials, tubes, cauldrons and tools. Like the Potions room it was stocked with ingredients, but there were also crystals, strange coloured collections of dust, and enchanted ornaments. Her first two lessons earlier that week had been with Mr Jones, who’d busied around the classroom muttering repetitively to the students as they read through some textbooks and filled out question sheets on the impact of hurlinton dew on rashes and ferryfox gloves on weak poisons.

Bagsy shared the subject with a handful of students, some of whom she knew. She was best acquainted with Fiona, who sat next to her, but she also recognised Maisy and Rebekah.

Unlike Bagsy’s other subjects, she had Medmad four times a week, so on top of her two lessons with Nurse Jones she had a double lesson with Professor Stery on Thursday evenings. She thought she’d finally seen him at his strictest in NEWT level Potions, but she was once again proven wrong.

‘If you mess about in this class…’ Stery threw the doors of the Medmad room open, sweeping into the room. Bagsy jumped at the abruptness of it. ‘I won’t hesitate in kicking you out. Medicine and Magical Maladies looks at the treatment of injuries and illnesses. You will be practising on each other. If you do not take this as seriously as it should be taken you will never step foot in this room again.’ He paused at the front of the class, turning to face them. Bagsy suppressed a shiver at the sight of his entirely grey eyes and the reminder that, when he looked at her, he saw the same thing. ‘Am I absolutely clear?’

The class nodded.

‘Fiona,’ Stery said, gesturing at her. ‘Repeat what I just said?’

‘Don’t mess around or you’ll kick us out of the class.’

‘Thank you, Miss Greel. Today you will work in pairs. I will set a timer. You will have ten minutes for one of you to brew a potion, whilst the other records the symptoms they experience.’ A few hands rose into the air. ‘Why will you be experiencing symptoms?’ Stery guessed their question. The hands fell. ‘The other student will be taking a mild poison which will knock them unconscious after the ten minutes are up. You will need to prepare and administer the antidote before then.’

Fiona and Bagsy, seeing as their work stations were next to each other, paired up whilst Stery moved around the classroom, murmuring instructions and handing every other student a vial of dark coloured liquid.

He stopped by Bagsy and Fiona. ‘Who shall be taking the poison?’ he asked, holding the vial out.

Fiona and Bagsy shared a look. Fiona widened her eyes, indicating that Bagsy should drink it, whilst Bagsy tried to nudge Fiona under the table, urging her to volunteer.

Stery put the vial on the table and fiddled with the star beads at the end of his beard, watching them patiently. ‘Any time today.’ A minute passed and Stery, making the decision for them, pushed the vial towards Bagsy. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

‘But–’ Bagsy cut off when Stery held the vial out to her. Shoulders sagging, she took it from him.

Stery moved to the front of the class, told the selected students to drink the vial and began his timer; an hourglass hovering at the front of the class, the sand slowly sinking down as the minutes ticked by.

Bagsy’s hands shook. Stery had asked them to do this task and Bagsy trusted Stery. He’d helped her come to terms with being a doppelganger and he was a good Potions professor, after all, so Bagsy drank the mild poison, finding it flavourless.

She began taking notes of her symptoms. For the first few minutes she mainly felt anxious but then she swore she started to feel tingles in her fingers or a cold creeping up the back of her neck. Whilst she furiously scribbled, Fiona was a mess, her dark ginger hair coming out of her bun as she tried desperately to work through the steps to brew the antidote. She constantly looked over at Bagsy, swallowing thickly before returning to her task.

When the ten minutes had nearly run out Fiona didn’t look even close to finishing and Bagsy had a scrawled mess of contradicting symptoms she was certain she had.

‘That’s time.’ Stery walked about the classroom, looking curiously at the different antidotes that had been produced. Bagsy paused, eyebrows slowly knitting together, when she noticed that every antidote looked different. Some were pink, others blue, some looked thick and viscous, whilst other were one degree away from becoming a gas.

Rebekah, cleaning her fogged up glasses, looked around. ‘I haven’t fainted,’ she said, indicating the antidote her partner had made for her. ‘But I haven’t drunk the antidote.’

‘Of course, you haven’t fainted,’ said Stery. ‘Did you really think I’d have you take a mild poison in your first lesson?’ Bagsy gently hit her face with her palm realising what idiots they all were. Stery circulated to the back of the classroom, raising his eyebrows at Maisy’s antidote, which was letting out a low growl and trying to crawl out of its vial. ‘Tell me, why did I set such a difficult task to be completed in such a short time and with relatively high stakes?’ Rebekah put her hand up. ‘I’m going to call on someone,’ Stery clarified, to which Rebekah sulked and lowered her hand. ‘Broderick, why did I do that?’

The boy, Broderick, who was wearing red Gryffindor robes, looked confused. ‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Do you think we should rush in medicine, Broderick?’ Stery pressed.

Broderick shook his head, then his eyes widened a little. ‘You wanted us to learn to stay calm and take our time even under pressure?’

Pleased, Stery nodded. ‘Indeed.’ He paused next to Bagsy’s station, flicking through the numerous symptoms she’d written down. ‘And why do you think I asked you to record your experiences?’ His eyes scanned the class for a victim. Bagsy tried to quickly think of the answer, in case he called on her. Stery’s gaze settled on a girl at the back and Bagsy let out a breath of relief. ‘Lia?’

‘The vial didn’t have a poison?’ Lia checked.

‘Correct.’

‘So, we wouldn’t have had any symptoms.’

‘Also correct.’

‘But we’ve all written loads. You wanted us to think about how we can sometimes make up symptoms in our head.’

‘Brilliant. Ten point to Gryffindor for Broderick and Lia’s answers.’ Stery put Bagsy’s notes down and moved back to the front of the class. ‘If you intend, as a fair few of you here do, to pursue a career in healing you need to be calm under pressure and accurate in your diagnoses. Gather information first and plan before you act, rushing in can cause a lot of harm. Taking a few moments to collect yourself, clear your mind and take stock of the situation can mean the different between life and death in medicine.’ 

The lesson stayed on the students’ minds as they continued working, learning about the seven principles of healing and the key order in which they should be followed to maximise survival of the patient. Then there was a four-step process they had to memorise for the treatment of relatively mundane yet harmful magical effects which were, according to the textbook, the most common referral in St Mungo’s.

Fiona squinted at the textbook. ‘Analyse, Douse, Rinse and Dry.’

‘Also known as ADORED,’ Bagsy finished, checking the textbook over as she filled out the answers on a quiz sheet Stery had given out. ‘For how it is adored in the healing community for its timeless effectiveness.’ Bagsy frowned. ‘I don’t get it. If you take time to analyse first you’re wasting time that could be spent healing.’

Fiona flipped the page over, scanning another paragraph. ‘I think it’s so you don’t end up wasting even more time treating the wrong thing. You need to analyse the issue first then attempt to cover the magical malady with an antidote or cure, then rinse the offending substance out, before drying using…’

‘Refreshment dust,’ Bagsy murmured, looking around the shelves. ‘I’ll go find us some then we can answer the analysis questions on it.’ Bagsy would also save some for her own personal use. Stery wouldn’t notice.

‘Good idea,’ Fiona agreed.

Bagsy realised why Medmad demanded four lessons a weak – there was so much content, and it was far more complex than Potions. You didn’t just need to know about brewing, you needed to learn about recognising different injuries and illnesses and how to treat them, too. It was like Potions if in Potions you were told what you were meant to make through convoluted riddles and had a tiny time frame in which to make them and then, on top of all of that, needed a strong understanding of humanoid anatomy.

‘One final lesson before you go,’ Stery said at the end of the double period. ‘Remember, you are all beginners in healing and even if one day you gain the green robes of a St Mungo’s healer you will still be a beginner. Overconfidence is your enemy. Do not assume that because you’re taking this class you can suddenly heal a broken leg or cleanse a pesky cough. If I hear anyone has been misusing the learning from these lessons for reckless reasons you will be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say bezoar. Am I understood?’

‘Yes!’ the students responded, before they were dismissed.

Quidditch try-outs were that evening but Bagsy left early. Griffin no longer coached the team and though the official story was that Hufflepuff no longer needed the extra help due to how oversubscribed the team was Bagsy suspected Griffin wouldn’t come back even if the team were low on players again, given everything that had happened with Bontie.

All Bagsy could think about whilst unfamiliar faces were trying out for the open positions on the quidditch team was what had happened with Bontie and the people who’d once been on the team. There was a space open for another beater and Bagsy watched the students in the younger years try out for it, hitting bludgers with their bats, looking inexperienced and clumsy. Each thwacking noise made Bagsy flinch until she murmured a sheepish goodbye to Jon and fled as quickly as she could back to the castle.

Bagsy was exhausted after a week of hard work, barely managing to keep up with the six NEWT classes she’d signed up for, one of which was named after how mad you had to be to choose it. She was also weighed down from quidditch try-outs, where Jon had reliably informed her that she would definitely be on the team again, but as she followed a rickety set of stairs up a tower to the Alchemy and Artificing classroom her energy quickly returned.

The Alchemy and Artificing classroom was a small attic room with a stained-glass window that seeped colourful beams onto the creaky, wooden floor and a large grandfather clock at the back. Two desks were stationed next to each other in front of a chalk board and stack of book. When Bagsy arrived one of the seats was already occupied and her energy drained from her instantly.

Primrose Vinski tilted her head backwards, looking at Bagsy upside down. ‘You live,’ she commented dryly, flashing her sharp, serpentine teeth.

Bagsy’s heart sped nervously and she moved to her own seat, sitting down and trying to subtly shuffle her desk away from Primrose. Primrose’s eyes tracked her movements, her forked tongue flicking in and out of her mouth. Bagsy didn’t know what to say. The last time she’d seen Primrose she had been trying to save her, but she’d also been working for Lewis. She desperately wanted to ask Primrose if she still was.

Whether or not she’d have been able to work the courage up to ask her Bagsy didn’t get the chance as Starrett stormed into the room and the lesson began. Whilst Bagsy’s mind was being filled with the methodolic table and its derivatives and how tritanium was the strongest metal known to wizard-kind, she tried not to get distracted by the occasional hiss or annoyed click of teeth from the seat next to her. At least with Starrett in the room Primrose left her alone, but when the first hour of the lesson ended and Starrett exited, leaving them with the newly arrived Professor Mephit, the class went sharply downhill.

Mephit didn’t notice, when he turned to write on the board about how the use of gas to combine two amber essences could or couldn’t be risky, that Primrose would ‘accidentally’ spill ink on Bagsy’s work, or slash a claw over her bag, ripping a hole in it. Towards the end she even went as far as to kick Bagsy’s chair, nearly knocking her over.

‘Bagsy!’ Mephit said, turning to see her gripping her desk to stop herself falling. ‘What has gotten into you this lesson?’

Bagsy glared at Primrose. ‘I’m being hassled, professor,’ she said honestly.

Mephit opened his mouth then closed it. After a pause, he said, ‘Obviously, whilst we must all try to get along, sometimes that isn’t possible. But it should always be possible. I must ask you to calm down and make amends. But, then again, I suppose it isn’t my place to tell you what to do…’

Disappointed to find the rest of the lesson filled with Mephit’s ramblings on reconciliation, Bagsy realised she wouldn’t be able to report Primrose when it was him teaching and not Starrett. When the bell rang, and they began to pack up their things, it was a relief.

Mephit rushed out of the classroom and Bagsy hurriedly shoved her belongings into her bag, eager to get out of there too. She reached for her notebook, only to see Primrose’s hand was pinning it to the table. ‘I thought we were passed this…?’ Bagsy said in a small voice.

‘You nearly got yourself killed going back in there for Starrett after I put my neck on the line for you,’ Primrose hissed, her other clawed hand flexing threateningly. ‘You have no idea what I went through because of how I tried to help you. I won’t forget that, Bagsy. Not ever.’ She gestured around the room. ‘No Mezrielda to protect you. I could kill you right now if I wanted. It would be fun to make her go through the grief a second time seeing as I missed it the first.’

Bagsy’s grip on her notebook tightened and she tugged it out from under Primrose’s hand, scratches ripping along it as she did so. ‘Why are you here?’ she spat. ‘You don’t like Alchemy or Artificing. How did you even get the grades needed to be here?’

Primrose pouted mockingly. ‘I take it Mezrielda didn’t get O’s in Potions and Herbology? Such a shame. Unlike that sloth of a Slytherin I actually revise.’ She grinned widely, baring her sharp teeth. ‘I got all O’s, or didn’t you know?’

Bagsy stared at Primrose, not believing it. Then, her fight or flight kicking in, she turned and rushed from the room, serenaded by the cruel laughter of Primrose as she went.

Chapter Text

Primrose continued to be a problem as the weeks passed, but not just to Bagsy. Primrose took pleasure in tearing, breaking, or setting fire to other student’s things, and no matter how many detentions Stery, Starrett or the other professors threw at her, she didn’t seem to care. It only served to train her to be more careful about when professors were looking her way.

‘She ripped up one of the articles I’d drafted for Magician’s Guide,’ Howe had complained as Elijah had asked Bagsy to mend the damage Primrose had done to his broom. Deep gouges were clawed into the wood.

Fiona reported Primrose had taken to nicking the food she made. ‘She didn’t like the smoking shortbread I baked,’ she explained one Potions lesson as they were always too focussed and swamped with work in Medmad to talk. ‘Ain’t my fault she nicked one without asking and ended up with her mouth on fire. I was trying out a new recipe.’ Primrose apparently also took Modern Cuisorcery and threatened the other students with a clawed hand in the eye if they didn’t fork over their creations. Fiona was sporting a fresh scar on her cheek from where Primrose had ‘accidentally’ lashed out during her painful ordeal consuming the stolen shortbread.

‘Careful!’ Maisy warned them abruptly from the work station behind. Fiona had been about to add double the dish-dew extract than was needed.

Fiona noticed the immanent mistake and corrected it. ‘Thanks, Maisy.’

In Potions Bagsy usually raced ahead and Fiona, ever sceptical, would demand Bagsy double check her work and take her time. If she was getting distracted just talking about Primrose Bagsy realised Primrose must have been acting quite a pain.

Bagsy looked back at Maisy. ‘Thanks,’ she said also, returning to her work. As she finished up a blue and pink hair-loss inducing potion, that did exactly what it sounded like it did, she glanced back at Maisy. Maisy still didn’t remember the sister she’d once had – Perdita Jewel – who’d been stolen away by Philip a long time ago. Bagsy could brew a potion of silver cleanse and give it to her and she’d remember, but she hadn’t done so yet. Pushing the topic from her mind Bagsy finished pouring her potions into air-tight vials. She didn’t want to make such an important decision. If Maisy really needed her memories back someone wiser, like Mezrielda, could make that choice.

A week later Bagsy saw first-hand how comically mean Primrose had become. She and Mezrielda were walking by the courtyard to their free period discussing Mezrielda’s plans to increase the success of the Corvid Club whilst Primrose was busy throwing a small third year Ravenclaw into the fountain and holding her head below the water, laughing. The Ravenclaw’s friends pushed her away and Primrose let go, mockingly hissing before stalking off. The drenched Ravenclaw looked shaken and her friends glared after Primrose as she retreated. Bagsy was stunned.

Mezrielda shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s as if she’s labouring under the impression she’s some sort of cartoon villain.’

‘Yeah,’ Bagsy agreed, tightening her grip on her satchel’s strap as she stared at the corridor Primrose had disappeared through. ‘Last year she seemed to have finally been making progress.’

‘One step forward, two thousand steps back,’ Mezrielda muttered.

Knowing Oscar was observant, Bagsy wanted to ask him his opinion on Primrose and her behaviour. Given she had Herbology after lunch, it wasn’t difficult to find him, but when she arrived for the lesson she saw Arice had sat down next to where she, Fiona and Oscar usually were.

‘Um, hi, Arice,’ Bagsy said awkwardly, taking her seat at the long oak table which was filled with baskets of white, squidgy leek-like plants. She eyed them curiously, wondering what Wattleseed was teaching them that lesson and if it had anything to do with how humid the greenhouse was that day.

‘Hi, Bagsy,’ Arice greeted.

Wattleseed burst into the greenhouse, the plants letting out small happy rustlings at his arrival. ‘Good afternoon, everyone!’ he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. ‘As you can see on the table today we will be beginning a practical on carottes de neurones, gifted to us from Beauxbatons in France. They’re famed for their use in mind-shielding potions. You all know the old phrase ‘a de neurone a year keeps the mind near’, right?’ Wattleseed beamed expectantly at them. When no one responded, he frowned and stroked his goatee. ‘Maybe not. Either way, let’s get to work. Instructions are in chapter two of the textbook, gloves and gear at the side. You all know the drill by now, you don’t need me babying you.’

‘Can you get them?’ Oscar said in a curt voice to Bagsy, who always found it hard to read his emotions. He seemed almost upset with her, as if he didn’t think she could do it.

‘S-sorry?’ Bagsy stuttered.

Arice wafted a hand comfortingly in her direction. ‘He’s just asking you to get the gear,’ he explained. Oscar nodded wordlessly. ‘Come on, I’ll go with you.’

Having Arice hang around them for Herbology turned out not to be that bad. Oscar kept everything in order, neatly organised and ready for use, whilst Fiona made sure each step was double checked and no one recklessly rushed through the work. Bagsy provided most of the knowledge and was more than happy to give demonstrations, like how to peel the carottes de neurones using the whittling technique the others hadn’t heard of and though it seemed at first like Arice didn’t contribute much to their group, each time Oscar said something that seemed blunt or insulting, and Bagsy worried she’d upset him, Arice was there to explain what he really meant.

As they were packing up Fiona leant towards Bagsy. ‘You’ve got yourself an Oscar-translator,’ she commented in a low voice. Bagsy shrunk down self-consciously. She knew she was the only one among the refulgents who struggled to understand the tone Oscar spoke with. When Bagsy looked over at Oscar he seemed perfectly content, happy even, for Arice to help mediate their conversations, so Bagsy decided she didn’t have to feel too guilty about it.

Despite this, on their way out, Bagsy asked Oscar if they could talk alone.

‘Sure,’ Oscar agreed, nodding goodbye to Arice.

They stopped at the side of a corridor.

‘Oscar, have you noticed Primrose acting… strangely?’

Spinning a quill in his hand, Oscar considered her question. ‘She’s resorting to petty acts of bullying more than before. It’s odd, and not an improvement in anything but stupidity.’

‘Anything else?’

‘She sneaks off as much as she did last year, so no changes there. Besides that, nothing else.’

Bagsy sighed. She knew she’d been foolish to hope for anything more – it wasn’t like Oscar’s one job was to spy on Primrose. ‘Thanks, Oscar.’

‘Of course,’ Oscar responded, not meeting her gaze, but forcing a smile onto his face. Bagsy realised it was his way of showing friendliness.

That evening was spent like most others; working in the library nook with Mezrielda. As Bagsy worked on the mountain of studying she had to do for her six NEWTS – most of which was for Medmad – Mezrielda was furrowing her brow curiously at a book she was leafing through.

Briefly distracted from her work, Bagsy squinted at the cover. ‘Ancient Knights,’ she read out loud, before giving Mezrielda an odd look. ‘What are you reading that for?’

Mezrielda didn’t take her eyes off the book but merely slid forward the piece of paper announcing Sir Pavot and his Vow of Vanquish. ‘The Knight made a vow to vanquish something in the year 1804. I refuse to believe that date is a coincidence, especially given I found this information on one of the errands that mysterious figure sent me on.’

‘Any luck?’ Bagsy glanced down at her essay, nibbling the end of her quill. She needed another thirty-five inches on the dangers of slow-releasing sedatives in automated hospital treatment and the textbook only had a paragraph on the subject.

‘Not so far,’ Mezrielda admitted, an edge of impatience in her voice. Bagsy could tell she was moments away from slamming the book down and giving up, so she shot her a look. ‘What?’ Mezrielda asked, not needing to look up to know Bagsy was staring at her.

‘If it’s important, keep reading.’

Mezrielda let her head flop backwards, groaning in displeasure. ‘But I don’t want to! I want to have found the answer already!’

‘These things take time.’

‘I wish they didn’t,’ Mezrielda snapped, sullenly returning her attention to the book. ‘But you’re right.’ She paused, her eyes finally flicked in Bagsy’s direction. ‘For once.’

‘For once?’ Bagsy put her quill down, temporarily giving up on her essay. ‘Is that a challenge?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Oh, it’s on,’ Bagsy murmured, leaning back in her chair and plotting. A similar scheming look had crossed Mezrielda’s face, before it fell into disbelief.

Mezrielda did slam the book onto the table then, but she didn’t look like she’d given up. ‘Bagsy!’ she hissed, pushing the opened book towards her and pointing at a name on the page.

Bagsy’s breath quickened, and she leant forward, reading. Sir Pavot was listed as an ancient knight involved in the search for the heart of the earth. ‘The world heart,’ Bagsy translated, voice quiet.

Mezrielda took the book back, pressing her face close to the pages as her eyes darted back and forth over the words. With a huff, she put the book back on the table. ‘That’s it. That’s all it says. Nothing else on the world heart or the beast or the great extinction. What utter stupidity. What a monumental waste of my precious time. Why bother writing a book if you shan’t include the most important parts!’

Bagsy offered Mezrielda a sympathetic smile. ‘Want to spend the rest of the free period in the foldable forge?’ She pulled the bronze cube from a pocket, holding it temptingly out.

Mezrielda pursed her lips, looking from the cube to Bagsy and back again. ‘That might perhaps be somewhat preferable,’ she said, which was Mezrielda-speak for absolutely.

Bagsy grinned and threw the cube onto the floor where it unfolded into a trap door. She knew she’d finish her essay before going to bed. Right now, she wanted to work on some invention ideas whilst Mezrielda transfigured a pebble into something cooler.

Down in the forge, the clunk of a hammer on molten metal was a comforting noise as Bagsy worked, hands clad in thick gloves to protect her from the heat.

‘What are you doing?’ Mezrielda asked, whilst inspecting the flowing shape she was working on herself, made from transfiguring some sand into turquoise glass that glinted in the amber light of the forge.

Bagsy paused her hammering, placing the metal into the slack tub before lifting her visor to look at Mezrielda. ‘I’m not really sure.’

Mezrielda said, nodding at the slack tub containing the metal Bagsy had been working on, ‘Whatever it is it looks like a mass of spaghetti melted together into the shape of a bug-catching net, or one of those strange muggle devices they use to throw those little fuzzy green spheres.’

‘I think they’re called dennis balls.’

‘Ew,’ said Mezrielda. ‘Poor Dennis.’

‘The rough idea…’ Bagsy said, pulling the metal out of the slack tub and shoving it back into the furnace. ‘Is to create a shell for a new invention. I can catch spells right now,’ she explained, reaching into her pocket and bringing out her spell-sponge gloves for effect, ‘but when we went to the Ministry Winifred was there, fighting with the other magical beings…’ Mezrielda stopped her work on her invention, looking at Bagsy in silence. Bagsy let out a breath. ‘I can’t blame her for hating the Ministry, but I also can’t agree with her. The beast isn’t someone you can work for. She’ll bring about the end of life as we know it, even if Winifred doesn’t realise that right now.’

‘We may have to fight Winifred one day,’ Mezrielda caught on to where Bagsy was going with this.

‘Yeah. Exactly. But I don’t want to hurt Winifred and I don’t want her to hurt me.’

Mezrielda’s eyes moved to the furnace. ‘You’re making something to absorb fire.’

‘Trying,’ Bagsy qualified. ‘It’s nowhere near done. I’m just testing out a few ideas for now.’ She pulled the metal out of the furnace with the careful use of tongs and set back to hammering. After she put it into the slack tub she looked over her shoulder at Mezrielda who was hovering twelve different glimmering objects and simultaneously shifting them from ice to water to snow and back again in mesmerising patterns. Bagsy nearly forgot about the metal in the slack tub she was so content to watch. ‘I’m also looking for ways to improve the spell-sponge gloves,’ Bagsy said, trying to cover how distracted she’d been a moment before.

‘Do tell.’

‘They can catch a few spells and then they get overloaded and shoot out a big yellow beam that hurts anything in its path.’ Bagsy gave her head a shake. ‘It’s not the safest invention.’

‘When are your inventions ever safe?’

Bagsy opened her mouth to argue, then recalled when she’d nearly exploded herself with her wand training wheels, and then nearly exploded herself again with her spell-catcher. ‘Still, I’m looking into some possibilities.’

Mezrielda raised her eyebrows at her. ‘How mysterious.’

Bagsy posed dramatically. ‘Why, I’m simply shrouded in intrigue,’ she said, mimicking Mezrielda’s intonation. Mezrielda snorted in amusement, then shot a small cluster of snowflakes at her nose. Bagsy let out a surprised eep when the cold impacted with her skin. ‘I am holding a pair of scalding hot tongs, you know?’ She wielded them as threateningly as she could.

Mezrielda made another noise of amusement, shooting a final set of snowflakes that hit Bagsy’s nose and made her sneeze, before returning to her transfigurations. ‘You’re too cute to look threatening,’ Mezrielda responded, a sly expression on her face. Bagsy flustered, feeling her face heat up, and wisely pulled her visor down to hide it. She supposed it was only fair Mezrielda got her payback for how Bagsy had complimented her earlier, she rationalised to herself. It didn’t mean anything beyond that.

She may have died and come back to life but there was still no c in Bagsy Beetlehorn.

Chapter Text

In a rush of lessons, quidditch practise, studying and sleeping, the first visit to Hogsmeade arrived, and the breakfast hall was tittering with the students’ excitement. The Hufflepuff table was crowded by a few extra colours besides yellow, as Bagsy found herself in possession of more friends than she’d ever imagined she’d have.

Jon and Itsuki were murmuring conspiratorially to each other, glancing in the direction of Killian and Fiona, who were arguing over whether or not Fiona’s freshly baked muffins were a symbol for the growing tensions in the wizarding world.

‘Not everything has a deeper meaning,’ Fiona said, taking a bite of a lemon flavoured muffin. She’d enchanted the icing sugar to shimmer and hover just above the top of the treat, looking like falling snow.

‘Sure, but loads of things do,’ Killian protested. ‘Baked goods are there, we get to enjoy them, and then they’re gone! Just like times of peace!’

Fiona growled, snapping another bite in frustration.

Howe, Elijah and Oscar had joined them as well. Elijah was quietly sitting to Howe’s side, face contentedly blank as he ate his breakfast, whilst Howe and Oscar were discussing ideas for new articles in Magician’s Guide.

Oscar was pointing at his incredibly neat notes. ‘Professor Allthorn suggested articles work best with moving images. To improve Megician’s Guide we should consider implementing them.’

Howe chewed his lip. ‘Those kinds of cameras are expensive.’

‘We must always be trying to improve,’ Oscar enforced.

Howe and Oscar had begun discussing ways to fund gaining the new equipment when a torrent of owls flew into the room, dropping post into the students’ laps and outstretched hands. Bagsy didn’t bother looking up – she knew she wouldn’t have any post. Instead, she leant towards Mezrielda, who’d caught the copy of The Daily Prophet her massive eagle owl, Crimson, had brought her.

‘It’s about the Ministry,’ Mezrielda said, not seeming bothered by Bagsy invading her personal space, even going so far as to move the paper between them and lean towards her. ‘They’ve reinforced their headquarters’ security.’ Meaningfully, Mezrielda placed a finger on one sentence in particular. ‘They’ve brought some hissentors from Azkaban to London to keep it secure.’

Bagsy supressed a shudder, recalling when she’d been working on Vespite Manor, balanced on a ladder, and some hissentors had circled below her. She’d felt a push of rage within her and the disorientation had nearly caused her to fall. ‘I hate those things. They make the ground feel like the surface of the ocean. They slink about like sharks or orcas or something, waiting to strike at you from below.’

Mezrielda hummed her agreement. ‘Eloquently put.’

‘I have my moments.’

Howe seemed sad. ‘Orcas are misunderstood,’ he declared, before talking about the time he’d become briefly obsessed with them and the rest of breakfast was pleasantly filled with facts on the species. According to Howe, different pods of Orcas had different languages, just like different groups of humans. Once he’d finished explaining about orcas, Oscar chimed in to give his own facts about sharks and how they, too, were misunderstood.

Soon it was time to head to Hogsmeade. As the students set off, Professor Wattleseed and Kim leading the charge and talking animatedly to each other about a new Auglympics athlete Kim was excited about, Bagsy and Mezrielda fell happily into step with each other. That was, until they found themselves disturbed by a tall Slytherin boy with a casual gate sidling up next to them. Mezrielda folded her arms and silently fumed, raising her head as if she were too good for Tod. Bagsy, on the other hand, eyed Tod cautiously.

‘I’ll leave you in peace,’ said Tod, leaning towards them and keeping his voice low. ‘But first you should know that Harris Jorn and Yarra Kriply have both been taken by Philip.’

‘Who?’ Bagsy murmured back. Her interest in his news seemed to ignite a small fire of satisfaction in Tod’s face and his crooked grin parted as he was about to respond.

‘Leave us,’ Mezrielda said before he could. The fire dwindled, and Tod slowed his pace, falling behind them.

Bagsy glanced over her shoulder at him, but Tod had slunk amongst the other students and was out of sight. ‘Mezrielda?’ she asked, confused.

‘Mr Jorn and Ms Kriply are members of the Wizengamot,’ she supplied.

‘That’s not good!’

‘No, but the Aldens will need a fair few more before they can cause any real damage. It takes a lot of legislative power to be able to overrule the Hogwarts head professor on professor appointment.’

‘It’s good that Tod is telling us these things,’ Bagsy murmured. ‘I hope that… maybe… he’s finally realised what he did was wrong.’

‘He hasn’t.’

Bagsy looked at Mezrielda, whose brown eyes were icy as they neared the Hogsmeade cottages.

‘When we play traitor we figure out who is lying based on their previous actions and what they reveal their motivation to be. Tod’s actions tell us only one thing.’

Bagsy thought hard. ‘That sometimes he decides to do mean things?’

‘No. That, more than anything else, he wants to be useful to his family. When he lost his powers, he started his paper so there would still be something of use he could offer them. Now he’s lost his paper he’s scrambling for other forms of utility.’

‘What do you mean?’ Bagsy’s heart was sinking. She realised she might already know.

‘Information. We’re the ones who have been causing his family grief. If he can get valuable information from us he can offer something of use to his family.’

Bagsy looked at her feet as they crossed an icy bridge, the stream below flowing with a soft noise. ‘I don’t know. If he really wanted to sell us out to his parents to be useful why haven’t you been arrested for being…’ Bagsy lowered her voice to a whisper, glancing around to check no one was listening in. ‘An unregistered Animagus? He knows, remember. He saw you shift in third year.’

Mezrielda fumbled, almost slipping on the treacherously icy cobbles as they walked. Bagsy grabbed onto her, steadying her.

‘That’s–’ Mezrielda tried to say, her eyes narrowing as she thought. ‘I’m not entirely sure why he hasn’t done that,’ she admitted, her voice gravely with frustration. ‘I’m certain there’s a self-motivated reason. There has to be.’

Bagsy countered, ‘I think that there’s something more going on. I think–’

‘That we should trust him?’ Mezrielda sked, incredulous, as they passed into the village and snow-capped shops and houses stretched out on either side of them, the students dispersing to different exciting destinations.

Bagsy hesitated then gave a firm nod. ‘Yes, I do, and I think we should trust Fitzsimmons and Starrett as well.’

‘Let’s trust the blood eyed beast while we’re at it,’ Mezrielda commented dryly.

‘Mez.’

Mezrielda sighed. ‘I get why you want to trust them but if we trust the wrong person it could be disastrous.’

‘If we don’t trust anyone it will be worse,’ Bagsy said softly as they came to a stop in the middle of the street.

‘Why don’t we give it some time?’ Mezrielda suggested. ‘Wait and see if Tod gives us any actually helpful information. We already know the Aldens were planning on taking over the Wizengamot, after all, Bontie’s documents explained as much.’

‘Alright,’ Bagsy agreed, happy with the compromise, even if it had meant hearing Bontie’s name again. The syllables made her feel a little ill, as did the flash of green her mind supplied for her. ‘We’ll wait and see, then.’ It was probably best to let Mezrielda take the lead on decisions, anyway.

Security on the Hogsmeade trips had increased drastically since the last time. Though Bagsy struggled to notice them, Mezrielda reliably informed her that Starret and Fitzsimmons were following.

‘We should stick to the main street,’ Mezrielda added as they left The Olde Sweet Shop, laden with treats and sugary snacks and, in Mezrielda’s case, a wine bottle containing only pumpkin juice. She’d been rather taken with the mature packaging and Bagsy had instantly offered to get it for her, given she had considerably more money. Mezrielda never seemed embarrassed to accept her offers, either, and happily claimed the pumpkin juice as her own, as though it were her birth right. As far as Bagsy was concerned, it should be.

After a quick look around Hoohsair they headed to the Three Broomsticks and ordered some butter beer, in Bagsy’s case, and even more pumpkin juice, in Mezrielda’s.

‘You’ll turn into a pumpkin at this rate,’ said Bagsy.

‘I’ll add it to the list of things I can shift into.’

Bagsy eyed the list of drinks for sale. ‘We’re both old enough to order something stronger,’ she commented, giving her butter beer a sip.

Mezrielda gave her a sideways look. ‘Bagsy Beetlehorn what could you possibly be suggesting?’ she asked, scandalised.

Bagsy shrugged. ‘We could buy a few bottles for a rainy day.’

Mezrielda finished her pumpkin juice. ‘You’ve convinced me.’

‘That wasn’t hard,’ Bagsy laughed.

‘Shut up,’ Mezrielda responded without any force.

With a bag of spiced snapping-rum, vileka and amber-brewed cider, as well as their horde of sweets, Bagsy and Mezrielda made their way back to the meeting point for the return to Hogwarts.

A snarling voice sounded from ahead.

‘Get out of my way,’ Primrose hissed at Howe, shoving him aside as she pushed to the front of the line. Elijah managed to help keep his friend on his feet and Howe looked in fear at Primrose. Primrose swept past them, disappearing in the throng of students, a dark bag wriggling as she held it at her side. Bagsy furrowed her brow, wondering what it could contain.

‘Are you alright?’ Bagsy asked Howe whilst Mezrielda glared in the direction Primrose had gone.

‘Fine,’ Howe breathed, giving Elijah a grateful nod. ‘Just fine.’ He sounded a little shaken.

Bagsy worried on their journey back to Hogwarts. Primrose wasn’t acting right. She had always had a nasty streak, but she’d made good steps in recent years to being a half-decent person and she had been telling the truth in their first Alchemy and Artificing lesson; she had put her neck on the line to rescue Bagsy from the breathing blight. This year, though, she seemed set on playing the part of the mean girl even more convincingly than she ever had before.

Bagsy tried to ignore her concern as she and Mezrielda settled down in the common room that evening. The warm, amber hues of the room were adored by the Hufflepuff residents, who were either carefully writing essays at wooden desks or arguing over the rules of wizard’s chess whilst their friends gathered around to watch. Bagsy was working on her homework for Alchemy and Artificing. They were investigating the creation of warp items, which was any magical creation that could transports a person from one place to another instantly. Port keys were simple enough to understand but Bagsy was puzzled by the more fringe and contemporary inventions. She also didn’t like reading about Opius Pepsini’s warpdoors – the thought of him made her queasy.

As she worked she noticed Nevis, laden with scrolls, pass by her and looked up. ‘Hi, Nevis,’ she said. Nevis glanced at her from behind his large, round glasses that perched on his snub nose. He gave her a small smile then noticed Mezrielda sitting in the armchair opposite her, reading the paper. His smile vanished. ‘Want to join us?’ Bagsy asked. She’d hardly seen Nevis at all that year. He’d been the closest with Teresa and Bagsy felt a pang of sympathy for him.

Nevis didn’t take his eyes off Mezrielda. ‘No,’ he said quietly, shuffling off. Bagsy noticed the stiffening of Mezrielda’s posture even if Mezrielda was pretending she hadn’t noticed the interaction.

‘Are you alright?’ Bagsy asked her, confused by her reaction.

‘Perfectly so,’ Mezrielda responded lightly, turning a page.

Bagsy would have returned to her work if she hadn’t caught a skittering movement – like a spider the size of a quaffle – move by their armchairs from the corner of her eye. She wondered if it had been a shadow, but when she turned to look it was gone.

A loud thud sounded near the entrance to the boys’ dormitory and within a few moments the clamour of arguments over the destruction of a pawn and the scratch of quills on parchment stopped as the Hufflepuffs turned to see what had happened.

Bagsy rose from her chair, looking over Mezrielda to where the noise had come from. Nevis had dropped to the ground, the scrolls he’d been carrying scattered around him as he struggled, his hands grabbing at his neck.

‘Nevis!’ Bagsy exclaimed, rushing towards him as the other Hufflepuffs began to cry out in alarm.

‘What’s going on out there?’ someone said, and the door to the boys’ dormitory opened. Jon and Itsuki looked down at Nevis on the floor, their mouths opening in surprise.

Bagsy slid onto the floor next to Nevis, who was rolling from side to side, eyes bulging out of his head. A gnarled, wrinkled hand that looked like the rotting roots of a dying tree was fastened around his neck. Its sharp nails dug into his skin where small pinpricks of red oozed out. Bagsy tried to pry it free but it was surprisingly strong.

Jon jumped over them, rushing towards the Hufflepuff entrance. ‘I’m getting a teacher!’ he yelled, before disappearing. Itsuki, meanwhile, fell to his knees on the other side of Nevis and grabbed onto the hand as well, trying to help pull it off. He even leant his head forward, extending and coiling his prehensile hairs around the monstrous appendage, but they still couldn’t get it off.

Nevis’ eyes rolled into the back of his head as his airway remained constricted.

‘Move aside,’ Mezrielda ordered Bagsy and Itsuki. Bagsy took a second to look back at the serious face of her friend before letting go and urging the wild-eyed Itsuki to do the same. Mezrielda pointed her wand at Nevis’ neck. ‘Colliquify.’ The hand grasping Nevis’ neck shuddered like jelly before turning into water, splashing onto the floor and sinking between the cracks of the floorboards.

Nevis dragged in a stilted breath, curling up and clutching his neck, his frame shaking from the ordeal.

Mezrielda pocketed her wand, turning to the gathered students eyeing the incident. ‘Nothing to see here.’

After a few moments Nevis was able, with the help of Itsuki and Bagsy, to get up.

Checking he was okay Bagsy left Nevis with Itsuki for the time being, pulling Mezrielda to the side of the room by the sleeve of her robe. ‘I think that hand was from Primrose,’ she said quickly, checking no one was close enough to hear.

Mezrielda narrowed her eyes. ‘Why?’

‘She was carrying a bag when we left Hogsmeade and it looked like there was something inside of it that was wriggling.’

Considering that, Mezrielda directed her attention towards Primrose, who was sitting on a rug-covered bench at the other side of the room, watching Nevis with an unreadable expression. A black bag was next to her, but it looked empty.

‘I don’t think we’re the only ones who’ve noticed,’ Mezrielda murmured, gesturing at a group of fifth year Hufflepuffs shooting glares at Primrose and a seventh year who was marching over to her, as if they were about to give her a piece of their mind. If there was one Hufflepuff the others couldn’t stand being mistreated it was Nevis, who’d never harmed even a fly.

Jon appeared back in the room, looking a little dazed and confused, as if he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up there, with Professor Stery by his side. Stery moved over to Nevis, checking he was alright and offering some sweet tea to help sooth his throat before instructing Itsuki and Jon to escort him to the infirmary. When he was done, Stery turned to face the remaining students.

He said, gaze sternly raking across them, ‘What is going to happen is each of you is going to write down on a piece of paper who you think did this and give it to me. Only then will anyone be allowed to leave. Am I understood?’ There was silence. ‘Greta, what did I just say?’

‘We need to write who we thought did it, sir,’ Greta repeated after her friend nudged her to speak. ‘Then we can leave.’

‘Exactly.’ Stery pulled a notepad out of his pocket, tearing sheets off. He walked around the room giving them out and then patiently waited by the entrance, fiddling with the star-shaped charms at the end of his white beard.

Bagsy took a quill and rested her sheet on a desk. She hesitated. Bagsy had no issues with being a so-called ‘snitch’, she usually thought it was best to tell adults what was going on so they could handle it and it was certainly justified to tell on Primrose, but the situation with Primrose was delicate to say the least. Bagsy looked at Mezrielda, hoping for guidance, and saw she’d already written Primrose’s name and was moving to hand it over. Deciding to do the same, Bagsy scrawled Primrose’s name on her sheet.

The pieces of paper returned to him Stery flicked from one to the next, gave a small nod of his head and then instructed the students they were all to go to their dormitories. ‘You as well, Miss Glint,’ he said, when Mezrielda began walking towards Bagsy’s private room. Shoulders tensing Mezrielda gave Bagsy a subtle wave, before leaving.

Primrose moved to the dormitories as well but found herself stopped by one of Stery’s hands landing on her shoulder. The expression on his face was an abyss of fury. ‘Not you, Miss Vinski,’ he said slowly, before guiding her away with him. Bagsy watched, anger burning up her spine, as Primrose was led away. Whatever Primrose was going through it didn’t excuse harming Nevis.

Bagsy didn’t know what punishment Primrose received but, unlike her previous detentions, it seemed to have sunk in. The following breakfast she sat at the end of the table and kept to herself. Bagsy tried not to look at her as she walked to where Mezrielda was sitting. ‘Why do you think she did that?’ Bagsy said in a hushed tone.

Mezrielda stirred her porridge as she thought. ‘I’m not sure. Nevis has never done anything to aggravate Primrose, and I doubt there’s a single person in the school who dislikes him. By all accounts it’s a bizarre event.’ For a few moments, Mezrielda stewed in her thoughts, Bagsy wishing she could have some idea of what was going through her mind. ‘You said Primrose tried to help you escape the caves?’

‘Yeah.’

Mezrielda gave her head a small shake. ‘Yet now she’s doubled down on her villain persona. Something must have pushed her back to her old ways.’

‘But what?’ Bagsy wondered quietly.

Mezrielda stewed some more, this time not seeming to have any further thoughts to offer up.

A few minutes later Itsuki and Jon sat down opposite them. As they did Jon waved at Nevis, who was wearing a scarf around his neck, to come and join them.

Itsuki, piling his plate high with toast, shot Mezrielda an impressed look. ‘Nice spell you cast yesterday.’

Mezrielda looked at Itsuki in silence, seeming off-put by the compliment. ‘All my spells are perfection,’ she said at last, raising her spoon to her mouth.

Nevis paused next to Jon, by the empty seat he was encouraging him to take, and looked at Mezrielda.

Mezrielda put her spoon down, pushing her porridge away from her. ‘My hunger has been quenched,’ she announced, moving to stand up. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

‘Thank you,’ Nevis said, and Mezrielda froze. ‘You… saved my life.’ Nevis’ voice was a small, timid sound in the clustering noises of the great hall.

‘I doubt you would have died,’ Mezrielda responded cautiously, looking as if she’d stepped on a trap and wasn’t sure when it would spring. Nevis sat down, shrinking in on himself as he carefully poured some water into a cup. The conversation seemed to have ended there and Bagsy didn’t understand where all the tension had come from, but she knew she didn’t like it. Even stranger, Mezrielda sat back down, despite claiming only moments before that she’d been full. Bagsy chalked it up to regular Mezrielda oddness.

‘Listen,’ Itsuki said, and Bagsy felt relief at the move on from the awkwardness. ‘Jon and I were talking and, given what happened yesterday, and what has happened over the past few years, we thought it may be nice to get everyone together and do something fun. A games night. Something light hearted, you know?’

Mezrielda pulled her porridge back in front of herself, stirring it as she considered Itsuki’s suggestion. Bagsy thought it sounded like a pretty good idea.

‘That wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome,’ Mezrielda admitted after a pause. Itsuki and Jon beamed at each other and even Nevis had a small smile on his face.

‘We’ll let you know when we’re going to do it,’ said Itsuki. ‘Get excited!’

When breakfast was done they walked through the towering doors of the great hall and out into the corridor. Nevis hung back and Bagsy saw Mezrielda walk alongside him, they were murmuring quietly to each other. Nevis didn’t look angry, per say, but his expression held a seriousness to it Bagsy hadn’t seen before.

‘Are you two alright?’ Bagsy asked letting Jon and Itsuki, who had been discussing dates for a games night before moving on to how they could get Itsuki to do better in Phypnotic, go on ahead.

Nevis looked at Bagsy, adjusting his glasses, before returning his attention to Mezrielda. ‘Just don’t make the mistake I did,’ he all but whispered to Mezrielda, Bagsy straining her ears to hear. ‘Communicate. Please.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ came the cold response from Mezrielda. ‘Come on, Bagsy, we should get to the library sooner rather than later.’ Mezrielda urged Bagsy onwards leaving Nevis, who stood watching them leave, on his own. Bagsy gave him a small goodbye wave, feeling guilty leaving him behind and wondering what on earth he and Mezrielda had been talking about.

When they arrived in the library Bagsy made a short detour to Jon and Itsuki, who were pouring over a book on ancient philosophers. ‘Hey,’ she said to them, keeping her voice down so as not to annoy the old librarian, ‘I think Nevis could do with some company.’

Jon and Itsuki’s expressions shifted from the scheming looks they’d had to realisation.

‘Yeah,’ Itsuki said. ‘You’re right. Sorry, we got swept up in Phypnotic stuff.’ He closed the book. ‘Come on, Jon, let’s go and find him.’ The two rose from their seats and left the library. Feeling less guilty than before Bagsy joined Mezrielda in the library nook, feeling weighed down by the memory of not just Teresa, but Emmeline as well, before a familiar feeling of claustrophobia crept around her as images of small, red, fiery rooms came unbidden into her mind.

She asked Mezrielda to play a game of traitor with her and tried her best not to think too hard about things. Itsuki was right – a light-hearted evening of games would be nice.

Chapter Text

Bagsy ducked out of the Alchemy and Artificing classroom, her pace quick. They’d been learning about cleaning methods for multi-facetted metal constructions and how intense, corrosive acid was often used to keep the mechanisms moving smoothly and free of rust. They’d been working with the dangerous substance in the second part of the lesson that Mephit taught and Bagsy had been on edge the entire time, convinced that Primrose would suddenly chuck her portion of acid on her. Primrose seemed to have sensed her unease and had slowly moved her bucket of acid across her desk and towards Bagsy but had never actually upended it. In her fright, Bagsy had decided to rip the slip with Starrett’s name on it, even if it felt like an over-reaction, and when Starrett had returned, having had to leave her third year Charms’ students unattended, she’d been furious, but not at Bagsy.

‘Do you think Artificing is a joke?’ she’d seethed at Primrose.

‘No, miss, I don’t.’

‘I’ll have you on the first train back to London if I hear any behaviour like this again. There is nothing funny about corrosive acid.’

Starrett had given Bagsy a replacement slip before expressing that she wanted to speak with Mephit alone after the lesson, so when it ended Bagsy rushed as fast as she could away from the area, wanting to avoid the wrath she was sure Primrose would direct towards her. Thankfully, she reached the library without Primrose catching her and sank into a seat in the library nook. Mezrielda was there, so Bagsy felt instantly a thousand times safer.

When she told Mezrielda why she looked so put out her friend’s lips curled into a snarl.

‘We need to teach her a lesson again. Maybe we could convince her to join the Corvid Club, If I got a chance to duel against her I could turn her into a snivelling crumpled piece of discarded tissue,’ Mezrielda decided, before the snarl turned into a smirk. ‘Remember the last time you put her in her place?’ Bagsy did. She’d hit Primrose across the face with her bat during a fight they’d once had and knocked her unconscious. She’d felt bad about it at the time, and still felt a bit guilty to be honest, but with each day the memory of that thwacking noise grew more and more satisfying. ‘As poor as your Friday has been it’s about to get worse.’

‘Why?’

Mezrielda gestured outside the window where it was raining harshly. Bagsy groaned – Hufflepuff had a quidditch match tomorrow. She hoped the weather would improve by then. She was already finding quidditch unpleasant, she kept seeing ginger hair or blonde curls out of the corner of her eye but would turn and find it was one of the new players.

When it was time to walk to the pitch on Saturday Bagsy was saddened to find that the rain was the kind just hard enough to be bothersome but just light enough so the match wasn’t cancelled. The only people on the team Bagsy recognised were Jon and Elijah and though she’d seen the others at training, one of them was called Kyle and another Gilly, if she remembered correctly. The new players talked more to each other than they did to her. Elijah seemed to get along with them well enough, some of them were even in his year, and Jon was well respected as captain even if he was stubborn in his style of teaching.

Abruptly, Bagsy realised she felt like a stranger in the Hufflepuff tent and, as the team moved onto the pitch, the noise of the crowd, and the cold patter of the rain on her quidditch gear, was the most off-putting sensation she’d had that term. The misery shot straight into her stomach like poisoned food and though she still performed decently during the match she couldn’t shake the feeling she was surrounded by ghosts.

Streaks of yellow, when moving fast enough, could be Teresa pelting a bludger in her direction so she could aim it towards the enemy and whilst the new seeker looked nothing like Greenda, at high speeds they could be anyone. The keeper, in their protective head gear when facing away from her, could be Emmeline.

Bagsy gripped her broom tightly when Hufflepuff lost the match not because she was sad about the cup but because she realised she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t play quidditch, not when so much had changed and so many of her friends were gone. She was grateful for the rain hiding the tears she was ashamed to be crying.

When she told Jon after the match that she’d be quitting he looked gutted.

‘You’re our ace in the hole!’ he protested. ‘I’m the best chaser this school will ever see and you’re the best beater! You just had one off game don’t let it get you down.’

‘It’s not about that,’ Bagsy sniffed. They were huddled at the back of the team tent as the other players noisily undressed, complaining that Slytherin had been cheating. ‘I’m happy to modify the brooms and provide training equipment as I’ve always done but… I can’t go onto that pitch. Not again. Not after…’

Jon seemed to catch on then. ‘Right,’ he said, the passion in his eyes dimming. ‘I understand. Plenty of other people wanted to be on the team so don’t worry, we’ll be able to find another beater, but it won’t be the same without you.’

‘Thanks, Jon.’

The walk back to Hogwarts seemed too long and as she trudged, her shoes wet and squelching in the mud, she contemplated stopping and lying down in the cold grass in the dim hope the ground might swallow her and never let go.

Then a hand took hers and Mezrielda was pulling her to the mossy clearing where they could hide behind the towering stones. Mezrielda held Bagsy, casting a rain-warding charm above them, and keeping them warm with teporiem spells that embraced Bagsy as much as Mezrielda’s hug did, as she cried. How Mezrielda had known something was wrong Bagsy didn’t know, but her wordless gratitude swallowed her as much as the twisting sensation of loss did.

When she felt ready to move again Mezrielda guided her back to the castle and to her private room, fetched her dinner from the great hall. Mezrielda spent the evening making water from her glass hover and swirl through the air above Bagsy’s head. She changed it into shining cubes of metal, or wafting patterns of dust, or even tiny badgers of smoke than shuffled around the room. Bagsy leant her head on Mezrielda’s shoulder, sniffing as she watched the show, allowing her mind to turn off and simply take in the patterns.

When she woke up the next morning she felt better rested than she had in a long time. Mezrielda was already awake and brushing through her sleek hair. For a moment Bagsy was confused why she was there before remembering she had slept over.

Trying to keep her expression neutral and breathing steady Bagsy swallowed, fiddling with the duvet. Feeling a rush of anxiety at what she was about to say, Bagsy pre-emptively fought to keep her voice level. ‘You know, we can have more sleepovers. Only if you want to, o-of course…’

The brush moving silkily through Mezrielda’s black hair halted. She sat perfectly still, facing away from her. Slowly, the brush began to move again, rhythmically smoothing the glossy strands. ‘That might be a palatable idea. I’ll consider it.’

Bagsy held back a grin. That meant yes. The thought of getting to spend more time with her, and to feel safe with her by her side at night, helped dull the painful memories which had risen freshly in her mind.

At breakfast Bagsy only paid her food half of her attention, whilst her other read over her Medmad notes. She’d cover one half of a sentence and try to guess how it finished, before revealing it and letting out a sigh of disappointment to see she’d got it wrong. She’d managed to brute force half of a page of information into her mind when she heard the uneven footsteps of Oscar.

‘I’m calling an emergency meeting for the refulgents,’ he said, leaning close enough to Bagsy and Mezrielda so he could whisper, but still keeping his distance. Bagsy tried to hide her surprise, it was usually Mezrielda who called the emergency meetings and, even so, the refulgents hadn’t met even once yet this term. With the vote to move vampires to the inexcusables list having failed there was little more to do besides keep Magician’s Guide going. There was another Halloween feast, but it was going to be a small affair of food and a few decorations, so they hadn’t needed to plan grand performances or prepare complex artistic displays.

Mezrielda put her cutlery neatly into the middle of her plate, having finished her croissant. ‘We’ll be there in a few moments,’ she said, before nudging Bagsy to leave her revision notes for now and focus on her cereal.

The walk to the eagle club room was an emotional journey. The steps leading down to the hidden tapestry were scourged into Bagsy’s brain. This was where Mezrielda had plotted a rescue mission for Bagsy when she’d been kidnapped by Philip and it was where the refulgents had waged a propaganda war against the Ministry. Emmeline and Teresa had gathered in this room with the rest of them and prepared to fight for causes they believed in.

The remaining refulgents were all there. Howe and Elijah were sitting at one desk discussing an article Howe was writing on quidditch, using Elijah’s growing understanding to help him. Fiona and Killian were in another corner, seeing who could do the most pull-ups on the monkey bars that had appeared in the room, whilst Jon and Itsuki cheered them on, Jon looking like he wanted Fiona to win whilst Itsuki looked very much in Killian’s corner. Nevis was standing with them but watching in silence, looking a little concerned at how invested his friends were in the competition.

Bagsy and Mezrielda stood to the side watching as, eventually, Fiona gave in and let go of the bars, landing with a thud. Killian grinned tauntingly down at her, doing one more pull up for show, before also letting go. Fiona, looking like she didn’t mind at all, held her hand out to Killian, who shook it. From the handshake Killian pulled Fiona into a hug, patting her on the back whilst Fiona furiously protested, looking annoyed.

‘You’re getting better at those!’ Killian told her. ‘You’d beat anyone in the world but me.’

‘Thanks,’ Fiona grumbled as he let her go. ‘And you’re getting better at cooking. Slowly, but you are.’

‘Only because you’re teaching me!’

Oscar walked into the room and the refulgents left their silly competition there. He moved over to the chalk board and silently began to pin reports, letters, and articles to it. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on everything going on,’ he said, as the refulgents slowly found their seats. ‘My observation has brought me to a conclusion.’ He pinned one final note onto the board before turning towards them, keeping his eyes directed at the wall at the back. ‘Strange things have been happening to people.’

Whilst the other refulgents mumbled nervously to each other, Bagsy and Mezrielda exchanged a look.

‘We know why,’ Mezrielda piped up. ‘Philip has been building his troupe once more. He’s been bringing more and more people under his control to try and manipulate the ministry on behalf of the Aldens.’

Oscar frowned. ‘Philip? No. It can’t be him. I don’t mean Philip has been taking people. When I say strange things have been happening I don’t mean that they’ve been acting differently or that their minds have been taken over by Philip. I mean… people have been going missing.’ 

‘Missing?’ Fiona sounded sceptical. ‘Maybe they’ve just gone on holiday.’

‘I thought of that, too. I’ve been checking records, contacting families under pseudonyms, even analysing the missing people’s personalities from appearances in media they might have made. These people are unlikely to have vanished on a holiday without letting someone know. People are going missing and the Ministry are doing everything they can to keep it quiet. They won’t allow any articles on it, or anyone on the wizard wireless to even hint at its occurrence.’

Fiona, as usual, looked unconvinced. ‘I get that the Ministry is corrupt and uses their silver power or whatever it’s called to manipulate events and make people disappear from memories but, as far as anyone here has told me, they don’t steal people away as blatantly as this.’

Mezrielda placed a hand in front of her mouth as she thought. ‘They’re desperate,’ she theorised. ‘Remember what we told you in the letters at the start of term. Magnus Alden is gone and Tod Alden doesn’t have his power anymore. They no longer have their children to send about tweaking memories and opinions as they please and from what I know about them Mr and Mrs Alden refuse to be seen above all other considerations. They may be resorting to more extreme methods to control the wizarding world.’

Fiona crossed her arms. ‘I don’t buy it.’

Oscar, who had been drumming his fingers on his thigh, put one to the chalk board. ‘Tarric Penly told his family he was going for a walk and never came back. Before he vanished, his wife said he had been acting strange, always on edge and saying disparaging things about the Ministry. The same story repeats a dozen times. People are being kidnapped.’

Killian pulled an old, dusty philosophy book out from his bag and flipped through the pages. ‘When the populace drains, freedom weeps,’ he quoted from it, before closing it again. ‘If people are going missing it can only bode bad times in the future.’  Fiona remained quiet, looking annoyed that Killian had found another way to bring abstract thinking into the conversation.

Itsuki, who’d been growing progressively paler as the conversation had continued, raised his hand. ‘One of Snippity’s employees went missing,’ he said. ‘She’d also been speaking loads about how much she hates the Ministry. I always stop by Snippity’s hair salon when I go to Hogsmeade and last year I managed to convince the entire store about the plight of magical beings and how unfair the Ministry are to them. You don’t think…’ He gulped. ‘You don’t think she was taken because I convinced her to turn against the Ministry?’

The look Oscar gave Itsuki seemed to confirm his worst fear. Killian reached towards Itsuki and put his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

‘I’ve read about this kind of stuff in history,’ Itsuki said. ‘It’s a great subject, history, but one thing I’ve seen the more I’ve studied is how things happen over and over. When people go missing like this… Killian’s right. It never bodes well.’

‘What if…’ Fiona trailed off. The refulgents turned to look at her.

‘What?’ Mezrielda asked.

‘What if it isn’t the Ministry that’s making them go missing?’

Mezrielda protested, ‘As I said, the Ministry are growing desperate–’

‘No, no,’ Fiona cut over her. ‘I don’t mean no one is making them go missing. I just mean what if it’s not the Ministry responsible? What if it’s someone else?’

As Mezrielda considered this Bagsy worried the hem of her robe. She had a sinking feeling she knew what Fiona was suggesting.

‘The beast,’ Mezrielda guessed, and Bagsy pursed her lips tightly, trying to ignore the feeling of the scar on her left shoulder. ‘You surmise she’s the one taking them?’

Fiona shrugged. ‘It’s possible.’

Oscar looked like he was already convinced.

Mezrielda rose from her seat and began pacing. ‘We spent all of last year showing the wizarding world how the Ministry was corrupt and oppressing magical beings. Now the beast returns and wants to overthrow the Ministry and has even attempted so once with the aid of magical beings.’ She stopped, clasping her hands together in front of her and drawing in a long breath. ‘I don’t think people are being kid-napped. I think at least some, if not all of them are joining her cause.’

Howe looked furious. ‘The beast is hijacking all our hard work!’ Elijah gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. ‘I’ll write an article,’ Howe announced. ‘I’ll warn the students about this, tell them not to be fooled.’

‘Are they being fooled, though?’ Fiona asked. ‘Maybe we should be aligning with the beast ourselves.’

Mezrielda scowled at Fiona. ‘Did you read the letter we sent out at the start of the year in full?’

‘It was really long and I’m very dyslexic,’ Fiona defended herself, Bagsy wondering what on earth ‘dyslexic’ was.

Mezrielda indicated Bagsy to elaborate on the letter they’d sent out, and Bagsy felt the refulgents’ eyes fix onto her.

Bagsy squirmed under their gaze. ‘Um…’ She tried to think on what to say. ‘The beast has tried to eat me at least three times. Like… chew me up and devour my soul kind of thing.’ That sent a shock through the refulgents, at least. ‘She may want to use the mistreatment of magical creatures– magical beings to gain followers but she’s dangerous and not just to the Ministry. To everyone, muggle, magic wielder and magical being alike. No one is safe with her around.’ 

Mezrielda nodded stiffly. ‘The beast doesn’t want peace. She wants what she doesn’t have. She wants power and she’ll sing any tune to convince people to help her achieve it.’

Bagsy wrung her hands together. ‘To be honest, she’s more dangerous than the Ministry. She nearly wiped out all of wizard kind in 1804.’

Fiona looked cowed. ‘Okay. Maybe we should be trying to stop people siding with the beast then.’

Killian had his philosophical expression on again. ‘The beast, as a term, has always been associated with truths of dark magic and meanings of devilish intention.’

Jon lightly hit a fist on the table. ‘Then we’ll do as Howe says. We’ll use Magician’s Guide and whatever else we can to convince the students that even if the Ministry is our enemy, the beast is worse.’

Nevis said, voice small as he briefly removed his glasses to wipe his eyes, ‘And the breathing blight.’

Jon clapped his hands together. ‘It’s settled. We have a new goal. Stop people falling for the beast’s nonsense.’

‘Yeah,’ Nevis agreed, his voice growing quieter by the second. ‘I don’t want anyone else to be misled…’

The article was written and published a few days after their meeting, Bagsy producing more denigration substance to ensure no evidence of their words hung around. It was, oddly, their most controversial article yet. Some students seemed convinced the beast was the best hope of making any real change, given the Ministry’s power, whilst other students seemed scared at the mention of her name.

Mezrielda had wondered out loud if they should have published the article at all. ‘All it’s done is provided more publicity to the beast,’ she had realised, her voice frustrated.

Bagsy had been experiencing a similar internal dilemma. ‘We had to try.’

Their nerves heightened by the idea of the beast recruiting people to join her cause, they attempted to research into the world heart once more. If the beast was amassing more followers, the last thing they wanted was for her to find the world heart which, if Keeda had been correct, would be such a powerful boost to the beast’s side that it would make defeating her near impossible. The trouble was, even with the use of Bagsy’s spider gloves and slippers to use the ceiling to sneak into the restricted section of the library, they once again found nothing on the world heart.

The day after their break-in to the restricted section, they tried one more time to find information on the world heart from the rest of the library. Mezrielda let out a low rumble of frustration, closing the final book of the stack she’d been searching through.

‘Mez, please can we talk to Fitzsimmons and Starrett?’ Bagsy said, leaning tiredly over a stack of opened and dogeared books. She’d been trying to balance revising Medmad and preparing for a Herbology practical with searching for information on the world heart.

‘We can’t be sure we can trust them.’

‘We know that the beast is recruiting people to join her. They need to know too! If we keep information divided we’re shooting ourselves in the foot.’

‘You of all people should know the dangers of trusting.’

Bagsy deflated, a pain twisting in her chest at the thought of violet eyes, of the lies Mortem had told her to trick her into giving Winifred and Robin up and of the things Bontie had kept from her. ‘I’m not like you, Mezrielda,’ she said, after a pause. ‘I can’t do the incredible things you can. I need help. I don’t have a choice – I have to trust.’

‘You can do plenty,’ Mezrielda protested.

Bagsy shook her head. ‘At the end of the day I’m just a girl who can’t really cast spells.’

‘You have your inventions. You can defend yourself.’

Bagsy pushed on, ‘Even if that were true it doesn’t change the fact that by keeping all the information to ourselves and not trusting anyone else we are making the problems we face that much harder. A problem shared is a problem halved, or something like that. I’d rather live in a world where I’m betrayed than live in a world where I don’t trust anyone.’

Mezrielda closed one of the other books she’d been reading, her shoulders sagging. ‘You really think we should trust them?’

‘Yes.’

Mezrielda sighed. ‘Alright.’

‘Please, Mezrielda! It’s really important we–’ Bagsy startled. ‘Wait. You agree?’

‘If you say you trust them then perhaps we should. Things aren’t looking good. With people going missing, the Wizengamot being slowly corrupted by the Aldens and our search for the world heart going nowhere, it may be necessary to… seek aid from more experienced individuals. If we just talk to them about the world heart, I can accept that.’

‘Thank you,’ Bagsy breathed. ‘I genuinely think this is for the best.’

Mezrielda looked out the window. ‘I hope so. If Fitzsimmons takes whatever we say to the beast it could mean the end of everything.’

Considering Mezrielda’s words, Bagsy clenched her fists. ‘What if there was something we could do to make sure Fitzsimmons can be trusted?’

Mezrielda eyed Bagsy curiously. ‘And what might that be?’

Trying to force down the instinctive feeling of revulsion within her at the idea of using her power, Bagsy smiled thinly. ‘I’ll look into Fitzsimmons’ memories.’

Chapter Text

The staff room door loomed before Bagsy and Mezrielda as if hiding a thousand boggarts. Steeling herself, Bagsy knocked.

Mr Barnsley, the muggle studies professor, opened the door and looked down at them. ‘How can I help?’ He smiled and raising his eyebrows expectantly, tossing a grease-smudged cloth onto his shoulder. ‘I was in the middle of polishing my medieval bayonet collection.’

‘Is, um, Professor Starrett here?’ Bagsy asked.

‘Starrett?’ Barnsley leant back into the staff room, scanning the space whilst he rubbed one of his dirty hands on the cloth. ‘I’m sure I heard her heels earlier… ah yes. There she is. Professor Starrett, you have visitors.’

‘Tell them I’m busy,’ Starrett responded sharply. ‘I have papers to mark, as do you, or had you forgotten?’

‘It’s Miss Beetlehorn and Miss Glint,’ Barnsley clarified, before turning back to Bagsy and Mezrielda. ‘How are NEWT classes going?’

Bagsy’s shoulders sagged. ‘Tiring.’

Barnsley gave a knowing nod. ‘I heard you’re doing Medicine and Magical Maladies. Good luck. It’s a tough course, but I’m sure you can do it.’ As Barnsley spoke, Bagsy heard the familiar click-clack of Starrett’s heels. Before Barnsley stepped aside he turned to Mezrielda. ‘I look forward to seeing your essay on multi-stage organisation within the Ministry on Monday. Your last essay was great. Keep up the hard work.’ Mezrielda looked very pleased at that.

With a final smile and small bow, Barnsley disappeared into the room and Starrett’s grumpy face took his place, though a lot lower given her small stature. Mezrielda and Bagsy had to turn their heads from craning upwards to craning down.

‘Is everything alright?’ Starrett asked. ‘I am rather busy.’

Bagsy kept quiet, deciding to leave the talking to Mezrielda.

‘We need to speak with you and Fitzsimmons,’ said Mezrielda.

Taking a moment to frown at them Starrett accepted the request and stepped into the corridor, closing the staffroom door behind her. ‘Follow me.’ Starrett led them through the moving staircases, past a painting of ladies in old fashioned dresses spinning around in teacups, and into the maze-like route that led to Fitzsimmons’ office. When they reached the hole in the ceiling a glass ladder descended with a clink and Starrett motioned they climb up.

Bagsy went first, clambering into the domed room of moth-eaten curtains where Fitzsimmons was sitting on a hovering chair, their eyes closed, looking deep in thought. Mezrielda looked up at Fitzsimmons in mildly disapproving befuddlement.

When Starrett entered, she huffed. ‘Not again.’ She motioned with her arm and a spectral hand floated out from her palm and up towards Fitzsimmons, tapping them on the shoulder.

Fitzsimmons eyes slowly opened. ‘One moment. I’m thinking,’ they said, before slowly closing their eyes again.

Starrett folded her arms and waited whilst Bagsy and Mezrielda exchanged a look. Eventually Fitzsimmons opened their eyes again. They clapped their hands and the chair and table floating in the air with them vanished, allowing Fitzsimmons to slowly descend, landing gently. ‘What do you need?’

Bagsy gave Mezrielda a small push.

Mezrielda said, ‘We have crucial information we would like to share with you.’

Fitzsimmons sat on one of the plush stools, sweeping their arm, the cream sleeve trailing with its movement, to the others. Bagsy took a seat, finding Mezrielda sitting next to her, and Starrett opposite, next to Fitzsimmons. Bagsy and Mezrielda had already discussed what they would share; for now they’d leave out anything about silver tongues, the Aldens, and Philip’s attempts to corrupt the Wizengamot. They were just going to focus on the world heart.

‘We have one condition,’ said Mezrielda, and then it was her urging Bagsy to speak.

Bagsy said, ‘The thing is… we want to make sure we can trust you about what you said your link is with the beast.’

Starrett crossed her arms, annoyed, whilst Fitzsimmons tilted their head and blinked.

‘How will you verify my claims?’ Fitzsimmons asked, their calm voice sounding as if they already suspected the method.

Bagsy gripped the material of her robe tightly. ‘I’d like to look into your memories and see if they match with what you said happened.’

Starrett shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. It’s far too dangerous.’

‘But–’ Bagsy began to protest.

Starrett wasn’t hearing it. ‘Stery has reported you still have a fragile identity. Use of your powers may risk shift fluctuation which can be fatal, or did you forget? There is no chance we’re going to let you risk your health like that.’

This was the part Bagsy knew was going to be hard. She let go of the fabric of her robe and turned her palms towards her face, staring at them. ‘I didn’t forget. I think I can handle it.’

Fitzsimmons tilted their head to the other side. ‘Starrett, kindly fetch Professor Stery.’

‘What?’ Starrett gaped. ‘You’re not seriously going to take this risk, Dantes?’

‘Not without Stery’s permission. He is the doppelganger expert. The decision will lie with him.’

Starrett looked like there was a lot more she wanted to say but Fitzsimmons simply returned her angry gaze with a neutral one of their own. Closing her eyes Starrett took a few moments before giving a curt nod, and descending the glass ladder.

Bagsy, Mezrielda and Fitzsimmons sat in a tense silence as they waited.

Fitzsimmons summoned a book from the hammock hanging above. ‘How are your studies going?’ They opened the book and flipped through the pages, enlarged eyes moving over the words.

‘Fine,’ Mezrielda responded shortly.

‘I’m loving it!’ Bagsy burst out, both from the awkwardness and from her genuine joy with her new subjects. ‘Though Phypnotic confuses me.’

Fitzsimmons floated the book back into the air. ‘It is difficult. A pleasure to teach and learn but confounding too.’

‘Killian loves it,’ Bagsy offered, not wanting to indirectly insult Fitzsimmons’ subject.

‘Killian is talented in Phypnotic,’ Fitzsimmons agreed, as the clink of hands and feet on the glass ladder announced Starrett’s return. Starrett sat down again, making her displeasure plain on her features.

Professor Stery was close behind her, and took in the residents of the room, his heavy velvet robes trailing as he sat down himself. ‘So, Bagsy, you’re wanting to give memory reading a go?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Bagsy tried to keep the shake out of her voice. If the professors caught on that she was nervous they’d never let her do it and she really did think they needed to trust Fitzsimmons and Starrett. They were never going to figure out what the world heart was or how to stop the beast from getting it without their help.

‘Look into this for me, then.’ Stery pulled a small mirror from his robes that shimmered blue and grey, matching the star-shaped jewels on the end of his elaborate beard. Bagsy peered into the mirror. ‘You need to be honest, alright? What colour are your eyes?’

Bagsy stared furiously, searching her own expression as if it could tell her where the world heart was hidden. Stery’s hand began to shake he’d been holding the mirror so long and Starrett made a motion with her hand, levitating it out of his grip so he could rest his limbs.

‘That should be enough,’ Stery said, and Bagsy blinked for the first time in a while, drawing her attention away from the mirror. ‘What did you see?’

‘No gray. Just hazel,’ she said truthfully.

Starrett pulled a vial from her pocket and pushed it into the air, the container floating to Bagsy. ‘Veratiserum,’ Starrett supplied. ‘You can be reckless sometimes, Miss Beetlehorn. I want to ensure there is no risk of this going wrong.’

Bagsy could understand that and plucked the vial out of the air, drinking it. Mezrielda jerked a hand towards her, as if to protest, but was too slow. Bagsy swallowed, then narrowed her eyes. ‘Why can’t Fitzsimmons just drink some of this?’

Stery looked confused. ‘Why would they need to?’

Starrett ignored Stery. ‘Veratiserum doesn’t work on more experienced magic wielders, as I’m sure Miss Glint is aware.’

Mezrielda scowled at Starrett. ‘Of course, I am aware.’

Bagsy put the vial on a small table next to her stool, a moth scuttling along its edge. ‘I honestly did not see anything but my usual hazel eyes.’

Stery mulled her words over. ‘How do you feel about being a doppelganger?’

Bagsy shrugged. ‘It’s… I feel more alright with it that I used to.’ She tried her hardest not to glance in Mezrielda’s direction. She failed. ‘Someone helped me realise that it isn’t the end of the world if I’m a little different. They said that they thought doppelgangers were… cool. That what they could do was cool. I guess hearing that helped me feel a little better about the whole thing.’

‘Well?’ Starrett demanded of Stery. ‘It can’t be safe to allow this, surely?’

Stery shifted in his seat, one hand twirling a star-shaped jewel. ‘In all honesty it might be okay. I’m not sure why it’s so important she use her powers right now, but it should be fine. All the same, I’d like to stick round in case things go south.’ He paused, his brow knitting together. ‘What exactly is it you want to use your powers for anyway?’

Bagsy tensed, glancing at Starrett and Fitzsimmons. They said faculty shared information, but she doubted Fitzsimmons had revealed to the other teachers that they were the sibling of the biggest threat the wizarding world was currently facing.

Fitzsimmons saved Bagsy from the decision. ‘She wishes to read my memories. Forgive me, Trevor, but I cannot share more than that.’

Stery huffed, folding his arms across his beard. ‘Alright. Go on, then, Bagsy.’

Starrett clenched her jaw but kept her protests to herself.

On heavy legs that didn’t want to move Bagsy forced herself up from the stool, skirted the hole leading out of the room, and stopped by Fitzsimmons.

Fitzsimmons raised an arm towards Bagsy. ‘One hand on my forearm should work.’ Bagsy heard Starrett mutter something to herself. Hoping she hadn’t made a silly decision, Bagsy placed her hand on the cream coloured material of Fitzsimmons’ sleeve.

With a warping and a sharp snap the world around her turned to the darkness of void. Bagsy was standing alone on a tiled floor, the noise of her shoes tapping the only sound. Before her she saw a door and for a horrid moment she felt like she was back in the beast’s mind, back when she’d been trapped in the caves. When she’d peered inside, she’d never seen any memories – she’d cut the connection before she’d had a chance. The beast’s mind had felt like the surface of the sun, burning her to ash, and her instinct had screamed at her that spending a second longer near it would wipe her own identity clean out of her just to make space for it.

Fitzsimmons’ mind was nothing like it. The air around her was cool and still and not empty, but instead like the calm swaying of a lagoon. Unlike with the beast the door standing before her was ajar, like the other mind’s she’d read, the ones that hadn’t looked back into her own, as the beast had. A white light spilled out of the crack in the door, the only source of illumination.

Bagsy reached for the handle and opened it fully. With nothing but a feeling of peace she stepped through.

The change was instant. Her mind had felt calm a moment before but now it was stretching out, like pastry being rolled on a counter. Images flashed before her, years upon year of memories squashing her thoughts down. She groaned in pain, falling to her knees under its weight, until the speed of images came to an abrupt halt. At the sudden stop, Bagsy toppled onto her side and found herself looking at a slideshow of scenes. There was Fitzsimmons and it was strange how they looked exactly as they did to this day – as if not a hair on their head had shifted in the hundreds of years since this moment.

Standing with Fitzsimmons Bagsy saw the beast, Vinidia, she remembered her name was, and standing around the two siblings were four figures.

One had dark brown skin, a wide frame, and wore clothes Bagsy imaged commoners during feudal England times would were. Another was a small boy with a wiry halo of straw-like blonde hair around his pale white face, the lower part of which was hidden behind black material. Bagsy shuddered at the sight of flies jumping from one part of Lewis Scourge’s face to another. The third figure was bent over, as if their back had given out, and was leaning heavily on a cane. Bagsy couldn’t see their face, or much of them at all, for they were garbed in a heavy black robe with the hood pulled low, their downturned face entirely in shadows. All Bagsy could see of them were wrinkled white hands that shuddered as they gripped their cane.

The final figure was terribly familiar. She was incredibly tall and lithe, towering above the rest, with sharp and pointed features, like the jagged edges of a cliff. Her skin was tan, but seemed pale next to her dark hair, that seemed to absorb all the light around it as it swept down to the floor. In turn, her hair seemed light compared to the feather cloak hanging from clasps on either side of her neck. For a moment her mesmerising violet eyes seemed to look directly at Bagsy and Bagsy felt her body turn to stone at the sensation. Then, as if she wasn’t there, Cora’s eyes moved on, looking at the brick walls of the back alley Bagsy realised they were in. As Bagsy tried to get her breath back, her stomach turning painfully at the sight of Cora Foncée before her, she lamented Fitzsimmons having lacked their memories when Cora had applied for a job at Hogwarts. It would have saved Bagsy a lot of grief if Cora had never made it into the castle’s walls.

Cora began to talk but her words made no sense to Bagsy. Some words she recognised, but they were being said in the wrong order, and other words were familiar but with strange additions attached onto them.

Bagsy forced herself to her feet, taking a few steps away from the gathered group. She glanced to the entrance of the alley. The buildings looked like the buildings of London, but something was off, as if she’d swallowed a gulp of pumpkin juice that had gone sour. Walls were plastered with so many posters the bricks below were hidden, and the text font and style of the advertisements looked ancient. The muggles on the main street wore extravagant gowns and pompous hats with bows and ruffles or carried buckets of liquid hanging from planks of wood balanced on their backs.

Bagsy turned back to look at Fitzsimmons and those gathered with them. When the beast, standing next to them, spoke, it was the first time she could understand anything that was being said.

‘Dantes does not need to know,’ Vinidia said, though her mouth didn’t move. ‘And neither do you, Cora. This mission requires secrecy.’

Cora looked furious, and spouted angry, snapping words that Bagsy couldn’t make sense of. Lewis, ducking his head timidly, reached a hand towards Cora and laid it on her arm, giving his head a small shake. Disgusted, Cora snatched her arm away, the beginnings of wings forming on her back and her purple eyes glowing as she loomed over Vinidia.

The beast blinked her red eyes up at Cora, entirely unperturbed. ‘If you wish to challenge me once more we will need to take this elsewhere,’ the beast’s voice echoed in Bagsy’s mind as she addressed Cora.

The man with commoner clothes put his hands on his hips and said something firmly to Cora, who glanced at the muggles in the street a few metres away, none of which had yet noticed the brewing disagreement in the alley, and retracted her wings, vanishing them back into a feathered cloak whilst the glow in her eyes dimmed.

Bagsy didn’t think this memory was what she was looking for and tried to rummage around in her own mind to figure out how she could move onto another one, but then she realised the hooded figure had taken a few steps towards her and was slowly tilting their head upwards.

Bagsy felt her mouth go dry. The hood the figure was wearing must have been enchanted as even as they looked directly at Bagsy’s face all she saw was darkness. The person’s wrinkled hands tightened around their cane and Bagsy heard a low chuckle reverberate through her bones. Whoever this person was the others gathered in the alley stopped all conversation and stared at them. Cora looked confused, the wide-framed man, who Bagsy assumed was the original Aot, looked concerned, whilst Lewis was backing away fearfully. Vinidia had a pensive expression whilst the features on Fitzsimmons’ face were entirely lacking in all emotion or reaction, as if they were incapable.

The hooded figure took another step towards Bagsy. When Bagsy moved to the side she felt her blood turn cold as the figure’s face followed her.

With a stabbing feeling she swore this person, who had stood in this alley hundreds of years ago, and who Bagsy was only seeing in a memory, could see her too.

In a panic Bagsy found the way to move the memory on and dashed her consciousness away from the alley.

Images flashed in front of her. She saw Hogwarts, but the uniform the students wore was so old-fashioned she barely recognised it. She saw Fitzsimmons fleeing into the castle and then she was in the spiral staircase and Fitzsimmons was making a deal with Vinidia. Then Vinidia – the blood eyed beast – was cast down into the other Hogwarts and Fitzsimmons was hiding the gauntlet as a brick in the owlery.

The years raced by and the weight pressing on her mind from before returned. Bagsy winced again, her pain growing into a small sob as she clutched her head, before it stopped once more.

There was a girl who was tall with dark brown hair and a fridge that fell in her eyes. She was leaning casually against a wall in one of Hogwarts’ many corridors and speaking with Professor Fitzsimmons who, Bagsy presumed, was now the head professor. The girl was smiling crookedly and, as she spoke, Bagsy felt a chill around her.

‘You don’t know what the thorned gauntlet is,’ the girl said. Bagsy looked closely and realised she recognised her; Tracy-Jane Alden, Tod’s older sister. ‘You don’t remember any information regarding the beast, or anything related to it.’ The smile on Tracy-Jane’s face faltered. ‘I’m sorry to meddle with your mind like this, professor. You’ve only every been nice to me.’

The look on Fitzsimmons’ face was strained. It looked like it was taking every ounce of their energy to stay standing as they hopelessly fought Tracy-Jane’s power.

Tracy-Jane said, ‘It’s a shame. Meddling with your mind is… more difficult than others.’ Tracy-Jane narrowed her dark eyes. ‘You’re not human, are you? Human minds are never this difficult to alter.’ Fitzsimmons’ hand moved sharply, landing on the wall at their side as they leant against it, nails digging into the stone. Tracy-Jane took a step forward and the cold in the corridor soared, Tracy-Jane and Fitzsimmons’ breaths misting in the air. ‘You do not remember anything to do with the gauntlet or the beast.’

Fitzsimmons’ shoulders tensed and they let out an agonised breath before the cold sharply receded and their features relaxed. Fitzsimmons blinked their magnified eyes at Tracy-Jane. ‘Hello Tracy-Jane. Did you need something?’

The crooked smile on Tracy-Jane’s face was conflicted. ‘No, professor. I’m alright. You take care, now. I’m… Sorry for disturbing you.’

Fitzsimmons frowned. ‘Students could never disturb me.’

Tracy-Jane didn’t respond, merely hurried away, Fitzsimmons watching them go with a downturn of their lips.

There was a snap, the world warping around Bagsy before she was staggering backwards in the doomed room of moths and lanterns back at Hogwarts in the present day. Though she hadn’t seen every single memory in Fitzsimmons’ mind, she’d felt their emotions. They’d been non-existent when they’d been in the eighteen hundreds, bursting and confused when they’d trapped their sister in the endless staircase, and puzzled when they’d watched Tracy-Jane hurry away.

Bagsy was certain Fitzsimmons had been telling the truth.

‘Bagsy!’ Starrett said. ‘Are you alright?’

By the looks of where everyone was, barely a second had passed since Bagsy had entered Fitzsimmons memories. She looked back at her palms, not seeing any grey. Stery stood and moved over to her, holding the mirror for her to look into.

‘Is she alright?’ Starrett asked Stery sharply.

When Bagsy looked into the mirror she saw hazel eyes and felt a thrill of relief as she realised that, as strange as finding out she was a doppelganger had once been, her powers did come in handy. ‘I feel fine,’ she said, giving Starrett an assuring nod, who seemed satisfied she wasn’t about to die. ‘Fitzsimmons is telling the truth,’ Bagsy added, turning to Mezrielda, who frowned in disbelief.

‘They are?’

‘We can trust them,’ Bagsy forced herself to say, hoping to the stars that, for once, her judgement was correct. Hope was all she had; she’d made too many mistakes to ever be truly sure of her decisions.

Mezrielda took a long breath, folded her arms and scowled at the ground.

‘Stery, thank you for your aid.’ Fitzsimmons dusted a sleeve of their robe, bits of dust floating into the air. ‘You may leave us.’

Stery gave Fitzsimmons an odd look. ‘Are you not going to tell me what the meaning of all this is?’

Fitzsimmons gave Stery a sympathetic look in return. ‘I’m afraid I cannot. Trust me when I say it is for the best.’

Stery grumbled moodily, moving to the ladder and climbing down.

Bagsy sat back down next to Mezrielda feeling rattled from her experience, but also an uncertain elation at what she’d done.

Mezrielda crossed one leg over the other, swishing her sleek hair over her shoulder. ‘How much did the beast share with you in terms of her plans the last time she tried to overthrow the government?’

‘Nothing,’ Fitzsimmons said. ‘I guessed their goal, but not their method.’

‘She was looking for something,’ Mezrielda explained. ‘Back in 1804. Something hidden underground that, if she had found, would have won her the war. It’s called the world heart – and she’s looking for it again. If we don’t find it first, she’ll be unstoppable.’

Starrett’s eyes widened. ‘The world heart?’

‘Yes. We’re sharing this information in the hopes you know what it is.’

Fitzsimmons rested their head in their hands. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

Starrett shook her head. ‘I haven’t, either.’

Bagsy looked from one professor to another. ‘Really?’

Mezrielda pursed her lips. ‘This was a waste of time, then.’

Bagsy felt a bit foolish. Mezrielda had been right. Trusting the professors had been a wasteful risk. She was beginning to wonder if she should ever trust her own decisions again.

Fitzsimmons said, ‘We will investigate.’

Mezrielda stood up, moving towards the ladder. ‘Let us know if you find anything,’ she said curtly, before leaving.

Scrambling after her friend, Bagsy said an awkward goodbye to Starrett and Fitzsimmons. ‘Thank you anyway.’

‘Bagsy,’ Starrett said, before she could leave. ‘Miss Beetlehorn, we will need to re-start your Artifisiary lessons soon. Do you have time in your schedule?’ Bagsy opened her mouth but paused, cringing as she realised she didn’t. ‘Can you make time?’ Starrett rephrased her question. ‘As important as your NEWTS are, I’m sure you understand why picking Artifisiary back up, even if it isn’t an official subject, is vital.’

‘I’ll try,’ Bagsy said honestly.

‘Good. Don’t overwork yourself. Find the time by dropping what you can afford to, not by missing sleep.’

‘Of course, professor,’ Bagsy said, before departing.

Chapter Text

Itsuki’s idea for a games night came to fruition on a Friday evening. The Eagle Club room had been filled with popcorn, sweets, butterbeer, pumpkin juice and ghost floss, as well as a mountain of bean bags, boards games, and chess sets. Itsuki had drawn a table on the chalk board to track victories. Nevis and Oscar, who declined partaking, had agreed to keep score, which meant that Oscar wrote everything down, observing each movement like a hawk, whilst Nevis stood sheepishly to the side, doing not much at all.

The first round was wizard’s chess and Mezrielda’s smug smirk barely left her face as she defeated every single refulgent with ease.

Fiona growled in frustration. ‘You must be cheating!’

Mezrielda, moving her queen next to Fiona’s king with a small flourish whilst protected by a distant bishop, having only take three moves to checkmate her, grinned wickedly. ‘Prove it.’

With a huff Fiona knocked over her king, and Oscar recorded another win for Mezrielda.

Bagsy glanced at the scoreboard. She was tied last with Elijah, with Jon and Itsuki just above her, Fiona in the middle, and Killian and Howe in second. Mezrielda, of course, was first, with a perfect score. 

Next, Killian and Fiona insisted they play a muggle game.

Killian reasoned, ‘If you really want a clash of wills a game of property battles and backstabbing is always the way to go.’

Fiona had produced a large board game. Technically only four people could play as there were only four counters but that didn’t stop them from using an ink pot for Howe, a comb for Itsuki, a transfigured pebble for Mezrielda, a quidditch-captain badge for Jon and an empty sweet rapper for Fiona so they could all play at once.

The result was chaos.

‘It’s my turn!’ Jon fumed when Killian picked up the dice whilst Fiona and Mezrielda were furiously discussing the rent cost Fiona owed Mezrielda.

‘There’s no interest in this game!’ Fiona insisted, whilst Mezrielda was already double checking her calculations.

‘With a gross increase of one-point-two percent in the GDP this round given the property bought by Itsuki, the hotel upgrades Elijah made and the train station set completion by Howe, your cost must account for inflation.’

Bagsy had only bought the first two properties on the map. Apparently, they were worth the least, so no one had wanted them. That had made Bagsy sad, so she’d put all of her resources into sprucing them up. At least Mezrielda let her stay in her ‘dynasty of estates’, as she called it, for free.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Fiona hissed as Bagsy landed on the most expensive, fully developed slot and Mezrielda had offered her a complimentary mint to go with her free hotel room. ‘You charge me extra when I land there!’

Mezrielda looked down her nose at Fiona whilst Bagsy hid a chuckle behind a hand. ‘People of discerning taste can stay for free. Hence why I charge you extra.’

When Mezrielda landed on Fiona’s lot, Fiona rattled on about how Mezrielda had broken her hotel’s fashion laws and was going to be fined a million pounds which she condescendingly added was ‘muggle money, by the way’. Mezrielda had seethed in response that she’d achieved an O in Muggle Studies and knew exactly what the currency was. It seemed a fight was about to break out between the two. Killian, Jon and Howe reached for the popcorn, whilst Itsuki and Bagsy made noises of alarm, and Elijah blinked on blankly, entirely unruffled by the approaching spell duel.

Bagsy was stunned to find Nevis walk over and stand like a looming shadow over Fiona and Mezrielda. ‘I think that’s enough of this game.’ Fiona protested but Mezrielda, oddly, instantly cooled, acting as if Fiona didn’t exist.

Thanks to her inflation rules Mezrielda was still ahead and after a few rounds of noughts and cranes, serpents and ascending instruments (what Mezrielda called snakes and ladders), and tic-tac-troll it was time for the final round; a massive game of traitor.

Bagsy shuffled and gave out the cards. Mezrielda had tried to at first to a chorus of protests that she’d rig it somehow. Itsuki and Jon had convinced Nevis to join in, but Oscar had insisted on staying on the side.

With nine people playing there were three traitors, as well as one wild card who won if they were mistakenly accused of being a traitor at the end of the round, causing everyone but the wild-card to lose.

Turning over her own card Bagsy tried not to scream in joy at seeing she was a regular civilian, and not a traitor. She sucked at reading other people’s bluffs but was even worse at bluffing herself. Curious, she leant towards Mezrielda, trying to peep what her friend had been assigned.

‘Can I help you?’ Mezrielda asked in a clipped tone, snapping her card flat to the floor.

‘What did you get?’

‘Civilian,’ said Mezrielda and though Bagsy tried to read her expression her friend’s face was an impassable mask of nothing.

‘You’re lying.’

Mezrielda looked at Bagsy. ‘Am I?’

Bagsy furrowed her brow in thought. She had no clue.

The round began with tentative questioning until Fiona made a slip up.

‘Repeat that?’ Mezrielda said quickly, tilting her head and fixing Fiona with a curious expression.

‘I said that I won’t be needing any help with my mission,’ Fiona repeated her answer, before her face paled. ‘I-I mean to say, that I don’t want any help with my mission from someone who may be a traitor.’

‘It’s too late to cover for yourself,’ Mezrielda tutted. ‘Only a traitor would want to take a mission alone. You’re one failed mission away from winning.’ Mezrielda’s reasoning received nods of agreement and Bagsy joined along, trying to act as if she understood what was happening.

Marked as a traitor Fiona was ignored for the rest of the game, which didn’t turn out to be too long. Elijah kept gaining more crystals than the others when they were splitting resources and Mezrielda neatly presented the others with immaculate book keeping that proved, without a doubt, Elijah must be a traitor and siphoning more for himself. Or, at least, Bagsy was informed it was irrefutable. She didn’t understand it herself.

‘Nevis,’ Itsuki piped up, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. ‘You’ve been awfully quiet.’

Nevis shrunk in on himself, clutching his card close to his chest. ‘N-no… I haven’t...’

Mezrielda looked at Nevis and though Bagsy could tell she was tense she spoke directly to him. ‘Nevis. You are always quiet. Why dispute this?’

Nevis’ eyes widened from behind his round glasses. ‘I… uh…’ He put his face in his hands.

Jon laughed heartily. ‘I think we found the third traitor. I’m ready to vote.’

Itsuki raised his hand, counting down from three. ‘Vote on one. Three, two, one!’

The card in Bagsy’s hand buzzed and she looked down to see the names of those playing. Quickly she selected Fiona, Elijah and Nevis, following Mezrielda and everyone else’s lead. There was a pause and then Fiona, Elijah and Nevis’ cards lit up. They’d been voted for.

As soon as they did Mezrielda let out a mad cackle, throwing her head back victoriously. ‘You fools! You helpless buffoons! It was I! I was the last traitor–’

‘I win,’ Nevis murmured and Mezrielda cut off, head snapping to look at him. Nevis turned over his card, a small smile on his face.

He had the wild-card.

Mezrielda gaped, brow knitted together as though she couldn’t comprehend what had happened.

Even though everyone else had lost, cheers sounded from the other players as they hurried to shake Nevis’ hand.

‘You did it!’ Killian cried. ‘You felled the unbeatable champion!’

Fiona seemed the happiest. ‘She threw me under the bus to make herself look less suspicious. Cheers for taking her down a peg.’

Once Nevis was given a bit of space Mezrielda reluctantly dipped her head. ‘Good game,’ she grumbled. ‘I guess.’

There was a tapping noise and Bagsy saw Oscar changing the scoreboard. ‘Nevis wins,’ he announced, writing Nevis’ name above Mezrielda’s and scribing the infinity sign next to it. Mezrielda folded her arms and quietly seethed whilst the others let out another cheer.

Bagsy put her hand on Mezrielda’s arm sympathetically. ‘You’re better than all of us at these games. I thought you did pretty well.’

Mezrielda bristled then considered Bagsy for a minute, her grin slowly slipping back into place. ‘You have a functioning brain, then,’ she murmured jokingly. ‘It’s better he wins.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Even if first place should have been mine.’

Games finished, they sat about gorging themselves and chatting, Nevis enjoying the oversized crown he’d won that glinted from where it perched on his head. Bagsy caught Mezrielda eyeing it enviously and chuckled. Bagsy even fetched the snapping-rum, vileka and amber-brewed cider she and Mezrielda had bought from the Three Broomsticks, which only helped make the evening merrier.

After all the high spirits, laughter and games, it was getting late and most of the refulgents were barely managing to stay awake, but before they started to head to bed Nevis spoke up again.

‘I’d like to say something.’

Jon did a double take. ‘You’re volunteering to say something?’

Itsuki elbowed Jon. ‘Go ahead, Nevis.’

Nevis put his hands in his lap, looking down. Tears formed in his eyes. ‘I really miss Teresa,’ he said, his voice breaking at the end. He put a hand to his face, his shoulders shuddering. Itsuki and Jon were instantly at Nevis’ side. ‘I just wanted to say thank you,’ he forced himself to continue, keeping his eyes downturned. ‘It’s nice to hang out with you guys and feel a bit normal again. I’m sorry for… for being so weak…’

Itsuki gave Nevis a squeeze. ‘You’re not weak, dude.’

‘Yeah!’ Jon agreed. There was a pause and Bagsy saw the others exchanging looks.

Killian was the first to speak. ‘I have nightmares, Nevis. Where the Ministry have taken me and they’re not letting me go unless I tell on you guys. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with this feeling like someone’s un-synced my breathing with my lungs.’

Nevis took his glasses off and wiped his eyes. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

Itsuki gave Killian a grateful look, then leaned his head down to Nevis. ‘I get nightmares too. About Teresa. I miss her so much.’

Jon hummed in agreement and Bagsy found her eyes moving from Nevis to Itsuki to Killian and back again.

She drew in a breath. ‘I also find sleep… hard,’ she admitted and Nevis’ brown eyes moved onto her. ‘I see all the things that have happened, all the people who’ve–’ Finding her own vision blurring and her throat growing tight Bagsy cut off and shrugged half-heartedly.

Mezrielda crossed her arms. ‘If any of you tell anyone this I’ll skin you alive, but even I have somewhat unpleasant dreams. Think of everything we’ve been through. It is nothing but natural to have strong emotions about the events which have occurred.’

Nevis looked back at his lap. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘Not just for talking about this but for the games night as well.’

Itsuki perked up. ‘Let’s do it again, then!’

Jon beamed. ‘Once a week from now on?’

‘Sounds great,’ said Itsuki.

They kept to their promise and with each week Bagsy saw more and more of Nevis. He was still small, but he seemed taller when she noticed him walking through the castle and now he was almost always with someone else. Itsuki and Jon would bounce off ideas on how to beat Mezrielda at the next games night with him, Killian and Fiona would watch, enamoured, as he showed them his latest origami creations, and Howe and Elijah would keep him company in the library, working on Magician’s Guide whilst Nevis focussed on his studies. It made Bagsy happy to see he wasn’t isolated. The only refulgents Nevis didn’t seem to be spending more time with was Oscar, which made sense given Oscar preferred to be alone, and Bagsy and Mezrielda, which made less sense to her.

‘Have I done something to upset him?’ Bagsy wondered as she and Mezrielda walked to the quidditch pitch to watch Hufflepuff’s match against Ravenclaw. 

Mezrielda cast Bagsy a sideways look. ‘It’s me he’s avoiding. Not you.’

Bagsy frowned as she rubbed her gloved hands together for warmth. ‘Why?’

‘Temporiem,’ Mezrielda cast and Bagsy sighed happily as her fingers heated. They found their seats and Bagsy forgot about the question Mezrielda hadn’t answered as she saw the Hufflepuff team losing.

‘Come on!’ Bagsy encouraged as the new Hufflepuff seeker shot off after the snitch. From the stands, and in the clear-skied weather, it was obvious to Bagsy how not-like-Greenda he looked, and it made it easier not to think about the quidditch team that had once been.

Mezrielda was busy working on a crosswords puzzle. She’d found it too easy and had edited the words and layout to make it more difficult. ‘Honestly,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll never understand the hype around quidditch.’

Bagsy just gripped her hands together before grumbling when the Ravenclaw seeker caught the snitch instead. She caught Jon’s attention and gave him a sympathetic shrug. Jon shook his head at her, frustrated. Even so, when the Hufflepuff seeker flew over to him he forced a smile and patted them on the back. Bagsy knew Jon was thinking about his brother Ford, who’d come in second place in his last year. Now, under Jon’s captainship, Hufflepuff looked set to come last.

After the disappointing loss at the weekend Bagsy was thinking guiltily on quidditch during her Potions lesson. If she wasn’t such a cowardly drama queen who couldn’t deal with her issues, she could have helped them win, a well-placed bludger would have kept the Ravenclaw seeker off the snitch, for instance, but as she absent-mindedly stirred the metal-growth draught with one hand, and adjusted the heat on the gullypotency potion with the other, she knew she couldn’t return. The idea of being on the pitch without the players she’d grown used to was awful.

‘Hey, Bagsy,’ Fiona cut into her thoughts.

Bagsy snapped out of her daydreaming. ‘Hmm?’

‘Did you hear about the stunt I pulled in Modern Cuisorcery this morning?’

‘No.’ Bagsy quickly added fig paste to her potion. She was interested in what Fiona had to say but she also didn’t want Professor Stery to vanish her work and keep her after class. ‘What did you do?’

Fiona giggled as she talked, struggling to get her words out. ‘I found a way to make these cupcakes, right? Except they’re not ordinary cupcakes. They’ve got magic frosting. They make anyone who eats them want to start a food fight.’ She giggled some more. ‘You should have seen Professor Wattleseed’s face. Soon the whole kitchen was one massive food war.’ Her laughing dying off, Fiona gave her potion a stir. ‘I bring this up because I was planning on bringing them to the next game night, but I can’t think of a way to get Mezrielda to eat one without realising.’

Bagsy frowned. Then, idea hitting her, she let out a small gasp. ‘You know what you should do?’ Fiona paused her potion making to listen. ‘You should play on Mezrielda’s pride. She’ll say the cupcakes are too childish or something so then you say that you think she’s just scared and wouldn’t have the control to resist starting a food fight if she ate one.’

‘Ooooh, that’ll work, alright!’ Fiona said, having forgotten the potions she was working on. 

‘Fiona!’ Maisy warned from the work station behind and Fiona just managed to turn the heat off her cauldron before the solution boiled over.

‘Thanks, Maisy.’ Fiona wiped her forehead and let out a breath. ‘That was close.’

Bagsy glanced back at Maisy wondering again if she should return her memories of her sister back to her. Once more, she decided such a monumental decision should be in the hands of someone who didn’t have a track record of messing things up.

The next games night was that weekend, after the Halloween feast. There had been an array of soups, pies and sandwiches, with pumpkin biscuits and chocolate eclairs for desert and though the decorations were more subdued than last year, Bagsy immensely enjoyed the floating glittery pumpkins the Enchraftment students had made as a project for their NEWT classes.

After the feast, Bagsy and Mezrielda made their way to the Eagle Club room, a question trying to wriggle its way out of Bagsy’s mouth.

‘What is it?’ Mezrielda asked.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You were thinking loudly, as you often do.’

Bagsy winced. ‘It was just… maybe we should give Maisy a draught of silver cleanse. She had a sister she no longer remembers so shouldn’t we return her memories?’

Mezrielda stopped, checking up and down the corridor, before leaning close to Bagsy. ‘We absolutely should not do that.’

‘Why?’

‘Her sister isn’t coming back, Bagsy. At least this way she doesn’t have to know what happened. No one will believe her and it’s exactly those kinds of beliefs that gave her a reputation for telling fibs.’

Bagsy’s shoulders sagged. ‘You really think we should keep it from her?’

‘Positive.’

‘Alright,’ Bagsy agreed, feeling as though they were doing something wrong, but knowing she wasn’t clever or wise enough to make the right decision herself. If Mezrielda said they shouldn’t return Maisy’s memories, then that was that.

The games night helped her put her mind off things and when Fiona whipped out a tray of freshly frosted cupcakes it wasn’t hard to push Maisy and her sister completely from her mind.

Fiona, with a mysterious flourish, placed the tray on a table and motioned her arms over them as if performing a magic trick. ‘These will make anyone who eats them begin a food fight.’ She gestured at the wealth of snacks they’d brought to the games night as well as all the baked goods and fancy sandwiches Fiona herself had provided. Not subtly at all Fiona picked one of the cupcakes up, placed it on a napkin and held it towards Mezrielda.

Mezrielda curled her lips in disgust as if a pungent odour was bothering her. ‘Cupcakes are the height of immaturity,’ she said, holding up a hand to decline them. ‘Cake is already pushing the boundaries of acceptable substance for respectable adults; a miniature version is beyond doubt unsavoury.’

Killian winked. ‘Of course, they’re unsavoury. They’re sweet!’

Mezrielda crossed her legs and arms, looking away from the cupcakes as if their very presence was an offense to her.

Bagsy made an encouraging motion at Fiona which she abruptly stopped when Mezrielda glanced back at her suspiciously. ‘Just stretching m-my arms,’ Bagsy lied. Mezrielda narrowed her eyes.

Fiona took a step towards Mezrielda. ‘Are you saying that you don’t think you’d be able to resist the urge to food fight if you ate one, then?’

Mezrielda moved her glare to Fiona. ‘Of course not. I could eat the entire batch and still refrain from such a ridiculous action.’

Fiona hummed uncertainly. ‘If you say so.’ She went to place the cupcake back on the tray with overly slowed movements. Bagsy watched Mezrielda look around the room, before growling and standing up, striding to Fiona.

‘Fine,’ Mezrielda snapped, snatching the cupcake from her. She swished her wand, cutting a small cube out of it, and hovered it into her mouth.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. ‘You need to eat the whole thing for the full dose.’

Mezrielda continued to scowl at Fiona as she cut the cupcake up some more and ate it, cube by perfect cube. ‘There,’ said Mezrielda, floating the empty cupcake wrapper onto the tray before returning to her seat and dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief. The refulgents watched her. Someone unfamiliar to Mezrielda might have said she looked relaxed or bored, but to Bagsy there was a tension in her shoulders and a tapping of a finger against her arms that showed an itch to move.

Fiona sat down. ‘Feeling alright?’

Mezrielda nodded stiffly. ‘Splendid. Thank you kindly for asking,’ she forced out through her teeth. One of her arms jerked and she quickly grabbed it with her other. Her eyes slid to the food, a hunger in them that made Bagsy shudder.

Killian was reaching towards the cupcakes. ‘I need to try one of these.’ With two swift bites, Killian demolished a cupcake. Spurred on by his action Itsuki grabbed his own, handing another to Jon. Howe and Elijah took one each and with an excited gleam in her eyes Fiona took one to.

As Mezrielda sat stock still Bagsy watched the others slowly turn their attention to the nearest item of food. Like an arrow shot from a bow Killian grabbed a sandwich and hurled it at Fiona. With a yelp Fiona ducked, kicking the tray of cupcakes into the air, before spinning and hitting it towards Killian.

Killian leapt to the side, the cupcakes splattering across the wall, whilst Howe threw a cookie at Elijah who caught it and took a bite, before throwing a slice of pineapple in retaliation.

Bagsy watched, eyes widening, as food was shot back and forth, two teams quickly forming. Fiona had one side of the room and Killian the other. Some were letting out excited screams as they dodged and threw food but others, like Nevis or Oscar, where ducking behind chairs with their hands fearfully covering their heads. In the middle of the chaos, wand held aloft and casting an incantation to prevent the food from touching her, Mezrielda remained like a statue.

Biting back a grin Bagsy crouched and rushed to where the cupcakes had ended up, grabbing one of the few that had survived the fall. Keeping low and dashing from chair to chair, using them as cover, she returned to Mezrielda, walked right up to her and poked the frosting of the cupcake against her nose.

The food fight stalled as the students looked at Mezrielda, whose eyes were closed and her fist clenched tightly around her wand, the end of which was glowing a deep blue.

Ominously, every item of food rose into the air, glowing the same blue.

‘Get down!’ Fiona dropped to the floor. Killian was fast enough to get out of the way but Bagsy, Howe, Elijah, Itsuki and Jon, who’d all been standing in the open, found themselves covered in pretzels, salad, frosting and pumpkin punch from Mezrielda’s spell explosion.

Bagsy looked at her messy robes, dripping onto the floor.

Mezrielda let out a harsh breath of relief, seeming at peace now her itch to have a food fight had been satiated. ‘Scourgify,’ she murmured, and the mess vanished as abruptly as it had been inflicted on the room and its inhabitants. The floor, walls and their robes became spotlessly clean.

Fiona pushed off the floor, jumping back to her feet, laughing. ‘I thought you were too childish for food fights?’

Mezrielda turned her nose up at Fiona. ‘I was viciously attacked with frosting. Defending my honour through retaliation is nothing but mature.’ 

There was a moment of silence. Fiona was the first to start laughing and then it spread to the others, starting with Killian and ending with even a few chuckles from Nevis and Oscar.

Bagsy smiled at Mezrielda, who looked ready to sulk. ‘You won,’ Bagsy offered.

Mezrielda swished her wand a final time, her name appearing as victorious on the chalk board and a crown resting on her head. As the laughter grew some more Bagsy caught the smile on Mezrielda’s face as she turned away from the others.

‘I always win,’ Mezrielda said arrogantly, and Bagsy wisely decided not to remind her she’s lost the last games night.

Chapter Text

The term flew by. Bagsy had never felt more comfortable with her studies, never attending a lesson feeling helpless and lost. Instead, each step towards her classrooms made her feel lighter than ever because, for once, she was good at what she did. At least, she was good enough that she was certain she’d pass all her NEWTS if she kept studying diligently. Though her red oak wand still refused to work for her, despite how hard she tried to cast spells and develop the dexterity of her left arm, she didn’t care. For once, she felt like a good student. Bagsy loved being in her sixth year at Hogwarts. Her sleep was better than it had been before. She still jerked awake from nightmares, but with Mezrielda staying over she didn’t spend hours with a racing heart and anxious mind keeping her from returning to sleep. Knowing the other refulgents were having their own difficulties didn’t hurt, either.

‘Did you know you shift in your sleep?’ Mezrielda said one morning.

‘Sorry,’ Bagsy said instinctively.

Mezrielda glanced back. ‘Don’t be. Sometimes, when you wake up, there’s a moment when you’re remembering that you’re Bagsy. I’ve seen it a few times. It never gets old. You always look so happy, like you’re shrugging into your favourite sweater.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘It’s endearing.’

Bagsy tried to hold back a smile, hiding her face by putting it in her pillow.

When Christmas holidays were a week and a half away, Bagsy and Mezrielda were in the library. Mezrielda was revising for an advanced Transfiguration quiz Professor Hilkins was setting and, unlike when she worked on her Charms and Phypnotic homework, Mezrielda looked like she was deeply focussed. Meanwhile, Bagsy had finished writing a risk assessment on the uses of different acids to clean artificing objects. Some were scarier than others. Spirit acid wasn’t terribly acidic, but in freak accidents it had been known to create soul residue that could seep into inanimate objects and give them limited sentience or, in even rarer instances, such full consciousness that a new life form was created. The idea of accidentally creating new life whilst trying to de rust a spanner was horrifying to Bagsy, and the thought of one of the hammers in the forge suddenly coming to life and slamming onto the floor over and over made Bagsy shudder.

‘Finished,’ Mezrielda said in satisfaction, pushing her revision to one side. ‘Fancy a walk to the courtyard?’ Despite the cold weather, it was particularly sunny that day.

Bagsy eyed the stack of Defence Against the Dark Arts practise cards Mezrielda hadn’t bothered to look at. ‘Don’t you still have work to do?’

Mezrielda groaned, leaning her head back. ‘Technically, yes, but there are far more pressing facts. Namely, that I’m bored and don’t want to do it.’

Bagsy smirked. ‘Alright, alright, let’s go for a walk.’

‘Thank the stars,’ Mezrielda breathed, standing up swiftly and marching towards the exit. Bagsy collected her things, shoving them into one of the many pockets of her robe, before hurrying after her.

They hadn’t spent long focussing on their work. Before Bagsy had begun her risk assessment, and Mezrielda her revision, they’d been playing the non-existent author game, a game they’d been playing for years by that point. It was a simple game; one person came up with a silly surname, like Dunce, and the other player had to find a book by an author with that name in as fast a time as possible. As best as Bagsy and Mezrielda tried no matter what ridiculous name they came up with, a book existed in the library by that author. Given the game they’d been playing before they’d started their studying, their walk to the courtyard was a break after only half an hour of work.

Mezrielda hummed thoughtfully as their steps synced, ‘Do you suppose that there is a way to transfigure water into a potion?’

‘Not according to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.’

‘That’s what Gamp wants you to believe,’ Mezrielda said, conspiratorially, an ambitious glint sparking in her eyes as she wore that frightening expression of hers again. ‘Imagine the uses of being able to make a felix felicis potion instantly.’

‘Um, actually,’ Bagsy said, as they turned a corner and passed a pair of ghosts floating above their heads. ‘I reckon from the reading I’ve done that felix felicis doesn’t actually do anything. At least, most brews of felix felicis don’t.’

Mezrielda gave her a side-ways glance of interest. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Care to speak less pompously?’ Bagsy teased, to a wonderful scowl from her friend. ‘In short, any brew of felix felicis that hasn’t been left to sit for at least three decades seems to give more of a… what was that word now… placing bow? Placing bow effect, and even those left to sit for decades only seem to have a genuine effect one fifth of the time otherwise they, too, giving a placing bow effect.’

Mezrielda looked amused. ‘Placebo,’ she corrected. ‘It’s a good thing one of us speaks pompously when the other speaks like she’s never opened a dictionary.’

‘I bet you read the dictionary for entertainment, don’t you?’ Bagsy countered, then chuckled at the defensive glare Mezrielda shot her. ‘That’s a yes, then?’

‘None of your business,’ Mezrielda responded curtly, then, ‘it has some fascinating anecdotes.’

They were walking down the corridor skirting the courtyard, Bagsy keeping her hands in her pockets. It may be sunny but it was still cold and she wasn’t surprised to see the grass in the courtyard was frozen crisp with dew the students crunched below their feet as they hurried from one place to another.

Bagsy heard a small, evil-sounding cackle from Mezrielda and startled. ‘What?’

‘I’m just envisioning the time you bested Primrose here.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘Now that is something Live Picture Productions should make a series about.’

‘Me hitting Primrose with a bat?’.

‘Music to my ears.’ Mezrielda closed her eyes, dramatically clasping her hands together. ‘I can hear the thunk of it now. Banish the thoughts of Vampire Affairs from your memory, your best performance was that fight.’

Bagsy laughed as they stepped onto the courtyard, heading towards the fountain in the middle, the sounds of splashing water a calming rhythm in the freezing air. Then Bagsy stopped, her feet still on the grass. Mezrielda halted as well, the pair of them looking at the boy on the other side of the fountain, sitting on its edge.

Tod Alden.

Bagsy didn’t know how to feel about Tod. He’d written nasty things about them in his paper, Witchment Enrichment, had failed to warn her about the dangers of Philipupus, and betrayed her a handful of times, but he’d only been trying to be of use to his family, he’d recently lost his brother, and though he’d caused them trouble he could have caused far more grief than he already had by revealing Mezrielda was an unregistered Animagus. Plus, he had stuck his neck out for them on more than one occasion.

‘That’s spoiled my mood,’ Mezrielda murmured. She turned to walk to the other side of the courtyard and Bagsy was about to follow when she saw Tod opening a book. At first it looked unassuming but Bagsy’s eyes stuck on it. Her vision didn’t lie; something was off about it. There was an illusion upon it and though Tod couldn’t see it, the thorned vine suddenly trailing out of the spine and snaking towards his ankle was obvious to Bagsy.

‘Tod!’ Bagsy called in alarm.

Tod looked back at her before the vine snapped around his leg. As if it were a balloon, the book sprung out of Tod’s hands and into the air. The vine pulling taught, Tod was jerked upside down, his head hitting loudly against the side of the fountain.

Pushing thaumathletics into her legs Bagsy leapt over the fountain in one bound and up to where Tod was being carried, managing to grab his hand. It was limp in her grip and as the book slowly lifted them into the sky Bagsy saw that Tod’s eyes were closed. Hoping he was just unconscious, and also at a loss for what to do, Bagsy looked back down. Mezrielda was pointing her wand at the ground below them, transfiguring it into soft cushions. If Bagsy could just stop the book pulling them higher they would fall onto the soft ground, safe.

‘Sorry about this,’ Bagsy said, awkwardly clambering up the unconscious Tod, eventually reaching the vine. Slipping on her spell-sponge gloves she pulled herself upwards, wincing when she accidentally cut herself on the thorns. Finishing her climbing, she stared at the book’s pages, not sure what to do. She’d been in difficult situations many times but she was still an almost magic-less girl. Hoping for assistance she looked back down at the courtyard, which was far too small for her liking; they were gaining height quickly.

Mezrielda looked a second away from casting a spell up at them when Bagsy saw the red robes of Professor Starrett as she approached her and commanded Mezrielda stop. Bagsy felt a stab in her chest, thinking back to Cora, Mr Mortem and Bontie. Did Starrett want her to get hurt? The idea of another betrayal dug into her skin like a needle. Then she saw Starrett look up at her and, even as Starrett grew smaller as the book flew up, Bagsy made out the assuring nod she gave her.

Starrett wasn’t going to help her.

Bagsy’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t an Artifisiary lesson. If she made a mistake this was for real and they were very high up. Why wasn’t Starrett helping? Surely it would be a simple spell for her to right the situation.

It occurred to Bagsy that Starrett wasn’t helping because she wanted Bagsy to fix this herself, trusting she could handle it. Bagsy wasn’t sure she agreed, but the fact Starrett expected her to succeed was motivation enough. Bagsy wasn’t about to let her down.

Clenching her jaw Bagsy looked back at the book. It was enchanted with some kind of dark magic. She reached into her robe and pulled out her calibration tools, the ones she’d use to help create her spider gloves. She set to work on the book, trying to tilt it to steer them towards one of the towers. It wasn’t a glove but Bagsy was slowly figuring out where she could attach different ingredients to the pages and orient them. She just needed the book to respond to vertical surfaces and everything would be fine.

They were close to a tower but if they gained more height they’d miss it entirely. Holding her breath and crossing her fingers she added the final tweak. The book stopped sharply, jolting from side to side in the air, and Bagsy’s heart gave out as she clamped her hands back around the vine, wincing at the thorns digging in. Then the book shot like an arrow towards the tower, magnetically pulled to the vertical surface.

Bagsy closed her eyes and braced herself for the impact only to find the stone transformed into soft pillows. The book held fast against it, the vine below still wrapped tightly around Tod’s ankle.

Tod gave his head, which was red from hanging upside down, a shake and opened his eyes. ‘What–?’ he said quietly, before his eyes widened. He looked at the vine tied around his ankle and suspending him in the air, at the pillow-transformed wall of the tower, and then at Bagsy a few feet above him. ‘Bagsy? What on earth… what happened?’

Bagsy looked down at the courtyard, seeing Starrett raise a hand and point it towards them. The air between her and the courtyard shifted, and a long set of stairs grew out of the tower, the freshly forming bricks scraping against each other as they settled into place and led down to the ground.

‘I don’t know,’ Bagsy said honestly. She decided to leave the book where it was and climbed down using her spell-sponge gloves to Tod, the newly formed steps just below him. ‘Can you do a handstand?’ she asked.

‘Never tried,’ Tod responded, sounding out of breath and looking a tad dazed.

‘Give it a go.’

Tod stalled, before coming to his senses and reaching his hands out to the steps, placing them firmly on the bricks. ‘Okay. Think I’ve got it.’ His voice sounded far away, as if he didn’t believe this was really happening.

Bagsy pulled a set of sheers from her robe pocket and cut the vine. She didn’t bother trying to pry the thorny tendril wrapped around Tod’s ankle off – she could end up cutting Tod as well – so she’d cut the part above instead.

His weight no longer held up by the vine Tod’s handstand faltered and he began to tip over. Bagsy placed one spell-sponge gloved hand on the wall and, quickly pocketing the sheers, grabbed Tod’s ankle. Forcing energy into her muscles Bagsy carefully helped Tod out of his handstand so he was the right way up again.

Tod knelt on the stairs for a few moments, breathing quickly as he looked over the edge. ‘Well…’ was all he said, for once speechless.

When Tod had recovered enough Bagsy helped him down the stairs and to the courtyard. Starrett wasn’t the only professor there anymore as Wattleseed called Tod to him, leading him towards the infirmary. As Tod went he looked back at Bagsy, eyebrows furrowed, but didn’t say thank you. Bagsy gave him an awkward dip of her head as he left, not knowing what else to do.

Starrett moved her hand through the air and the book attached to the side of the tower zoomed into her palm. ‘I will look into where this came from,’ she said, hovering the book in front of her and coiling the vine up so it was contained within the pages. ‘Well done, Miss Beetlehorn. You acted quickly and used what was available to you to solve the problem.’

Despite what had happened Bagsy felt pride swell within her.

Mezrielda folded her arms, annoyed. ‘It would have been safer, professor, to have brought them down with a spell.’

Starrett narrowed her eyes. ‘If you believe there was any chance of harm befalling them whilst I was present you are less intelligent than I took you to be.’ With the click-clack of her heels, Starrett promptly left.

Bagsy moved to Mezrielda’s side. ‘Who do you think–?’

‘Primrose.’ Mezrielda pointed to the side of the courtyard. Bagsy followed where her friend was indicating and saw Primrose grinning at them, her pointed teeth on show.

‘How do you know?’ Bagsy asked but Mezrielda didn’t need to respond. As if in answer Primrose pulled a book out of her bag that looked identical to the one Tod had been reading and gave it a taunting shake. Bagsy clenched her fists. ‘We need to report her.’

Evidently agreeing, Mezrielda set off in the direction Starrett had just gone, Bagsy following close behind with a last look in the Primrose’s direction.

Chapter Text

Starrett didn’t look surprised when they told her of their suspicions. At dinner that evening Bagsy saw Primrose being escorted out of the room by Starrett and Fitzsimmons, both with faces like thunder. When Primrose returned to finish her meal Bagsy was shocked to see she was flanked by a wizard in long black robes who Bagsy recognised as the auror who’d been stationed outside her room when she’d competed in the Junior Auglympics last year. The auror’s dark hair, which was cut in a way that made his head look like a rectangle, was hard to forget, as were the shades he wore. He moved to the side of the hall, standing tall with his pale white hands clasped and face like a stern statue as Primrose found her seat and finished her dinner. Primrose glowered in the auror’s direction, hunching over her food as if she thought he might steal it.

Bagsy said, ‘What do you think happened there?’

Mezrielda tilted her head and smirked in smug amusement. ‘I think Primrose has a chaperone.’

Bagsy felt a bit safer knowing the unhinged Primrose was being watched by an auror. It would be harder for her to pull off dangerous stunts with a Ministry official keeping an eye on her. Even if Bagsy didn’t like the Ministry, or having a Ministry official in the castle, it was better than the alternative of leaving Primrose to her own devices. At least, she consoled herself, the Ministry hadn’t swapped out any of the professors yet.

With Primrose now monitored the final week of term was a peaceful one. The castle morphed around Bagsy in a familiar tide of jovial decorations, Christmas trees sprouting in the corridors, the paintings adorning Christmas hats, and tinsel-baubles floated by the ceiling. Some baubles contained animated reindeer trotting through ice covered woods, white hares peeking out of frosty burrows or snow men throwing tea parties. Even some of the professors were getting into the spirit, Wattleseed and Kim wearing matching white beards and bright red robes with bells attached, both finding their costumes highly amusing even if other professors – namely Starrett – seemed annoyed. Professor Jones had a small wreath pinned to his robes and Professor Barnsley had brought in season’s greetings cards, delighting in explaining the strange muggle winter traditions he’d grown up with to any student who’d listen. Bagsy was surprised to learn there were far more celebrations than just Christmas at winter in the muggle world. Given how much Barnsley was liked he often had a small crowd listening intently as he retold a story about him and his wife attending a holiday based around lights, or one involving a game with a four-sided spinning top, or even one for hiding a penny in a pie.

‘The fun is seeing if you get the slice with the penny,’ Barnsley explained. ‘A penny is like a knut,’ he added, for those who were new to his Muggle Studies classes. ‘It’s a small coin with not much value.’

The students had seemed fascinated by the idea and it wasn’t long before Fiona had baked a dozen pies, each with a hidden muggle-coin, to give out at dinner. ‘I had to go searching for these coins. We don’t really use pennies in the muggle world anymore,’ Fiona had informed them. ‘It’s all been digital for centuries.’

‘Digital?’ Bagsy had asked.

‘Like magic except it’s really complicated science,’ Fiona had supplied. ‘It’s not as developed as it was before the resource wars wrecked it, but it’s still way better than physical currency.’

On the final Friday of term Bagsy was summoned to Starrett’s office before lessons. She had a quick breakfast with Mezrielda who was bragging about her perfect score in Transfiguration, for which Bagsy happily exchanged her news of a near pass in a Medmad practical, before hurrying to the dungeons. The dungeons, unlike Hogwarts basements, were cold and echoing and the noise of Bagsy’s footsteps joined the gentle drip of water that trickled down the walls. When Bagsy saw an aged, wooden door with iron decorations she knew she’d found Starrett’s office, knocked and waited patiently.

‘Come in,’ said Starrett. ‘I don’t have all day.’

When Bagsy pushed the door open the creak groaned through the corridors. She stepped inside, the wooden floorboards protesting, and glanced at the shelves in the room finding, as with last time, they housed porcelain snakes charmed to slither from one to another. It was oddly satisfying to watch them slink around, their shiny scales catching the light, arching like glinting bridges from one shelf to the next. Starrett, who was sitting at her desk, gestured at a seat. Bagsy sat down.

Starrett said, ‘Last year, you made decent strides in Artifisiary. Now that you’ve settled into your NEWT classes I feel it is time to pick them up once more. Starting after Christmas you will have two Artifisiary lessons with me a week.’

On the one hand Bagsy knew this would make her incredibly busy but, on the other hand, she really did miss her Artifisiary lessons and they were very useful for testing her inventions and sparking inspiration for new ones.

Starrett continued, ‘I understand that you are taking six NEWT subjects. I suggest dropping one to allow for the time Artifisiary will take.’

The professor’s words made Bagsy still in her chair. She was managing her work so far but Starrett had a point, without dropping one there wouldn’t be time for her to take Artifisiary. Once again Bagsy had made a dumb decision without even realising it. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of flashes of green light, or a ginger girl being struck by a bought of mortal sickness. She didn’t want to drop any of her subjects and she didn’t trust herself to make the decision of which one to drop, given her track record of poor choices. ‘What do you think I should do?’ Her voice was quiet and slow. She hoped Starrett would provide the correct answer Bagsy knew she’d inevitably fail to figure out herself.

‘Tell me, Bagsy, what do you aim to do after you finish your education?’ Starrett opened a drawer and pulled a piece of paper out.

Bagsy pursed her lips, her eyes darting as she thought. She wasn’t entirely sure. The only career she’d ever considered was being a professor and that had only been for a moment. It didn’t sound terrible, but it would involve speaking in front of lots of people, which was a large concern. Besides, if Bagsy couldn’t realise someone close to her like Bontie was using her, how was she meant to realise what she wanted to do with her life? ‘I’m not really sure.’

‘You have a lot of promise in invention,’ Starrett observed, peering closely at the paper. ‘If you take as much enjoyment in inventing as I suspect you do I would recommend dropping Phypnotic. Whilst it is a fascinating subject, and whilst I’m sure Fitzsimmons wouldn’t approve of me discouraging you from it, it is the only subject you take that does not directly link with what I suspect you will go into when older. Of course, the final decision rests with you. Do what you want to, whatever that may be.’ Starrett put the paper down. ‘I wouldn’t insist you take Artifisiary again if I didn’t think it was vital.’

‘I know. You’re looking out for me.’ If Starrett thought Bagsy should drop Phypnotic, then that’s what Bagsy would do.

Starrett took a breath, clasping her hands across her stomach and staring at Bagsy. Silence stretched for a painfully long time as Starrett mulled over whatever she was about to say, as if having taken a bite of a sandwich she wasn’t sure had go off yet. ‘I was awful to you,’ she said at last and as she spoke the wrinkles on her face seemed to grow heavier, as if aged by memories.

At first, Bagsy didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s alright,’ she responded, shrugging. ‘That was then. This is now.’

Starrett shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t be alright with the way I was cruel to you in your earlier years at Hogwarts.’

‘But I am!’ Bagsy insisted. ‘At the time I, well, I didn’t like you to be honest.’ She shrunk a bit at the admittance. ‘But as I said, I don’t feel like that anymore. You’ve been so helpful to me and you’ve tried so hard to keep me safe.’ Starrett still didn’t seem convinced, her eyes looking off to the side. ‘It’s self-motivated, I guess,’ Bagsy pushed on. ‘If I don’t let go of the way you used to treat me then I’d lose–’ Bagsy’s voice cut off and she took a moment to collect herself. ‘I’d lose the only adult in my life who seems to care about me and keep me safe.’

Starrett’s eyes moved back to Bagsy. ‘I shouldn’t be the only adult in your life who cares about your safety.’

‘I think you might be.’ Bagsy’s throat felt tight.

‘Fitzsimmons cares as well. As does Stery, as does every professor in this school.’

‘They didn’t make sure I was revising all of last year. They weren’t the ones who taught me how to cast spells. They weren’t the ones who stepped in the way when Lewis shot that attack at me! That was you. Of course, I’ve forgiven how you used to treat me even if I don’t understand why.’

Starrett placed her elbows on her desk, resting her head in her hands. ‘Would you like to know why?’

Bagsy blinked at Starrett. ‘You’d… tell me if I asked?’

‘Yes.’

Bagsy swallowed. ‘Why, then?’

‘I thought you were like your sister.’ Starrett leant back. ‘When she was at Hogwarts she held a convincing façade and acted as if she were useless at magic. I discovered this not to be the case. Despite her outward behaviour, I doubt there was a single subject under this roof she wasn’t perfect in. I kept a close eye on her and it became plain to me that she was a master at deception and manipulation.’ Starrett closed her eyes, jaw clenching. ‘I knew she was dangerous but when she asked to become a spy for Fitzsimmons and join our cause, Fitzsimmons didn’t listen to my warning. When you arrived at Hogwarts, seeming to lack magic in the same way your sister supposedly had, I assumed you were pulling the same tricks as her and feeding back all you knew to Bontie.’ Starrett flexed her hands. ‘I shouldn’t have been so blinded by anger.’

‘Anger?’

‘You may be aware that my sister was locked away in Azkaban. She was caught trying to break creatures out from the Ministry. Bontie was meant to be helping the operation from the inside. Something went wrong and my sister was arrested.’

‘Was it Bontie that arrested her?’

‘No. That privilege went to Mr Mortem. But I am sure Bontie played her part in what happened. After that time anger was all I could feel when it came to Beetlehorns. That is not to say this is an excuse, because it is not. A professor should never treat a student the way I treated you.’

Bagsy fumbled her hands together. ‘I… I really appreciate you saying this, professor.’

‘After all I’ve done you’re the one thanking me?’ Starrett laughed ruefully. ‘Fitzsimmons is right. You’re an exceptional child in more ways than one. Now, let’s move on to what I really brought you here for, before all this personal talk exhausts me.’ Starrett opened another drawer, pulling a wrapped parcel out of it and hovering it into the air with a wave of her hand. ‘Happy Holidays,’ she said dryly. Bagsy took the package as if it would break from the slightest touch. She held it tightly, feeling the crinkle of the wrapping paper below her fingers. ‘That should help you with your holiday homework for Artifisiary. Your instructions are in there as well. Don’t begin the task until after Christmas, and don’t open that package before Christmas day. If you do–’

‘You’ll know,’ Bagsy finished, fishing the slip with Starrett’s name on it out of her pocket and giving it a wave. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

Starrett gestured at the door. ‘I’ll see you in Alchemy and Artificing later today. Dismissed.’

‘Bye, professor.’ Bagsy moved to stand. Starrett had pulled out some marking, intently focussed on it, and didn’t notice Bagsy glance at the seat she rose from. Squashed between the back and the cushion, Bagsy saw the half-moon eavesdropping earring she’d planted last year. It played whatever noise it heard in the other ear-ring that Bagsy still had. Quickly, she grabbed it and put it in her pocket, before leaving.

Starrett had placed questions in her head. She didn’t think Bagsy should have forgiven her for the way she’d behaved and Bagsy disagreed but then, how many times had Bagsy thought she knew what was best and been wrong? Her hands trembled as she put the gift into her bag. She simply couldn’t hold Starrett’s actions against her. Bagsy had been telling the truth – it felt like Starrett was the only adult in her life who truly cared about her. That wasn’t something Bagsy could afford to lose.

Her first period was a free so Bagsy set a course for the library nook. She settled into the secluded section, buffeted from the rest of the library by the book shelves that enclosed it, and set to work. Mezrielda had Defence Against the Dark Arts so she was on her own or, at least, other than the stampelia slowly outgrowing the large window Bagsy had put in it all the way back in her first year, she was on her own.

That was until Tod hovered at the entrance to the nook. It took Bagsy a few moments to notice him she was so busy memorising theories on muscle energy retention for Thaumathletics and organising the plant clippings she needed to cultivate for the Herbology lessons after Christmas. ‘Tod,’ Bagsy said awkwardly when she finally noticed him.

Tod pushed his hair out of his eyes and sauntered to the seat opposite her. Sitting, he leant back in the chair, his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘You helped me.’

Bagsy opened her mouth like a goldfish, not sure what to say. She’d only really done what she’d done because Starrett had expected her to. Left to her own devices, she was sure she’d have panicked and acted in a stupid way.

Tod looked at the table between them, eyes narrowed to slits, his glare could have burst the wood into flames. ‘I’m useless.’ His demeanour seemed to crack for a second.

‘What?’ She didn’t think she’d heard Tod talk like that ever.

‘I can’t change memories and I have no paper to influence people. I’m useless.’

‘I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?’

‘Life is transactional, and I have nothing left to offer any more.’ He voice wavered with each word. ‘Nothing left to trade.’ Bagsy didn’t know what to say so she just continued to look at Tod, her quill slowly sliding from her loose grip. ‘I told you I would spy on my parents for you because it’s all I have left to give. My parents finally realised my power’s gone so they no longer have a use for me, but I convinced them there was still something I could do.’ Meaningfully, Tod flicked his brown eyes up from the table and at Bagsy. ‘Do you follow?’

‘Not at all.’

‘I told them I’d spy on you and give them information about what you were doing. You’re the ones who stopped Magnus wiping the minds of the wizarding world, you’re the ones who started the sway of public opinion on the inexcusables list, you’re the ones who’ve been intertwined with the beast. Gaining information on you is one of the last useful things I can do. The other one…’ Tod looked down at the table again.

‘The other one?’ Bagsy managed to force out of her constricted throat.

‘Providing you and Mezrielda with information of my parents.’

‘You mean…’

‘Acting as a double agent, working against my parents for you,’ Tod confirmed. The crooked smile he forced onto his face was desperate. ‘Let me be useful.’

Bagsy sat back in her chair, shoulders sagging as what Tod had said settled around her. ‘I’m not… I’m not smart enough to decide this. Meet me and Mezrielda here at lunch. She’ll know what to do.’

‘She’ll never trust me, and you know it. You need to make this decision yourself.’

‘I don’t know anything,’ Bagsy countered hotly, fists clenching. ‘And any time I think I do everything goes wrong and people die. I’m not making this decision.’

Tod’s eyes widened. He pursed his lips, looked to the side. ‘Alright. Lunch time it is. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He stood, paused as if he wanted to say something more, then left.

Stery had to chide Bagsy for spilling her de-fluffing draught in Potions she was so distracted by what Mezrielda would say at lunch. Stery paused at her desk, glancing in Fiona’s direction. Fiona’s work station was next to Bagsy’s but she was currently walking away to fetch some wax root from a shelf on the other side of the room.

‘How are your eyes?’ Stery asked quietly, subtly placing a mirror on the table.

Bagsy looked around herself, before leaning over and blinking at her own reflection. Her eyes were nothing but hazel. ‘They look normal to me.’

‘Now look at my eyes,’ Stery added, picking the mirror up from the table. Bagsy did so feeling a small jolt of revulsion at the sight of the pure-grey eyes. She didn’t begrudge Stery having them, but the idea that Stery saw Bagsy the same way made her shudder. ‘You look uncomfortable.’

‘I guess,’ said Bagsy, fumbling with the stirring rod she’d been using. ‘I don’t like the idea that my eyes look like that.’

‘That’s fine,’ Stery assured her. ‘You’re in an exceptional circumstance. The fact you see your eyes as normal is, on its own, a great thing. Focus on that.’

Bagsy nodded.

Stery moved away from her work bench to hurry over to Rebekah’s, who was about to mistakenly add a vial of boom-juice to her mixture. With a sharp tone Stery admonished her lack of focus and took ten points from Hufflepuff. Bagsy tried to hold back a smile. Even if Rebekah had joined the quidditch team last year she’d still only ever been cruel to Bagsy. Then Bagsy forced her mind to think of nothing but Potions because the thought of quidditch was too painful.

At lunch Bagsy’s face must have betrayed her thoughts.

Mezrielda was already sitting at the Hufflepuff table, a spoonful of soup on the way to her mouth, when it slowed and was placed back in the bowl. ‘Difficult lesson?’

‘Kind of.’ The sympathetic look Mezrielda shot her went some ways to helping make her feel better. ‘I was wondering if you could do something for me?’ She swung her legs over the bench and sat down, grabbing herself a sandwich.

‘That depends on what it is,’ said Mezrielda, though they both knew it really didn’t.

‘Tod spoke to me this morning. Would you be willing to meet him in the library this lunch and hear him out?’

Mezrielda’s grip on her cutlery tightened. She took an angry spoonful, swallowing as she looked into the distance. ‘I’ll listen to what he has to say.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I don’t have to like it, though.’

‘That’s fair enough.’

Tod was already in the library nook when they got there. He quirked an eyebrow at Mezrielda. ‘I’m surprised you showed.’

Mezrielda glared at him, turning her icy stare to the seat he was on. ‘Move.’

Tod held his hands up defensively, before standing and gesturing back to the seat. ‘But of course, your highness.’

Bagsy grimaced. This wasn’t getting off to the best start.

Mezrielda barged past Tod, sitting down on the chair and crossing one leg over the other. Bagsy sat in the window seat, the leaves of her stampelia brushing gently against the back of her neck, and Tod took the chair Bagsy usually sat in.

‘I have two options,’ Tod said, his voice hiding the vulnerability Bagsy had seen it betray earlier, though she could see his white-knuckled hands below the table. ‘I can spy on you for my parents–’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ Mezrielda scoffed.

‘–or I can spy on my parents for you.’

‘The same offer as you gave before. The answer is still no.’

Tod’s lip ticked up in annoyance. He tilted his head to the side, his hair falling in his eyes. ‘If you can get some veritarserum I can prove my honesty.’

Mezrielda shook her head as if Tod had told an amusing joke. ‘You must think I’m an idiot. I have little doubt that you’d be able to resist veritaserum or you wouldn’t have offered the idea.’ Bagsy saw Mezrielda’s gaze slide onto her for a second before snapping back to Tod. Bagsy knew she wasn’t smart enough to figure out what that look meant so, instead, she tried to think how Mezrielda thought. It occurred to Bagsy that, like with Fitzsimmons, Bagsy could read Tod’s mind and see if he was telling the truth. The only issue was Tod didn’t know Bagsy was a doppelganger and Tod’s family ran the government, who kidnapped and presumably killed doppelgangers. Vampires may not be on the inexcusables list, but doppelgangers were. If Tod was trustworthy he wouldn’t report Bagsy, but then the memory reading would be pointless. If Tod wasn’t trustworthy, the memory reading would reveal Bagsy’s true nature and mark her for death. Mezrielda said, her voice conspiratorially quiet, ‘What if there was a way for you to prove your loyalty without a potion?’

‘I’m listening.’

Mezrielda looked back at Bagsy, who was trying to figure out what she was thinking. ‘If you really want to turn against your family and work for us we’ll need proof you’re serious. You have the Christmas holidays to search your family home and bring any documents you find on the world heart to us.’

‘Mezrielda!’ Bagsy gasped out, not quite believing she’d just given away what they were looking for to Tod.

‘The world heart?’ Tod furrowed his brow. ‘What’s that?’

‘Find the documents,’ snapped Mezrielda, standing up. ‘If you’ll excuse me I have better things to be doing with my time than wasting oxygen on you.’ Bagsy watched as Mezrielda stalked off. Bagsy would have followed her, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave the nook, even after everything Tod had done. He was just a kid like they were and his family situation was difficult, which Bagsy could very much sympathise with. Even so Mezrielda had decided it was time to leave, so Bagsy gave Tod a meek goodbye before following.

‘You told him about the world heart!’ Bagsy hissed when they’d left the library and begun walking through the winding corridors of Hogwarts. ‘I thought you didn’t trust him?’

‘I don’t. It’s possible the world heart is a powerful item the Aldens could use to their advantage.’

‘Then why…?’

‘The Aldens are panicking. They are, essentially, the Ministry and as the beast amasses forces they’re losing power. I don’t like the Aldens, but I like the beast less. Even if the Aldens use the information that we know about the world heart to their advantage if it keeps it out of the hands of the beast it isn’t the end of the world. It won’t come to that, though.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Either the Aldens already have information on the world heart that Tod can then bring to us or the Aldens have nothing on the world heart and gain nothing from hearing its name. It’s not an infallible plan but, given I devised it, it’s as close as one can be.’

Bagsy mulled that over. ‘If you think it’ll work then that’s that.’ Any concerns Bagsy might have would be mistaken, no doubt.

Mezrielda seemed to notice the downtrodden look on her face and the way her feet scuffed along the floor. ‘You have something on your shirt,’ Mezrielda said, looking like she was holding back a smirk. She reached a hand forward and placed a finger just below Bagsy’s collar bones. ‘Just there. A stain.’

Bagsy looked down. ‘I don’t remember–’

Mezrielda, with a triumphant snort, moved her hand upwards, flicking Bagsy’s nose. ‘Got you.’

Bagsy grinned. Instantly, she had a bauble of sealable substance in her hands. ‘So you are challenging me?’

Mezrielda drew her wand, taking a step back, a terrifying expression shadowing her face. ‘I will reign victorious.’

‘You wish!’

The two dodged spells and small expansions of sealable substance as they giggled, in Bagsy’s case, or cackled like an evil witch, in Mezrielda’s.

By the time lunch ended and Bagsy had to go to Alchemy and Artificing, letting Mezrielda reverse the few jinxes that had slipped past her spell-sponge gloves, she was in a much better mood. The ghosts, paintings, rugs and doors who’d been caught in the cross fire weren’t pleased and when Horba appeared to deal with their mess he shook his head at Bagsy and Mezrielda as if they were toddlers drawing on the wall.

‘Allow me,’ Mezrielda said, moving to cast a cleaning charm, but Horba had refused.

‘I enjoy cleaning,’ he protested. ‘You has lessons. Go.’

Chapter Text

The first half of Alchemy and Artificing was fascinating. They were looking at different kinds of gems that corresponded to different elements. Fire stones, water stones, air stones and ground stones glimmered from the velvet tray Starrett had presented them in.

‘These stones have rudimentary pocket-dimension enchantments formed naturally within them that correspond to the stone’s element.’ Starrett moved her hand and a jar on one of the shelves containing a raging fire floated over. Starrett uncorked it and directed the fire down into the stone which shimmered flecks of amber as the fire kept feeding in, having a seemingly endless wealth of space for the flames to reside. Eventually all that was left was a glowing stone. ‘The fire will remain within the stone,’ Starrett explained, placing a tray of different gems on the student’s desks, one for Bagsy and one for Primrose. She tapped her hand firmly on Primrose’s desk. ‘I know exactly how many of these there are and their precise size. You are not to take any.’

Primrose rolled her eyes.

They spent the lesson examining the gems, taking notes and running tests, whilst Starrett asked them to think of uses for them.

‘Putting out fires?’ Bagsy had suggested, to which Starrett had nodded and added the idea to the many they’d already come up with on the chalk board. Primrose didn’t contribute much, instead leaning her head on her hand and blinking tiredly at Starrett. At least the auror following Primrose stayed outside the classrooms. Bagsy didn’t like his quiet, unmoving presence. He felt like a gargoyle.

When the second half of Alchemy and Artificing arrived, and Starrett left to teach her other students, Professor Mephit burst into the classroom and placed worksheets in front of them.

Mephit said, ‘Today we’re going to be looking at, or try to look at, or maybe consider is the better word… we’ll be considering, or thinking about, or pondering, the seven-hour notitia loop. Or, at least, that’s what it’s been come to be known as. Or, what some scholars call it. Of course, others call it a big mess, but others say it’s all fine.’

Bagsy always felt a little lost whenever Mephit spoke, but the mention of the notitia time-winders made her heart pulse with excitement. She gripped the worksheet tightly, reading it as quickly as she could, but there wasn’t much information on the sheet, just a bunch of questions about the risks of notitia time-winders and their power requirements.

In the attic room where Alchemy and Artificing was taught Mephit walked to the back, passed a stack of old books and next to the stained-glass window overlooking the grounds, a tall grandfather clock brushing the arched ceiling. Mephit took a key from his robe’s pockets – the glass panel floating in front of his eyes zooming in on the lock in the clock’s door – and inserted the key, turning and opening the clock. An assortment of oddities were inside, fitted around the pendulum that Bagsy guessed hadn’t moved in years from all the cobwebs.

Scrapes of metal on metal and glass against wood echoed before Mephit pulled a flute-like pole out. Tucking it under one of his incredibly muscly arms Mephit closed and locked the clock. ‘This is a time-winder,’ he said. Bagsy gaped, wide eyed, at the thing. It was blue and yellow but the colours were faded to dull imitations of their former selves and hundreds of tiny buttons were fitted along its length. At the very end the only part of the object that wasn’t yellow or blue stared challengingly at them; a big red button. ‘When it comes to meddling with time one thing is certain beyond a doubt.’ Mephit fixed them both with a long look. ‘It is a bad idea.’

There was a long pause. Bagsy waited for Mephit to qualify his statement. When he didn’t, Bagsy looked at the time-winder again, swallowing. There had been a few times in Bagsy’s life where she’d heard Mephit say something without going back on himself and each time it had always held a horrific, ominous weight.

Mephit said, ‘Time-turners used to be the going method, but they were destroyed and outlawed a long time ago. Time-turners could send people back in time, but time-winders cannot.’ Mephit placed the time-winder on Bagsy’s desk. ‘You can pick it up,’ he said. ‘Be careful, but you don’t have to be too careful, because it can’t do anything. Though, caution can’t hurt, of course, but don’t hold back, it really is a fascinating thing.’

Bagsy glanced at Mephit, then at the time-winder, before tentatively picking it up. She looked at Primrose, who was staring at the time-winder. Her gaze held a focus it had lacked before.

Mephit continued, ‘Time-winders are a great case study in risk assessment and energy consumption. Or, at least, they’re somewhat better than the previous ones the curriculum used. Though, I do miss teaching about clay clones. Then again, that subject was always a little disturbing. But…’ Mephit trailed off, gave his head a small shake, and smiled at them. ‘A time-winder doesn’t send someone back in time but, instead, it sends their memories.’ He tapped the time-winder in Bagsy’s hands, who jumped as if the device would explode. ‘It takes so much energy to do this that no one’s ever been able to activate one. Time-winders are essentially useless, hence why it’s probably fine for you to look at them.’ Mephit took the time-winder from Bagsy and handed it to Primrose, whose clawed hands clacked on the metal pole. ‘For the rest of the lesson you’ll be creating a risk assessment of a time-winder and analysing why it needs so much energy to function. Or, at least, you’ll be starting on that. It’s fine if you don’t finish the task in the lesson. Well, actually, it’s not, you should be working harder than that. But, I understand if you find these things difficult, they are confusing, so maybe–’

Bagsy tuned Mephit out, already scribbling in the work sheets. The first risk was obvious; if time-winders sent memories back it was possible for someone to activate a time-winder and find their mind stuck in a never-ending loop of information. As Bagsy wrote the idea she tried not to think too much about it. Being forever stuck reliving the same day sounded like what muggles called hell, to use a phrase Professor Barnsley often said. She consoled herself, as she looked over information from the textbook, that time-winders had a built-in safety mechanism so they could only send information back once to avoid such a situation. Then again, no one had ever used a time-winder successfully, so no one knew if the safety mechanism worked.  

When the lesson ended Mephit took the time-winder from Primrose, who’d been writing in both her worksheet and notebook throughout, and locked it back in the clock. Mephit ushered them out and Bagsy set off towards the Hufflepuff common room whilst Primrose, chaperoned by the auror, headed for the great hall. Bagsy watched Primrose leave feeling nervous. She didn’t like how much interest Primrose had taken in the time-winder.

When Bagsy sat down to eat she found herself swamped by two excited Gryffindors.

‘We’re going to play capture the flag!’ Fiona cried in barely contained elation, jumping into a seat next to Bagsy who startled at her sudden presence.

Killian leapt over the table, a few Hufflepuffs shooting him annoyed looks, before taking a seat opposite. ‘It’ll be like that tag we played once. A re-enactment of old times! A symbolic retelling of the battles we fought!’

Mezrielda, who’d only just walked over, was casting Fiona and Killian suspicious looks. ‘What are you doing at the Hufflepuff table?’ she asked, sitting down on Bagsy’s other side.

Fiona rolled her eyes. ‘You’re at the Hufflepuff table too, Miss Slytherin.’

Mezrielda sniffed, holding her head up high. ‘That is entirely different.’ She demurely lifted a glass of pumpkin juice to her lips. Bagsy watched her drink before realising she was staring and forced her eyes to her plate. Fiona snorted, shooting Killian a knowing look that Bagsy didn’t like.

Killian said, eyes sparkling, ‘We’re here because we’re planning another battle of wills before we break for Christmas.’

Mezrielda put her glass down. ‘You’re going to play tag,’ she translated.

‘Capture the flag, to be precise. We’re getting everyone together who was there last time! Plus… Itsuki,’ he added sheepishly. Fiona shot Killian another knowing look that Killian very much ignored. ‘And if Itsuki’s there then of course Jon and Nevis will be too, and a couple others we convinced.’

Fiona cut in, ‘We’ll have more people so I figured a better game would be capture the flag instead of tag.’ Killian nodded his enthusiastic agreement.

Whilst Mezrielda didn’t look keen Bagsy was already wondering how she could use her inventions to win.

Mezrielda saw her scheming look and sighed. ‘So be it. We’ll join this childish game of yours.’ Bagsy smiled. If Mezrielda thought it was alright to play the game then Bagsy felt fine doing it.

The group of students heading out onto the snow-covered ground grew in size as they moved through the corridors. Fiona and Killian had recruited a number of students and, as they approached the exit, Mezrielda spotted and called out to two fifth year Gryffindors.

‘Daniel, Santos,’ Mezrielda said, holding her wand to her neck to cast her voice to their ears.

A tall ginger boy and a boy with black hair and a wide nose turned towards them from the stairs. Bagsy recognised them – they were some of the people Mezrielda taught duelling each week in her Corvid Club. Last year they’d had an uneasy relationship, given the disparaging views of vampires they’d held. But, with time, they’d reached an uneasy truce and now, as Daniel and Santos turned, Bagsy saw they seemed pleased. Evidently, they had gratitude for the person who’d taught them to duel.

‘Mezrielda,’ Santos said, setting down to stairs towards them. Daniel moved to join but one of his feet caught on the banister, his toe stubbing against it, and he found himself tumbling down instead. Santos laughed something about his friend being clumsy and helped him to his feet before they reached the group of students.

‘We’re playing capture the flag,’ Mezrielda grit out, as if the admittance pained her. ‘It would be good practise for your duelling. You’ll be joining us.’ Despite the sharp order Daniel and Santos seemed perfectly happy with the idea.

By the time the students had reached the quidditch pitch, where Fiona had decided the game would be played, there were ­­­­­fourteen of them. Howe, Elijah and Maisy had joined, as they had played in the original game of tag and because Maisy was there Paloma had come along too. Itsuki, Jon and Nevis were there, and Oscar, as a refulgent, had been invited, though Nevis and Oscar said they were going to sit off to the side and watch, as usual.

Fiona outlined the rules swiftly. ‘This half of the pitch belongs to team tiramisu and that half belongs to team soufflé.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Mezrielda moved to the side of the pitch Fiona was on. ‘My team is team gargoyle.’

Fiona shrugged. ‘Alright. Now, let’s see, on team tiramisu we’ll have…’ Fiona scanned the gathered students. ‘Killian, Daniel, Santos, Itsuki, Bagsy and me.’

Killian puffed out his cheeks. ‘We’re not team tiramisu. We’re team philosophy!’

Fiona deadpanned at Killian. ‘Never mind, I’ll be on team gargoyle. Elijah you can take my spot on team silly-and-over-thinking.’

That left team gargoyle as Mezrielda, Fiona, Maisy, Jon, Howe and Paloma with Oscar and Nevis as the unbiased judges.

Bagsy walked to Killian, who seemed to have elected himself as the head of team philosophy, and looked nervously at Mezrielda’s team. She did want to beat Mezrielda, and she’d put plenty of effort into outthinking Mezrielda in the past, but she was on a team, and she was near positive everyone else on team philosophy had better planning skills than she. She tried to focus on the sound of snow crunching below her shoes and not all the times she’d made mistakes.

Fiona gestured at the ground. ‘We’ll need flags, of course,’ she said, with a pointed look at Mezrielda.

‘You didn’t bring any?’ Mezrielda crossed her arms. Fiona shook her head and Mezrielda grumbled, swishing her wand and transfiguring some snow into two flags, one with an image of a gargoyle embroidered on its side, the other with wonky, half-hearted letters spelling pHiloSoPhy.

Fiona grabbed the philosophy one and chucked it at Killian before taking the gargoyle one for her own team. ‘Now, rules,’ said Fiona, projecting her voice. ‘Mezrielda, could you kindly make a line?’

Mezrielda muttered, ‘What did your last slave die of?’ before moving her wand once more to turn a line of snow in the middle of the pitch a bright green.

Fiona said, ‘If you cross this into the other team’s territory and are touched by one of the other players you’ll be taken to wizard jail; the goal posts,’ she clarified, gesturing at the posts on either side of the pitch. ‘You can only be released from wizard jail if one of your teammates makes it to you and touches you. If you manage to grab the flag and take it back to your own goal posts without being caught and taken to wizard jail, then you win the game. You can’t keep your own team’s flag on you, it has to be hidden somewhere in your half of the pitch, and when you hide your flag in your part of the pitch at least a part of its coloured material needs to be visible. You can’t use magic, and,’ Fiona fixed her eyes on Bagsy, ‘no inventions.’

Bagsy gulped. The game felt a lot more intimidating all of a sudden.

Mezrielda added, with a stern look at Fiona, Killian and Bagsy, ‘No use of thaumathletic energy, either.’ Fiona and Killian didn’t seem to like that but Bagsy thought it was only fair.

The rules settled, the teams broke apart to their own sides. They had a minute to decide a place to hide their flag whilst Mezrielda floated a wall of snow between them so they couldn’t see where the others were hiding theirs. 

Killian kicked at the snow. ‘Obviously we should stick it in the snow to keep it from view.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘Ginger girl said a part of its material needs to be visible.’

Santos elbowed Daniel. ‘You’re ginger too, dude.’

Daniel shrugged.

‘We’ll leave a small bit out,’ Killian responded, demonstrating by putting the flag in the snow and poking a tiny corner of blue out the top.

Bagsy glanced at the stands surrounding the pitch, wondering if they’d make a better place to hide it. She looked back at Killian and the others, who were adjusting the flag’s position so it was less visible. They probably knew best, Bagsy thought, twiddling her thumbs together. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’ Killian blinked at her. ‘The plan is to use the strength of our will and wits to see who the victor is! I’m going to run really fast, even without thaumaturgy, and grab their flag!’

‘Oh,’ Bagsy said uncertainly. ‘Alright, then. I guess we can do that.’ She glanced at where the flag had been poorly hidden. She was pretty sure someone should hang around to guard it, but the others were edging towards the line, looking ready to run to the other side as soon as the game began.

The time started and the wall of snow between them vanished. Bagsy frowned, looking at the posts on the other side of the pitch. Fiona was climbing down from them, having tied team gargoyle’s flag to the top of one. With a thud, Fiona let go of the post and landed next to Mezrielda, who was grinning wickedly at Bagsy. Bagsy had little doubt as to whose idea putting the flag up there had been.

It was a quick match. Team gargoyle were organised and co-ordinated. Mezrielda had assigned Jon, Howe and Maisy to guard the flag and even if Maisy, who didn’t seem to like Mezrielda that much, left her post to help Paloma guard the line dividing the pitch, the tactic was effective. When Killian sprinted to the posts to try and climb them he had to keep circling back and dodging around the other team, who never strayed far from the places they were guarding, thanks to Mezrielda’s commands.

It wasn’t long before Fiona, using the distraction Mezrielda had caused by sending Jon sprinting on the left side of the pitch, snuck by and easily grabbed their flag, outrunning Killian without any problems now that neither of them were using thaumaturgy. The match was over within a few minutes.

They played a few more rounds, re-shuffling the teams, but it didn’t seem possible for Mezrielda’s side to lose so long as those playing with her did as she said. Bagsy, meanwhile, tried her best to run and tag those who came onto her side, but didn’t dare do more than that – she was certain she’d mess up if she did.

When she was finally on the same team as Mezrielda, watching her work was breath-taking.

‘Fiona’s going to tie the flag to the top of the post again. Santos, you’re going to run onto the other team and try and draw them away from the posts. Jon, you’re going to go to the posts once they’ve moved away from them and you’re going to climb up to the flag. Untie it and leave it balanced on the hoop. You won’t be taking it down with you.’

‘I won’t?’ Jon checked, confused.

‘No. You can’t outrun Fiona. Instead, you’ll climb down and either allow yourself to be caught or try to create another distraction. Bagsy,’ Mezrielda turned to her, a smirk pairing devilishly with her narrowed eyes. ‘You’re going to make a lot of snowballs. I’m sure you know what you need to do with them.’ Bagsy opened her mouth and closed in, before shaking her head. Mezrielda frowned. ‘You’re going to throw them at the other team. Snowballs aren’t technically inventions, after all, and your aim is impeccable. I trust you won’t miss. Once enough panic and distraction has been created by your snowballs and Jon’s running, which we can supplement with Maisy if needed, that’s where Killian comes in. You’ll run onto the other team’s pitch and, when Bagsy throws a snowball at the balanced flag, you’ll catch it as it falls before bringing it back here.’

The team looked silently at Mezrielda, before they gave slow nods of agreement.

The plan worked perfectly, of course, and the game was over in minutes. As Killian rushed back to their side victoriously Mezrielda dusted her shoulders and arrogantly flicked her hair over her shoulder.   

‘That’s not fair!’ Fiona complained. ‘You can’t use snowballs!’

Oscar, from the side, held up a hand. ‘The judges find this move entirely legal.’ Nevis shrunk down looking like he disagreed but didn’t want to say so. Bagsy felt a twinge of guilt. She wanted to ask if they could concede the win, snowballs did sort of feel like inventions, but kept her mouth shut. Mezrielda looked certain they’d been in the right.

Mezrielda said, as the sun was sinking over the horizon, ‘How about we have one game where we allow magic? Except it’s everyone against me.’

Fiona didn’t look like she wanted that, but a few other students seemed keen.

The moment the final round began the students found themselves buried beneath snow as Mezrielda commanded the substance to bend to her will. With a flick of her wand the snow below the other team’s flag kicked it towards her, where she just about managed to catch it. She swished it through the air. ‘I win,’ she taunted, before she released them from their icy prisons. The snow had started seeping through their shoes, so Fiona called it a day, and the student’s headed back inside to pack for the holidays.

There were a handful of grumbles and glares in Mezrielda’s direction because not only was she almost impossible to beat, but she was insufferably boastful. She didn’t need to say a word – her smug expression was enough to rub a few people the wrong way. Oddly, Bagsy just found it charming. At least with Mezrielda making all the decisions and controlling everything happening Bagsy didn’t have to make any choices herself.

Chapter Text

Bagsy had been told she couldn’t stay at Hogwarts over Christmas given the danger with the beast returned, and the lower staffing over the holidays. Bagsy was destined to return to Pepsini’s penthouse at St Pancras. What she hadn’t expected was the company she’d have.

Mezrielda had flashed a letter from her parents confirming she had permission to stay at Pepsini’s for most of the holidays. ‘They want me to come home for a few days at Christmas but then I’ll be right back.’

Mezrielda wasn’t the only one to accompany Bagsy. Starrett and Fitzsimmons were joining as well. Mezrielda wasn’t too happy about that but Bagsy only felt safer knowing the two professors would be there.

For the majority of the holiday Bagsy was catching up with her studies. It was half her choice, and half Starrett checking every morning if she’d completed her holiday homework. The morning reminders didn’t dampen her mood given that, now Starrett had more energy than the last time they were in Pepsini’s penthouse, she was doing the cooking, or overseeing Fitzsimmons when they cooked.

Breakfast was often fruit salad, pancakes, smoothie bowls or even, on the best days, home-made waffles drizzled with syrup.

Starrett would clatter the serving plate onto the table and cross her arms angrily until everyone had said thank you, at which she’d be appeased and sit down to read the paper and drink her toad bean coffee. Starrett would often say to Fitzsimmons, ‘You know if you’d attend the cooking evenings Wattleseed runs your culinary skills might improve.’

Fitzsimmons would shoot a look at Starrett with their enlarged eyes. ‘You can’t stand his cooking evenings.’

‘His methods are unorthodox.’

‘And you want me to mimic those methods?’

Starrett would scowl and ruffle her paper, rising it to hide her face, leaving the conversation there.

When they’d finish eating Fitzsimmons would insist on cleaning even if Bagsy protested that she wanted to help, whilst Mezrielda rarely voiced an issue with not having to do any work.

Fitzsimmons and Starrett would take it in turns to sit on the small square of rooftop, hidden from the world by Starrett’s fideliuis charm, and keep an eye out for anything suspicious, just in case. For all they knew the beast might have some power that allowed them to by-pass the fidelius charm.

Fitzsimmons would bring Starrett warm drinks and snacks when it was her turn on watch, and Starrett would bring Fitzsimmons their slippers, which they had a habit of leaving somewhere, when it was theirs.

When Bagsy wasn’t catching up on her homework she was playing games with Mezrielda. She still couldn’t beat her at traitor and when Mezrielda convinced her to play the one-word story game again, the both of them sitting in the living room, it wasn’t long before she gave up.

‘The,’ Bagsy began.

‘Gothic,’ Mezrielda continued, Bagsy already eyeing her warningly.

‘Kitten.’

Mezrielda crinkled her nose. ‘The gothic kitten?’

‘Keep the story going!’

‘The gothic kitten… had,’

‘A.’

‘Thing.’

‘Called.’

Mezrielda leant back in the sofa she was sitting on, frowning deeply. Bagsy tilted her head to the side, hoping Mezrielda would remember her conditions for playing this game. Mezrielda’s face did an odd dance as she fought back an evil grin. ‘Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.’

Bagsy threw her arms up. ‘One rule! There was one rule!’

‘Well, it’s a moronic rule.’

‘What does that word even mean?’

‘It’s a type of illness to do with breathing in volcanic ash.’

‘Great. The gothic kitten has volcano disease.’

‘No, they’re named after a volcano disease.’ Mezrielda smirked at her. ‘I think I win.’

‘At being a pompous prat?’

‘I hope you know I take that as a compliment.’

Bagsy sighed. ‘I know you do, weirdo.’ She couldn’t really be mad at Mezrielda, not when she was the one calming her down with descriptions of long words whenever Bagsy jerked awake from a nightmare.

One night she had a dream that affected her worse than usual. In the dream everyone she knew was in danger. The dream didn’t specify what danger, Bagsy just knew all her friends were moments from death. She kept trying to save them but everything she did was wrong and with every action to try and help one of her friends disappeared until there was nothing but empty darkness. No matter how loudly Bagsy screamed for her friends to come back no one did.

‘Bagsy. Bagsy wake up,’ a low, soothing voice slowly lifted her into a different kind of darkness – the pitch black of the room she was sharing with Mezrielda. ‘That one sounded particularly nasty.’

Bagsy didn’t say anything at first, she just wrapped her arms around Mezrielda and held her tightly whilst she tried to get her breathing under control. ‘Tell me about big words,’ she asked, when she finally found enough breath to force the quiet sounds out.

Mezrielda snorted in amusement. ‘Alright. There’s antidisestablishmentarianism of course, but that’s the single most boring long word in the English language. Everyone goes for that one. It’s far too unoriginal for my taste. I prefer words such as honorificabilitudinitatibus.’

Bagsy sniffed. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s a word used to identify a specific person or thing observed or heard by a speaker, or refers to a specific thing previously mentioned, known or understood.’

In the darkness Bagsy frowned at Mezrielda, feeling her laugh silently below her arms. The joke dawned on Bagsy. ‘I know what the word ‘that’ means,’ she groaned. ‘I meant what does the word you said mean?’

‘Oh, you mean honorificabilitudinitatibus?’

‘Yes, that one!’

‘Why didn’t you say so?’

Bagsy grabbed a pillow and threw it at Mezrielda, who did laugh out loud that time. ‘I’ll tickle you!’ Bagsy threatened.

‘I’m quaking in my boots.’

‘You should be.’

‘It means being able to be honoured.’

Bagsy let her head fall back against the pillow. ‘Why does there need to be a word for that?’

‘So I can use it to annoy people with pitifully lacking knowledge–’ Mezrielda burst into giggles of protest as Bagsy tickled her.

One of Bagsy’s favourite pass times over Christmas was examining the plants in Pepsini’s conservatory. It wasn’t as large as the cazza in Quolldron college, and the King Slayer tree at the back did make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, but it was filled with fascinating flora, so Bagsy couldn’t keep away.

She was leaning her head over some egg-shaped blue flowers attached to thick, spiny stems when suddenly one of them burst. A puff of blue dust exploded around Bagsy who startled backwards, coughing furiously as she tried to dislodge the spores that had found their way into her throat.

‘Bagsy?’ Mezrielda said in alarm, putting the three crystals she’d been transfiguring into a miniature tree down and hurrying over to her.

Bagsy continued to cough, feeling as if something was stuck in her throat, her eyes bulging and a rancid taste beginning to fill her mouth. She gripped at her throat as Mezrielda steadied her, trying to indicate what the problem was.

Mezrielda seemed to understand, and carefully pointed her wand at Bagsy’s throat. ‘Sursum.’

Like a reverse vacuum, air gushed out of Bagsy’s throat, and a tough, blue clump of fleshy substance shot out and onto the floor. It jittered for a moment, then began to roll about. It seemed to sense them and with a disturbing rattle it rushed towards Mezrielda. 

‘Destructio.’ Mezrielda’s wand snapped quickly through movements. With a grumbling screech and a last shudder, the lump of blue burst apart, leaving a small scorch on the floor. They stared at it for a minute. ‘I think we should leave this room.’ Mezrielda eyed the other plants warily.

‘Y-yeah,’ Bagsy breathed as they hurried out. Wisely, they decided the conservatory would be off-limits from then on. To give herself peace of mind Bagsy fitted blocks of wood over the door to the conservatory. She couldn’t help but recall what Wattleseed had once said in her younger years at Hogwarts; there is a darker side to herbology. Bagsy didn’t want to know what other things Pepsini had collected within his conservatory and playing traitor with Mezrielda was a far safer way to pass the time.

The ordeal wasn’t entirely over, though. Bagsy found that, even if she was clear of whatever strange spores the plant had released, they’d left her feeling unwell. For a few days she tossed and turned in bed with a fever whilst Mezrielda enchanted cold flannels to rest on her forehead and brought her soup. The care had been so comforting that when Bagsy got better she almost felt a little disappointed and had to fight the urge to fake sickness for a few more days.

When Mezrielda left for Vespite Manor to spend Christmas with her parents Bagsy found the first night without her a cold, bone-shuddering experience. She buried herself beneath so many duvets and blankets she was overheating and couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes for fear of what could be hiding in the dark. Lighting candles around her room only birthed flickering shadows that morphed into clawed hands. She didn’t trust her own judgement – maybe it was a shadow, or maybe it was something else, but Bagsy couldn’t bring herself to believe whatever logic she tried to calm herself down with. She’d been wrong so many times. What if the shadow really was something slinking towards her? There would be little Bagsy could do to defend herself. She didn’t have Mezrielda’s magic.

In the end she’d pulled all of her inventions out of her robe and laid them around herself, her hands shaking within the spell-sponge gloves she’d pulled on, fingers curled around her mag-net bat, as she waited for morning’s light. She realised she was a paradox of cowardice. She was terrified of the dark, but she was too scared to admit it and ask for Starrett or Fitzsimmons to help, so instead she sat in misery for hours. Bagsy lamented how pitiful she really could be. It was no wonder she was always messing up and it was no wonder Bontie had done what she’d done. Bagsy wasn’t good for anything but being used.

The sun rose and the shadows waned. When Bagsy left her room, feeling the bags below her eyes a hundred times darker than before she’d entered, it took her a whole minute to realise the transformation the penthouse had undergone. Tinsel was wrapped around the banister of the mezzanine that overlooked the foyer. The cushions had been morphed into the shape of Christmas trees with cheery red baubles and large, glittering snowflake hung in the air, catching the light as they turned.

Bagsy walked, in a daze, down the steps and made her way to the kitchen.

‘Not like that,’ Starrett’s voice carried into the living room, similarly re-decorated. The smell of fresh pancakes wafted out of the wooden doors leading to the green and white tiled kitchen.

‘If you cook the pancakes at a low heat for five minutes, they are ready to eat?’ Fitzsimmons checked as Bagsy tiptoed to the door. Fitzsimmons was wearing their onesie decorated with cartoon moths whilst Starrett was in a set of red and gold robes.

‘Yes,’ Starrett answered, furrowing her brow disapprovingly as if she knew where this was going.

‘Therefore, if we cook them at maximum temperature they should be finished in seconds.’

‘That’s not how it works,’ Starrett protested, waving her hand and calming the raging inferno Fitzsimmons had summoned below the pan.

Bagsy knocked lightly on the door and found herself ushered inside. Starrett managed to convince Fitzsimmons that burning the pancakes wasn’t the best idea and soon Bagsy was enjoying a sweet breakfast. After they’d had their fill of pancakes with lemon and sugar, or home-made chocolate hazelnut spread, they moved to the living room. Fitzsimmons started a fire in the fireplace with a wave of their wand whilst Bagsy fetched her gifts. She opened Mezrielda’s first. Her friend had made her a collection of model-miniature plants, herbs and potions ingredients from different crystals, all kept in a tiny potions kit. Bagsy spent hours inspecting the different parts, fascinated with how small yet detailed they were.

Bagsy only had one other gift, the package from Starrett. As she pulled the paper off a heavy, blue book with gold writing revealed itself. The title was short and simple; Wandlore. In the package were, as promised, a set of instructions. Bagsy glanced them over before looking up at Starrett.

Starrett explained, ‘Your first task in preparation for returning to Artifisiary is to get your red oak wand to work for you using the information in that book to help.’

Bagsy gaped at Starrett. ‘But wandlore is really difficult!’

‘I wouldn’t set you a task I didn’t think you could complete,’ Starrett responded curtly.

With a new objective in mind Bagsy was very busy for the rest of the day, reading her new book from cover to cover, dogearing almost every page and scribbling notes on pieces of papers she’d stick in between the pages. There was a lot of information to take it but the main concern the book rose for her was the brutal fact that the wand chooses the wizard. Bagsy’s wand had not chosen her, so it was no wonder she was having trouble with it.

Bagsy was so consumed with her new task she read well into twilight, hardly noticing the shadows playing around her. Eventually, exhaustion overcoming her, Bagsy dozed off. When her dream ignited in her mind she was back in the caves and Bontie was pointing her wand directly at her.

‘I trust you,’ Bagsy said, her tongue moving against her own will. Even as Bontie moved her wand and spoke the spell Bagsy’s proclamation of trust echoed mockingly around her. She wouldn’t be in these caves if it hadn’t been for Bontie.

Bontie’s face melted and reformed, shifting in waves of grey as if she were a doppelganger, and Bagsy saw her features change to Cora, then Mr Mortem, and back to Bontie. Eventually a horrid amalgamation of the three stared at her before the image snapped away and there was only a girl lying on the floor, her ginger hair standing out against her white skin where black veins as hard as concrete were spreading. They clustered around her misty white eyes and her foaming mouth as Teresa stared up at the ceiling with a confused expression.

At some point Bagsy started screaming, and kept screaming, a feeling like burning oil sizzling in her organs. This had only happened because of her. If she had left with Primrose, Teresa wouldn’t have gone back to help her but then, if she’d left with Primrose, Starrett would have been killed. Bagsy hadn’t been smart enough – she’d never be smart enough – to know what to do. It was so unfair. Why did the most important decisions always fall to the person least able to make them?

A door opened and a soft amber light illuminated the room, growing in strength. Bagsy’s scream wavered and stopped when she realised she’d been dreaming and was back in her room in Pepsini’s penthouse. She sat upright, looking towards the door with wide eyes, assuming someone was there to hurt her.

Starrett let out a sharp breath, her shoulders sagging as she drew a hand over her tired face. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

‘Sorry, professor,’ Bagsy managed to response, her chest rising and falling quickly.

Starrett looked around the room and then back at Bagsy, who realised she must have looked a state. ‘I’ll brew you some decaffeinated tea,’ said Starrett. ‘That always helps me when I’ve had a miserable dream.’ Starrett turned and Bagsy heard the click-clack of her heels as she descended the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. Whilst the whistle of the kettle slowly worked its way up to Bagsy’s room she took a moment to collect herself. She decided to puzzle at why Starrett had been wearing heels, given she had been in her nightgown and clearly just got out of bed, instead of what her dream had been about. The memory of it was already fading and Bagsy wanted nothing more than to aid its departure from her mind.

When Starrett returned with a mug of sweet tea Bagsy sat up in bed and drank slowly, watching the steam rise. Starrett pulled over a chair and settled down, scanning the room with her eyes as if on lookout.

Bagsy was half-finished with the beverage when she thought over what Starrett had said. ‘Do you have nightmares too?’ Her voice was barely audible even in the quiet of night time. Bagsy thought she’d gone too far, seeing Starrett tense, sitting stock still for a long time. Eventually, Starrett inclined her head. It was a slow movement and Bagsy would have missed it if she hadn’t been paying attention.

‘When Fitzsimmons first tried to rescue magical beings from the Ministry the plan failed.’

Grip tightening on the mug Bagsy held her breath, worried the noise may stop Starrett from sharing whatever she was about to.

‘My sister was arrested and taken to Azkaban. They don’t use spellcasters for prison guards there, nor do they use dementors anymore. At Azkaban, they use hissentors.’ Bagsy suppressed a shudder. The shadows she’d been scared of in her room were just shadows, but hissentors were sinister creatures that disguised themselves as shadows. ‘Hissentors feed on rage. To farm as much of it as they can they latch onto whatever anger a person feels and make it grow within them like a parasite. There was a link between my sister and I and while she was in Azkaban I could feel every emotion those hissentors tortured her with.’ Starrett paused, swallowing thickly. ‘You are not alone in being troubled by dreams.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Bagsy said, instinctually.

Starrett pursed their lips into what could have been a smile. ‘Your sympathy is appreciated. Now, get some sleep. I can leave this night light in here if it will help?’ Starrett gestured at the gentle amber globe hovering above their heads. Bagsy nodded and found that, once Starrett had left and the orb had dimmed to a soft glow that didn’t cast flickering shadows, sleep was a little less daunting than it had been before.

Bagsy didn’t have to worry about the dark the following night as Mezrielda returned and expectantly took up residence in the other half of the double bed.

‘The other room isn’t as luxurious,’ Mezrielda offered as her excuse.

Bagsy did worry, though, each night they settled in that it wasn’t right for her to be sharing a bed with Mezrielda. Mezrielda saw Bagsy as her closest friend or, at least, Bagsy liked to think she did. She was staying with her at night because she knew the trouble Bagsy was having sleeping and she probably wanted some comfort herself, given Mezrielda had her fair share of night terrors. But Mezrielda didn’t know the giddy feelings Bagsy got around her, or what could only be described as butterflies in her stomach. It felt unfair to be sharing a bed with her when Bagsy knew she had these… emotions… but Mezrielda didn’t. It was like tricking her best friend.

Then Bagsy would lay her head on her pillow, her eyes closing as she decided the feeling of being on a tightrope with wind rushing around her and the ground yawning below was nothing more than her happiness at having such a good friend. Her emotions were nothing more than that, so it was perfectly fine for her to share a bed with her friend, because that’s all Mezrielda was to her.

Bagsy hoped telling herself this enough would make it true. So long as she could keep convincing herself this was how things were, she wouldn’t have to make any decisions on what to tell Mezrielda. The lies helped her through the rest of the Christmas holiday and stayed with her when it was time to return to school.

As they settled themselves into a compartment on the Hogwarts express for their journey back to Hogwarts, Starrett and Fitzsimmons having taken their posts at the front of the train, Bagsy tripped and notes spilled out of her bag onto the floor. At least she’d fallen into an empty compartment, she consoled herself, as her ideas for improving her red oak wand, as well as her Alchemy and Artificing notes, made a large mess.

Mezrielda shook her head in disbelief. ‘You continue to amaze me with your clumsiness.’ With a few swift swishes of her white wand the papers were hovering into the air and back into Bagsy’s bag.

‘Wait!’ Bagsy snatched one of the floating notes, pulling it in front of her face, practically burying her nose in them as an idea stung through her spine like electricity. Mezrielda sat down on one of the seats, crossed her legs and waited patiently for Bagsy to explain as the train set into motion. ‘The Knight, sir something…’

‘Pavot.’

Bagsy clicked her fingers. ‘Sir Pavot! Yes! Him! He made a vow back in 1804 to vanquish something and he was involved in a search for the world heart.’

‘Both of these statements are correct.’

‘What if there was a way to ask him questions?’

Mezrielda frowned. ‘Bagsy, I do believe that is quite impossible.’

Shaking her head, Bagsy slowly sat. ‘I don’t think it is.’

Mezrielda folded her arms, eyeing her quizzically.

Bagsy looked down at the notes in her hand. A diagram of a flute-like object was looking up at her. ‘I might be able to make something that can bring the memories of the Knight to the present day.’

Mezrielda’s eyes widened. She was still for a time before she leant forward, her hair falling over her shoulder. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘This is a time-winder.’ Bagsy handed the paper to Mezrielda who furiously inspected it. ‘It can’t send people back in time, but it can send information. Memories. What if I could create something to do the reverse?’

‘Bring information forward from the past.’

‘Exactly. I could bring forward the memory of Sir Pavot so that we could ask him questions about his vow and his mission.’

Mezrielda leant back again, drawing in a heavy breath and letting it out slowly. ‘Messing with time is a dangerous business.’

‘Not if it’s just information. The main dangers of time travel come from physical things being sent backwards in time. We’re not sending anything backwards and we’re not bringing anything physical from another time into this one.’ That had been what the textbook had said, at least.

Taking a few second to mull Bagsy’s words over, Mezrielda took another look at the paper. ‘And you think you can do this?’

Bagsy shrugged. ‘Maybe. But…’ Bagsy’s faltered, as the excitement of the new idea wore off, and worries began to crowd in. ‘Do you think this is a good idea? Should we do this?’

‘If you can build something to bring the mind of this knight forward then it would be the best lead we could gain on finding this world heart.’

‘That’s a yes?’

‘Absolutely.’

Chapter Text

Three main concerns drove the first week back at Hogwarts. One was revealed when Oscar called another impromptu refulgent meeting to reveal a half-dozen more people had vanished over Christmas.

‘If the beast is building a force it only grows larger by the day,’ Oscar said ominously.

With the news Bagsy was determined to build the reverse time-winder as quickly as possible, opening her crammed notebook to a new page and titling it with her new invention: the memory retriever. If the beast was amassing followers, then they needed to make sure she didn’t also gain the world heart.

‘Creative, as always,’ Mezrielda had deadpanned, leaning over to look at the title of Bagsy’s new invention as they hung out in the library nook. Lessons started the following day, so they had the evening to themselves until Tod Alden sat himself down at the table, facing a cold glare from Mezrielda.

‘I got it,’ said Tod, pulling out a file that he placed on the table, the paper an interesting and distinctive shade of grey and silver. ‘Will you trust me now?’

With a wary look at the file Mezrielda took it, reading.

Tod said, ‘I went to a lot of trouble finding that.’

Mezrielda responded coldly, ‘Or you told your parents you needed to give us this information to gain our trust. Am I wrong?’

Tod’s eyes were shadowed by his hair and a nasty grimace spread on his face. ‘We had a deal.’

Mezrielda didn’t respond, she was too busy narrowing her eyes at the words.

Bagsy leant over, trying to read it too. ‘What is it?’

Mezrielda looked at Tod. ‘Who is Samuel Alden?’

‘According to those he’s the first silver tongue.’

‘The first?’ Bagsy checked.

‘About two centuries ago.’ Tod pointed at the documents. ‘Thanks to the world heart, whatever it is.’

Bagsy’s mouth hung open. ‘The world heart is what created the first silver tongue?’

‘According to my family’s records. I probably could have brought you more information but, as Bagsy knows, some documents were stolen from us Aldens when I was a child.’ Mezrielda put the file on the table and held a closed fist in front of her mouth, thinking. Tod folded his arms. ‘Not that you’ll believe me, but Philip is close to having a majority of the Wizengamot under his control. He’ll have Rachel Morrison in his troupe before long and then you’ll start to see the professors vanish, replaced with others. If that’s what you want, then feel free to go on ignoring me.’

The memories of every bad decision she’d made were pressing against Bagsy’s skull, but she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. ‘We need to speak to Fitzsimmons and Starrett about this. They need to know the threat to the Wizengamot, there might be something they can do.’

Tod shook his head. ‘If you tell them about Philip you’ll have to explain my family to them.’ Bagsy shifted in her seat awkwardly and Mezrielda averted her eyes. Tod’s face was murderous. ‘You will not tell anyone about my family,’ he all but growled, firmly placing a fist on the table.

Bagsy startled, and Mezrielda’s wand was in her hand.

‘Calm down.’ Mezrielda’s lip curled. Then, her eyes slid to Bagsy, who knew that look. Mezrielda was weighing the pros and cons of something. Mezrielda put her wand away and the tension in Tod’s shoulders slacked. Mezrielda spoke quietly, sucking in a breath as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. ‘Unfortunately, they already know.’

The colour drained from Tod’s face.

Bagsy asked, ‘Tod, are you willing to help us explain Philip to Fitzsimmons and Starrett? They already know about your family, what’s a bit more information?’

‘No!’ Tod flinched, as if burnt.

‘You want to be useful?’ challenged Mezrielda. ‘Then you know as well as I that the only people able to do anything about Philip are Fitzsimmons and Starrett. If you really want to help, you’ll let Fitzsimmons and Starrett know and if you really want to be useful to your parents what better way than to spy not just on us but the head and deputy head professor too?’ Bagsy turned to Mezrielda in surprise, who wasn’t in a habit of encouraging sharing information with Fitzsimmons and Starrett. Mezrielda huffed in an annoyed breath. ‘If Philip has nearly taken the Wizengamot for his own they we don’t have much of a choice but to inform Fitzsimmons and Starrett. Are you in agreement or not, Tod?’

Tod opened his mouth, his face slightly red, ready to make a sharp retort, but no words emerged. For a moment he flustered, trying to formulate his thoughts, before looking up at the ceiling. ‘Alright.’

Bagsy blinked in surprise. ‘Really?’ A new worry weighed on her mind; if this went wrong it would be another decision Bagsy had made that caused problems.

Tod put his head in his hands. When he removed them, his crooked smile had returned, false and forced. ‘What else have I got to lose?’  

Fitzsimmons’ office was as Bagsy remembered it from last time. Moth filled, warmly lit by lanterns and with plush stools on which to sit. Fitzsimmons was already there and Starrett arrived not long after they’d arranged the meeting. Fitzsimmons scanned their magnified eyes over them, pausing on each student as if reading them like items on a menu. It made Bagsy feel a tad uncomfortable.

‘What did you need to talk to us about?’ Fitzsimmons asked.

Tod licked his lips, glancing at Bagsy who hesitated before giving him an encouraging nod, feeling as if she were stepping off a cliff.

Tod said, ‘I’ve been told that your memory was meddled with by my older sister. Is this true?’

Fitzsimmons brushed a small portion of dust from their cream coloured robes. ‘She did.’

‘And that you know the rest of my family have this power and use it to control… things?’ Fitzsimmons inclined their head. Tod winced, looking once more at Bagsy who, with an even longer hesitation, gave him a less certain nod than before. It seemed to be enough to spur him on. ‘That’s not all, though. They have an ally and because they’re getting desperate my parents are using his help more. My parents may have the powers to change and alter memories, as well as other more insidious abilities, but for reasons I’m not willing to go into won’t use them. Because of this, it was their children they used to control perceptions. My sister and my brother—’ Tod’s face scrunched up. He gave his head a shake before keeling over and covering it with a hand, unable to talk anymore.

Alarmed, Bagsy looked at Mezrielda and back, not sure what to do.

Thankfully, Mezrielda cut in. ‘What Tod means to say is that without children to subtly control opinions, or be sacrificed for nation-wide memory work, their power is limited. Because of this they have been trying to gain power with the use of an ally; Philip.’

Starrett furrowed her brow. ‘The leader of the acting troupe?’

Fitzsimmons looked confused. ‘I understood he was dead.’

‘He’s not,’ said Mezrielda. ‘And he’s not human, either. He’s—’

‘A marionette,’ Fitzsimmons said, an amused twinkle in their eyes. ‘Bagsyllia informed Stery of this last year, who then informed us. Faculty share information. It would have been ideal if we’d known he was still alive sooner as this information drastically changes matters.’

Bagsy had to hand it to her, Mezrielda stalled for only a moment. ‘Philip works for the Aldens. Since they sacrificed Magnus and discovered Tod lost his powers he’s their strongest avenue for power and control.’

Starrett stood, marching to the side and pulling a blank letter from a drawer on which she began to hurriedly write.

Fitzsimmons didn’t look in her direction as if they already understood what they were doing. ‘I see.’ Fitzsimmons briefly took off their large glasses and cleaned them with the sleeves of their dusty robe, Bagsy slightly distracted by the fact the glasses ended up dirtier than before. ‘I imagine they’ve been aiding Philip grow his troupe beyond sensible numbers. Ministry officials have been turned, correct?’

In unison, Mezrielda and Bagsy nodded. Tod’s face was still in his hand.

Fitzsimmons’ brow knitted together. ‘Members of the Wizengamot too.’ It wasn’t a question. They’d already realised the implications.

Starrett walked back to Fitzsimmons. ‘I’ve drafted a warning letter. We can get this to Rachel Morrison through Kim without it being intercepted. Morrison can warn the other members.’

Fitzsimmons took the letter from Starrett. ‘Good thinking. Tod, do you know if Mrs Morrison has yet been claimed by Philip?’

Tod’s elbows were resting on his knees as he looked at the floor, but he managed to breathe out a quiet, ‘No. But she will be. Soon.’

Fitzsimmons closed the letter with an unforgeable seal, before handing it back to Starrett, who climbed out of the room.

‘Tod…’ Fitzsimmons clasped their hands and blinked their bug-like eyes. ‘You are troubled.’ Tod looked up at Fitzsimmons from behind the dark hair hanging in his eyes. ‘Why?’

Tod looked back at the floor. ‘I’m fine.’ He flexed his hands, then sat up straight. ‘No, that’s a lie. I don’t want to help my parents any more, but no one else will take my help or trust me, and I can’t exactly blame them.’

Mezrielda folded her arms, turning her nose up. ‘That’s because you have little good help to offer.’

Tod’s lower lip wavered.

Fitzsimmons said, ‘I take it you’ve offered to your parents that you’ll spy for them?’ Tod’s eyes shot wide and he looked a second from snapping out an excuse. Fitzsimmons didn’t let him, though. ‘We’ll send you back with some harmless information to convince them this is the case.’

Tod’s eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

‘If you say you wish to help us I will trust you,’ Fitzsimmons said, making a motion with their hand. ‘We’ll need to convince your parents you truly are spying for them. Bringing them information will ensure your safety. If you so wish you may help in return by informing us of your parents plans or, at least, what they tell you of their plans. However, my priority above all else is and will remain your safety, irrespective of what you can offer us in return.’

Mouth opening and closing like a goldfish Tod looked lost at sea, Bagsy guessing that was not the response he’d been expecting.

Fitzsimmons gestured at the hatch. ‘If that is all I wish to speak with Tod alone. Mezrielda, Bagsy, I’m sure you have much better things to do with your evenings.’

Seeing the command for what it was Bagsy and Mezrielda climbed down the ladder. Despite everything Tod had done Bagsy patted him awkwardly on the shoulder before she disappeared out of the office.

Mezrielda didn’t look happy as they made their way back to the library nook for what remained of the evening. ‘Fitzsimmons trusts too easily. It’s a wonder they haven’t been double crossed more than they already have.’ Bagsy listened, an itch forming below her skin at the worry that this had been a terrible idea and she’d plagued the world with another of her mistakes.

It wasn’t hard to offset the itch by throwing herself into her latest project when they returned to the library nook. She spent a few hours glaring at her red oak wand, turning the glossy auburn wood over in her palms. Unlike her hornbeam and walnut wands, the red oak wand was slightly crooked but besides that rather plain. Bagsy was glad – she didn’t think she’d want an overly ornate wand. She’d put some thought to fixing her old walnut wand but the crack along its length cut deep into its empty core and Bagsy knew it was irreparable. According to Wandlore that kind of damage killed a wand. It was as much use as an empty, cracked skull. ‘Rather you than me,’ Bagsy had murmured to the wand, putting it away before returning her attention to the red oak. She squinted in frustration. The red oak wand hadn’t chosen her, but she was convinced there was a way to get it to bend to her will. She was also eager to finish the task so she could move her focus onto retrieving the memories of Sir Pavot, as Bagsy suspected that task would be much harder.

Bagsy knew it was getting late because Mezrielda had giving up on reading the articles on Transfiguration, that she’d been using to procrastinate her Charms homework, in favour of staring absently at Bagsy.

Glancing up from the red oak wand Bagsy furrowed her brow. ‘What are you looking at?’

The misted over quality of Mezrielda’s brown eyes snapped away and her head moved off the hand it had been resting on. ‘Nothing.’ She turned her attention to the stampelia-filled window.

‘You were looking at something. Is there something on my face?’

‘No.’

Bagsy felt around her messy hair. ‘Something in my hair?’

‘No! You’re fine. You look…’ Mezrielda glanced back at Bagsy, face flushing. ‘Fine.’

‘My hair!’ Bagsy cried, standing out of her chair, her hands curling into fists in her brown locks.

Mezrielda startled. ‘I said it’s fine.’

Bagsy grabbed the book, Wandlore, Starrett had given her for Christmas and slammed it open onto one of the final chapters. ‘Magical beings can donate hair to be the cores of wands! If I swap the unicorn hair inside the red oak wand with one of my own…’

‘It should work for you,’ Mezrielda realised.

It took Bagsy all of ten minutes to create a clamp to hold the wand still whilst she cautiously removed the end. She crouched, peering into the thin gap within the wood. With cautious hands, aided by a steadying charm from Mezrielda, Bagsy used one of her tiny tools to reach inside and remove the unicorn hair. ‘Core transfers are relatively simple,’ Bagsy explained to Mezrielda as she gingerly placed the unicorn hair into a petri dish she’d fashioned from metal in the foldable forge. She reached for a stand of her own hair then froze. ‘This is what they do to doppelgangers in America. They take their hair, nails and eyes and sell them.’

Mezrielda said, ‘This is entirely different. You’re choosing to do this of your own free will.’

Bagsy swallowed, nodded and then plucked a hair from her scalp and with only a minimal wince she had herself a doppelganger hair. Holding it in her tiny tweezers Bagsy carefully worked the brown hair into the red oak wand before replacing the end back with a minute dash of sealable substance. A bit of sanding to smooth the seam followed by a fresh coat of varnish and Bagsy had herself a newly-cored wand.

Mezrielda gestured. ‘Go on. There’s no time like the present.’

‘I don’t know what to cast.’

‘What was a spell you found easy before you lost use of your right arm?’

‘The lighting charm, I guess.’

‘Cast that one then.’

Bagsy pursed her lips. ‘Don’t laugh,’ she said, doing a few squats. Mezrielda covered her mouth, and Bagsy just glared at her. Once she was decently out of breath Bagsy took a firm stance and moved her wand as perfectly as she could. ‘Lumos!’ A small, weak light formed at the tip of her wand. It lasted a few moments, wavered like a sheet of silk in a hurricane, then vanished. Bagsy’s mouth hung open, the wand in her hand slowly lowering in disbelief.

‘Bagsy!’ Mezrielda threw her arms around her. ‘You’re a genius, you know that?’

Mouth still open, staring at where the light had been, it took Bagsy’s brain a few moments to come back online. Instinctively, her arms wrapped back around Mezrielda, squeezing as she easily lifted her up and swung her from side to side. ‘I’m casting spells again!’

‘You are!’ Mezrielda responded, then, flustered, ‘Put me down.’

‘Oh! Right. Sorry!’ Bagsy put her down and Mezrielda took a step away from her, face flushed even more than before as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. A stab of guilt hit Bagsy’s heart and she forced herself to remember that Mezrielda was just her friend and that she definitely didn’t feel anything more than that. Definitely.

Mezrielda gestured towards the window. It was pitch black outside. ‘It might be prudent to head to bed,’ she said, Bagsy grateful for the change of subject.

They gathered their things and left the library. It was late but the old librarian didn’t seem to care, her hunched back turned to them as she slowly placed books on shelves, the young librarian having finished her shift for the night.

Bagsy turned towards the basements and found Mezrielda moving with her.

‘Isn’t the Slytherin common room that way?’ she asked, her voice nervous. She didn’t want to presume they were continuing their sleepovers in case Mezrielda was finding them weird or overbearing.

Mezrielda stopped, her face schooled into neutrality. ‘I could sleep in the Slytherin common room from now on,’ she offered, the syllables clipped and icy.

Bagsy wrung her hands together. She knew she had a track record of bad decisions but the thought of sleeping alone without her best friend was worse than making a mistake. ‘I’d like it if you came to the common room with me. I-If that’s alright with you, of course. If you want to sleep in your own room I’d completely understand.’

The forced neutrality on Mezrielda’s face faded. ‘Let’s go then.’

They settled into Bagsy’s private room, even Crimson knowing the drill by now. Mezrielda’s eagle owl was already on one of the perches and, because it was cold in Bagsy’s room Eldritch, Bagsy’s far smaller tawny owl, huddled under one of Crimson’s wings. Crimson didn’t look pleased about it but Eldritch looked very happy indeed, blinking his big eyes smugly.

Even under the duvet it was still fairly cold so Mezrielda cast two quick teporiems and Bagsy shuddered in happiness at the warmth. ‘You keep getting better at that spell,’ she said. ‘Every time you cast it the warmth gets nicer.’ Mezrielda was lying with her back to Bagsy and didn’t respond. ‘Mind if I do a bit more inventing before I sleep?’ She was sitting up in bed with a book on time-winders, thread reading and the paper on Sir Pavot all balanced precariously in her lap.

‘It’s no wonder you’re not a morning person,’ Mezrielda snorted in amusement, turning over and resting her head on her arm. ‘Have you ever gone to sleep before one in the morning?’

Bagsy titled her head in thought. ‘Once. But that doesn’t count.’

‘Why?’

‘It was when Philip was mind-controlling me.’

Mezrielda’s eyebrows raised and then she snorted again but this time it grew into one of her cackles that gave Bagsy the same warm feeling as her teporiem spells.

‘What?’

‘You’re telling me you’re only capable of a good sleep schedule when being controlled by a marionette?’

‘Sleep is overrated,’ Bagsy huffed, turning her attention to her work as Mezrielda rested her head back on the pillow. She needed to find a way to bring the memories of Sir Pavot to the present and the best avenue to do this seemed a combination of time-winding principles with thread reading. As she read the text by the dimness of a candle, her idea didn’t seem possible because thread reading was a difficult enough skill already. Looking at current vibrations in the world to understand what had happened in the past became more difficult the further back you were trying to peer and thread reading the thoughts a person had beyond a century ago, let alone half a millennium, was virtually impossible unless done on an item that had already been magically imprinted with a person’s thoughts and so held the vibrations more strongly. Bagsy looked at the paper with Sir Pavot’s name on it and guessed that it wouldn’t have been imprinted with Pavot’s memories. Still, the book outlined a fairly easy way to check. If something had been magically imprinted with memory threads a spell could easily find out.

‘Hey, Mez,’ Bagsy murmured, turning to look down at Mezrielda only to find her asleep, her dark hair draped over the pillow and one of her hands reaching towards Bagsy even in sleep. She stared at Mezrielda for a few moments, the peaceful rise and fall of her chest and the usually harsh expression on her friend’s face softened. Bagsy smiled then decided to figure out her own way to test if the slip was imprinted; she couldn’t bring herself to wake Mezrielda.

Bagsy reached into her bedside table and pulled out some of her tools. Her hovering-magnifying glass floated above the paper whilst Bagsy used a few different rods and colour-changing materials to check for energy. Bagsy’s interest only grew when, with each test, signs of magic were confirmed. The rods she tapped against it gave out small chimes and the different stones she wrapped the paper around changed colour, fading back to their normal hues when she separated them from the paper. ‘No way…’

‘What is it?’

Bagsy jumped, seeing Mezrielda had woken and was blinking at her blearily. ‘Mezrielda, can you cast a spell for me?’ Mezrielda shot her a look. ‘Right, you’re the best spellcaster alive,’ she teased, putting the book on thread reading between them and placing her finger on the spell that would detect if something had been imprinted, all the while Bagsy’s heart was hammering in her ears. Something was magical about the slip of paper — but it would be too much of a coincidence, far too convenient, if it had been magically imprinted with thread memories.

Mezrielda took a few moments to read the spell and mimic the movement with her wand, before she pointed it at the slip of paper. ‘Ostenodo.’

In the waning of magical amber light, the paper slip in Bagsy’s hand glowed. Thin lines, like reeds tangling in a turbulent sea, rose from its surface in streaks of blue, lilac, turquoise and emerald.

‘B-but that’s…’ Bagsy breathed. ‘No… there’s no way…’

Mezrielda looked back at the book she’d read from, checking the words. ‘The slip must have been imprinted. If that slip has Sir Pavot’s memories tied to it, it can be no coincidence.’

Bagsy looked at Mezrielda, her painted in the blues and greens of the light the paper was emitting. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I found that slip in Keeda’s cabin where one of the anonymous letters sent me.’ Carefully Mezrielda took the slip from Bagsy’s hands, the strands of colour swaying like ghost trails. ‘This isn’t chance, the figure knew this slip was there and wanted me to find it. They want us to see into Sir Pavot’s memories.’

Steeling herself for Mezrielda to disagree with her again, Bagsy leant towards her. ‘If this slip is imprinted with Sir Pavot’s memories the fastest way for me to figure out how to read them will be with help.’

Mezrielda narrowed her eyes. ‘No.’

‘We’ve already shared lots of information with Starrett, what’s a little more?’ She knew, if Mezrielda disagreed with her again, she’d relent and accept Mezrielda’s position. Mezrielda had made fewer costly decisions in her life than Bagsy.

Mezrielda sighed. ‘So be it. Tell Starrett if it will mean gaining access to the memories sooner.’

Bagsy let out a breath. With Mezrielda’s go ahead, she knew exactly what to do.

Chapter Text

Returning to the imposing, varnished double doors leading to the Charms room was a strange experience. Bagsy thought back to her first ever lesson where she’d taken the fall for a spell Mezrielda had cast when they’d arrived late. So much had changed since then. Bagsy wondered if she could call the small girl who’d walked through those doors the same person as the one who pushed them open now.

Starrett was sitting at her desk, furiously marking work, seeming to relish every cross she put next to a wrong answer. As Bagsy approached she would notice the slight puff of Starrett’s chest in pride when, on the rare occasions she was pleased with what a student had written, she gave a tick.

‘Have you completed your first task?’ Starrett didn’t look up from her work but did set her quill aside.

Bagsy pulled her red oak wand out. ‘Lumos.’ There was no response, so Bagsy ran on the spot for a few seconds. A bit out of breath, she tried again. ‘Lumos!’ The end glowed with a consistent beam. Bagsy, feeling like she was walking on clouds.

Starrett put the marking she’d been focussing on into a drawer. ‘Well done.’ Bagsy smiled, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Starrett cast her a bemused look before rising, fingertips resting on her desk. ‘Now, for the next Artifisiary task–’

‘A-actually,’ Bagsy forced herself to interrupt. Starrett’s brown eyes cut through her in annoyance. ‘I-I was wondering if I could suggest a task?’

Starrett straightened to her full height, which wasn’t much, and folded her arms, a finger tapping her forearm. ‘Which would be?’

Bagsy walked towards her desk and placed the torn page Mezrielda had taken from Keeda’s hut on it. ‘This is evidence that a knight, Sir Pavot, made a vow of vanquish in 1804.’

‘1804…’ Starrett inspecting the paper.

‘The year the beast first attacked.’ Bagsy placed the book Ancient Knights carefully onto the desk as well. ‘In this book it says that Sir Pavot was part of a group who were searching for the heart of the earth.’

‘The world heart,’ Starrett realised, placing the paper down and picking up the book, opening to the bookmarked page. ‘You mentioned this before. Something of great power that the beast was looking for the last time she tried to take control.’

‘I got an idea from the time-winder we looked at in one of Mephit’s classes and I’ve done some research on thread reading as well. I think, maybe, using a combination of the two approaches, it could be possible to retrieve the memories of Sir Pavot and ask him about the world heart and his vow of vanquish.’

Starrett’s eyes widened in brief shock. ‘That could work…’ She gestured at Bagsy. ‘You have your next task, then. Get started.’

With Starrett’s guidance Bagsy sketched a blueprint. There were a few different methods she could take but she wasn’t entirely sure which would work best. Starrett paced the classroom, regarding Bagsy’s different ideas. ‘You’ll need to pick one,’ she said. ‘Aim to be swift. In difficult situations you won’t have the luxury of time to create back-up inventions.’

Deciding to stick with the familiar, Bagsy settled on a de-tangling method. The paper was already imprinted with Sir Pavot’s memories but over the centuries they’d tangled and before they could be read they needed to be neatened. The best bet seemed to be one of the first potions Bagsy had ever brewed; tangle teasing solution.

Once the memories were untangled the next step would be to use a modified time-winder to interpret the vibrations of the thread memories imprinted on the paper, retrieving the way they’d worked five hundred years ago. Time-winders had never activated because pulling memories from the future into the present took a lot of energy. But Bagsy knew bringing existing memories from the past to the present would cast a fraction of that.

Bagsy encountered her first snag when her perfectly brewed tangle teasing solution had no effect on the memory strings. It was hard to get it to settled on the threads when the wispy pieces hovered just above a piece of paper Bagsy didn’t not want to damage with the liquid. She tried to see if she could physically grab the threads, but her fingers slipped through them. The lesson was nearly finished anyway so Bagsy decided to plan how to circumvent the issue next week.

Mezrielda kept up the Corvid Club whilst Bagsy puzzled over untangling the threads. She’d asked Mezrielda to try fixing it using a spell, but the threads hadn’t responded happily, jittering and hissing.

Bagsy poured over book after book on different ideas of magical interaction and magnetism. Wanting another book on time-winders, Bagsy shuffled up to the old librarian, who was hunched over her desk at the entrance of the library. ‘E-excuse me.’

The old librarian huffed in answer.

‘I was wondering where Winding the Winders of Time is? I can’t find it on the shelf.’

The librarian’s watery eyes looked across the room. ‘That girl took it out. Ask her.’ The woman’s voice was quiet and strained, as if she were forcing it to sound so small.

Bagsy didn’t question it and followed where the old librarian was looking to see Primrose tracing a finger over the lines of the book. Bagsy’s heart dropped. What was Primrose doing sticking her nose into the workings of time-winders?

Paranoid, Bagsy made a b-line for Oscar the next time she saw him at lunch. ‘Oscar,’ she greeted him, being sure to give him the space he liked to have.

Oscar was twirling his spoon in his hand, his soup ignored as he’d been staring at the Slytherin table, observing the students keenly. He turned his head in Bagsy’s direction. ‘Hello Bagsy.’

‘You’re always noticing things. I was wondering if you’ve noticed anything new about Primrose?’

Oscar frowned. ‘Term has only been on for a week and a half and she’s already been acting strangely. More than last term.’

Bagsy motioned at the empty space on the bench by Oscar, who shuffled down before nodding his permission. Bagsy sat, trying not to shrink under the scrutinising gazes of the other Ravenclaws. ‘What’s she been doing?’

‘I see her whispering with people in shadowed corners or untrafficked corridors. Sometimes she appears to be teaching spells or convincing people of something. It makes me uneasy. I worry she’s trying to help preach the beast’s version of events within the halls of Hogwarts, if what you and Mezrielda have said about her working with the breathing blight is to be believed.’

‘Anything else?’

Oscar frowned. ‘Not beyond that, no.’

Bagsy gulped, trying to regulate her breathing. ‘Thanks, Oscar. See you around.’

In her next Artifisiary lesson Bagsy made one step of progress.

‘What’s this?’ Starrett asked as Bagsy built an odd contraption that looked a bit like a metal spider.

‘These are arms.’ Bagsy adjusted the joint on one, each arm ending in a small tweezer-like appendage. ‘I’m trying to get them to attach to each of the threads, then I’ll try and figure out a way for them to detangle, like the potion would.’

Starrett crouched next to where Bagsy was working, eyeing the contraption. ‘How are you going to do that?’

‘Uhhh…’

‘Think carefully, Miss Beetlehorn. What do you usually do to solve a problem?’

‘I…’ Bagsy trailed off, hands falling from the joint as she thought, vaguely remembering something Arice had once said. ‘I use what I already know and what I already have to figure out something new. That, or I do lots of research.’

‘You’ve already researched, haven’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So now…?’

Bagsy furrowed her brow, pursing her lips as she sifted through everything she’d ever built. Her eyes winded. ‘I could get the joints to grasp onto the thread in the same way I allowed my baubles to interact with markel glass!’ Markle glass was a kind of glass only impacted by magical effects, perhaps the same principle applied to memory threads, given trying to physically grab and untangle them didn’t work. ‘Then, to mimic the effects of tangle teasing solution, I could base my thinking on some theories in magnetism…’ Eyes alight with ideas Bagsy set back to work, Starrett supervising as she did.

In between trying to figure out how to read the five-hundred-year-old memories Bagsy still found herself keeping up with her studies, mainly because Starrett insisted she couldn’t work on her invention, however important it was, until her homework was done. Each week when Friday came around Bagsy would feel exhausted. Starrett had been right – she didn’t have time for Phypnotic. Fitzsimmons had been understanding when she’d told them she was dropping the subject and Bagsy suspected Starrett had already informed them beforehand.

When Mezrielda heard the news she promptly dropped Phypnotic too, taking up Muggle Studies in its place.

As Bagsy had headed off for her final two lessons of Friday that week – double Alchemy and Artificing – she had puzzled over Mezrielda’s decision. ‘You’ve already missed over a term of content for Muggle Studies.’

‘Barnsley had me sit a few tests to check my knowledge. I passed all of them with flying colours, of course, given a cursory read of the textbook was all I needed to catch up, so they’ve let me join the class.’

Bagsy thought for a moment. ‘You already do Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Ministry Management and Arithmancy, surely you could have just dropped Phypnotic and left it at that?’

Mezrielda scoffed. ‘And be left with an average number of NEWTs? I think not.’

‘I thought you liked Phypnotic?’ Bagsy pressed, still confused by Mezrielda’s decision.

Mezrielda made a face as if an unpleasant scent was in the air. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Why did you choose it, then?’

The expression on Mezrielda’s face was pinched. ‘No reason.’

Bagsy found that hard to believe but she had to ascend the thin, spiral staircase to the attic room for her Alchemy and Artificing lesson, so she left it there, waving goodbye to Mezrielda.

The small attic room was cold in the brisk spring weather. Even Starrett was wearing a scarf and Primrose was hisses in annoyance. Bagsy wondered if she needed to sun herself every morning and if the coldness of the room made her feel sleepy. As if reading her thoughts Primrose snarled at her and Bagsy returned her attention to the pneumatic pipes she was using cleaning acid on.

When Mephit’s turn to teach the lesson came around in the second half Bagsy tried to subtly shift her desk as far away from Primrose as possible, who was clacking her clawed fingers on the desk as if itching to gouge someone’s eyes out.

When the lesson ended at last and Bagsy could hurry away, she noticed Primrose pause and talk to the auror who’d been waiting outside the room for her. As Mephit shuffled out of the room, his wide shoulders barely fitting in the tight spiral staircase and began to descend, Primrose ducked back into the classroom. The auror simply flicked through a magazine on brooms whilst he waited for her to return.

Bagsy’s eyes flicked to the door of the classroom, frozen in indecision. When she decided that she really should check what Primrose was doing she took a few steps back towards the door, subtly slipping her spell-sponge gloves on.

‘Thanks,’ Primrose said to the auror, pushing the door open and leaving the classroom, smiling thinly. She indicated the bag she was now holding. ‘I’m a bit tired. I won’t forget it again.’

‘No worries,’ said the auror, giving Bagsy a nod as he passed her on the stairs. Primrose wasn’t far behind, shoving her shoulder against Bagsy, who would have fallen had her spell-sponge gloved hand not latched onto the wall, its magnetism giving her something to grip. She gritted her teeth, watching the sway of Primrose’s blonde curls as she disappeared from sight. Suspicious, Bagsy tiptoed back to the classroom and stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room but found nothing out of place. Thinking back to the book on time-winders Primrose had been reading Bagsy moved towards the grandfather clock at the back. She looked at the lock on the door for a moment before dropping to the floor and doing push-ups. After twenty she popped back up, slightly out of breath and red-faced, and pointed her red oak wand at the lock. ‘Alohomora!’ she cast, drawing on all the time she’d spent learning the spell back in her fourth year. Unfortunately, all that learning had been with her right hand and her left wasn’t dextrous enough.

It didn’t take long for Bagsy to locate Mezrielda in the great hall. ‘I think we should do something,’ she said, not sure if she was being smart and observant or a paranoid fool. She was hoping Mezrielda could take the responsibility of the decision from her hands.

Mezrielda frowned up at her, swinging her legs over the bench to get ready to stand up. ‘What is it?’

Bagsy explained how Primrose had gone back into the classroom after the lesson had ended, and how she was suspicious she’d taken the time-winder. Mezrielda confirmed Bagsy’s gut instinct that they should check on what Primrose had done and led them back to the attic.

With a swish of her hair over her shoulder and a poised posture, Mezrielda unlocked the grandfather clock. ‘Child’s play,’ she scoffed, creaking the door open and giving a small bow.

Bagsy gave a mock bow in return. ‘My dear queen, your power is limitless.’ Bagsy turned to the interior of the clock, eyes instantly landing on the time-winder still in its rightful place. She bent over, placing her hands on her knees and letting out a sigh of relief. ‘The idea of a time-winder in Primrose’s hands is terrifying.’

Curious, Mezrielda reached in, took the time-winder and turned it over in her hands. 

Bagsy eyed the contraption curiously. She was about to suggest they borrow it for a bit, so that Bagsy could use it as a basis for her own invention, when she noticed the colours of the pole-shaped device were a bit too vivid. ‘May I?’ she asked Mezrielda, who held the time-winder out. Bagsy took it daintily, as if it would explode, and peered closely at it. Now that she was paying it attention it was obvious it was painted wood and not a time-winder at all. It felt far too light in her hands. ‘This isn’t it.’ Eyes widening, she looked at Mezrielda. ‘Primrose stole the real one!’

The staff room was their next stop where a stern-faced Starrett listened, with an ever-displeased expression. Primrose was called to Fitzsimmons office almost instantly. Bagsy didn’t see Primrose until the next Friday. When Bagsy had Alchemy and Artificing the following week she was surprised to see Primrose in the classroom. Primrose didn’t acknowledge her and seemed entirely despondent in lessons, and outside of lessons she seemed to have entirely vanished.  

In her next Artifisiary lesson, as Bagsy edged closer to completing her memory retrieving device, she asked Starrett what was happening with Primrose.

Starrett sat back in her chair. ‘We couldn’t find the time-winder in her possession. It’s possible she’s hidden it. Either way a time-winder was stolen, and it indeed appears that Primrose was the one who took it. She’s be confined to isolation and is only allowed to leave to attend class. Food and books are brought to her and she’s constantly supervised by an auror.’

Bagsy thought it was for the best, even if she felt a bite of sympathy. She was acting dangerously so she definitely needed a close eye kept on her. With thoughts of Primrose in her head Bagsy finished calibrating the magnetic charges she’d created for the thread-reading, memory-retrieving machine.

Starrett said, ‘It’s a benefit for you, I suppose. We wouldn’t have sent for more time-winders if the one we’d had was still here.’

Bagsy hummed a reluctant agreement. Thanks to Starrett’s insistence the Alchemy and Artificing department had requested two, one for future lessons and the other for Bagsy to modify and use in her memory retriever.

Bagsy was carefully inserting the small, pebble-like magnetic charges at the end of each limb of the machine, checking the joints and oiling those that needed it, before conducting a final risk assessment of the time-winder she’d modified, that had a complex coiling mechanism within. The entire thing was beyond Bagsy’s understanding but there had been what she could only describe as a little engine within which was easy enough to reverse. She hoped it could retrieve memories from the past instead of from the future.

With all the magnetic charges placed, and the modified time-winder ready, Bagsy began to tangle the arms around each other.

‘What are you doing?’ Starrett asked.

‘You see these?’ Bagsy chucked a spare magnetic charge to Starrett who waved a hand to make it hover in the air before her.

‘I have eyes,’ Starrett confirmed dryly.

‘They’re like the magnetism in my spell-sponge gloves or mag-net bat and ball but a bit stronger and instead of being calibrated to pull towards horizontal and vertical surfaces they’re calibrated to push away from other sources of magnetism.’

‘From each other?’

‘Yeah! Only, it’s a little more complicated.’ Bagsy grabbed quickly onto each limb, reaching in between the clamps to activate the magnetism charge. As she did the tangled limbs began to move, spinning around, detangling. ‘The charges want to get as far away from each other as possible and to do so, they’ll even move closer first if it means that they can reach the position where they’re as far away as possible afterwards.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s really important they stay secured to the joints or they’d fly away for an indefinite amount of time. Maybe even into space.’

Starrett raised her eyebrows, watching in interest as the tangled limps spun and uncoiled until eventually they were spread out equidistant from each other, like the legs of an octopus. ‘Where did you find these charges?’ Bagsy shrunk down sheepishly. ‘Let me guess – you made them?’

‘It wasn’t that hard. I just edited the magnetic components I already had.’

Walking around the memory-retriever Starrett gave it an appraising look. ‘You’ve made good progress, but you’re not done, are you?’

Bagsy shook her head. ‘No. I still need to find a way to make the clamp hand thingys able to grab the threads. Right now, they’d just pass straight through them.’

‘How are you going to resolve that?’

Shrugging, Bagsy sat back on her heels, staring at the machine. ‘I’m not sure yet.’ She glanced down at her hands, flexing her fingers. ‘Though I might have an idea… but I’m not sure how to do it.’

Starrett moved back to her seat, sitting down. ‘You’ve done this all on your own – perhaps it’s time to ask for assistance.’

‘I think that’s a good idea, and I think I know who to ask.’

Bagsy paid a visit to the Potions room that evening. ‘Hi, Professor Stery.’

Stery regarded her. ‘Hello, Bagsy.’

Bagsy explained her situation to Professor Stery. Even though her rushed words had come out of seemingly nowhere Stery waited, never interrupting, and taking notes. They ended up sitting at one of the work stations as Bagsy detailed her plan to recall Sir Pavot’s memories.

‘The thing is whilst I have a way that could get the limbs to be magical and so hopefully able to grab onto the memory threads–’

‘Which you need to read for extracurricular credits?’ Stery checked, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

‘Y-yes! Most definitely! No other reason, none at all!’

‘Hmm.’

‘I reckon magic absorption material is what would allow them to grab onto the memory threads. Only, magical absorption material needs a bunch of ingredients I don’t want to use.’ It hadn’t occurred to her when she’d first made magical absorption material but now she had to make it from scratch looking at its components made her feel uneasy.

‘What does it need?’

‘Dragon scales, giant toenails, horn flakes from Graphorns, troll dandruff and a whole bunch of other stuff. Most of it comes from plants or other magical objects or enchanted glue, but some of it…’

‘Comes from magical beings or creatures,’ Stery finished for her. ‘Like the dragon scales.’

Bagsy nodded. She sat in silence, the feeling of the spell-sponge gloves in her pocket uncomfortable now she was considering what they were made of. Doppelganger nails were a common ingredient in some potions, Bagsy could have easily unwittingly used them in making the gloves without considering how they’d been obtained, or what the money spent on them was encouraging a company to do. The thought of Himble and Florentchia crossed her mind and she dug her fingers into her thighs as a wave of anger burned within her. ‘I was wondering if you could help me figure out a way to make more magic isolation material without the use of those ingredients. As the Potions professor I figured you’d know the most about this stuff.’

‘You figured correctly. Have I ever told you what I wrote my thesis on?’

Bagsy stretched her mind back. She was fairly sure he had but she couldn’t remember.

‘I investigated methods of replacing ingredients from magical beings with ones that don’t require the subjugation of another sentient being, regardless of how intelligent, capable of language or human-like they were.’ Stery walked to the back of the room, dragging a large tome back to the work station. ‘Essentially, I was concerned with making potions where no being capable of feeling pain was caused pain in order to obtain ingredients.’ He hauled the pages open and worked through to the correct point. ‘Here. I made a comprehensive list of substitutes for ingredients that come from magical beings and creatures.’

Smiling gratefully, her eyes stinging from the beginnings of tears, Bagsy read, trying not to think about all the different ingredients she’d used without a thought for who it had been taken from.

Stery said, ‘The real shame is that some ingredients could be bought from magical beings without any need for mistreatment. Take hairs or nails, for example. Almost all magical beings regrow them and feel no pain when they lose them. Sadly, if you want to make profit off those ingredients on a large scale you simply can’t afford to barter. There’s no money in being ethical and so long as the goal is profit, there can be no way to trust in the collection of those ingredients.’

‘I wish there was a way,’ Bagsy murmured, noting down the ingredients that sounded like they could work, her mind already spiralling with an off-shoot idea from the text, but she forced herself to stay focussed.

‘One day…’ Stery muttered wistfully, sitting and letting his shoulders sag. ‘Things will be different. The Ministry won’t allow people to treat magical beings the way they do. The world will be forced to treat them like people. One day, magical creatures will be extended the same courtesy we give to more mentally complex beings, like magical beings and humans, and will be protected from harm.’ There was a bitter-sweet smile on Stery’s face and Bagsy’s stomach twisted sadly. She hoped, like Stery, that such a world would come around, but the hope was empty. She couldn’t see how such a world could rise out of the one she’d grown up in. Not without drastic action, she thought miserably, her mind turning to Teresa.

As the evening ticked by, Bagsy worked through the ingredients she’d need to replace. Dragon scales could be changed out for wax roots, giant toenails for braided glass-grass, graphorns horn flakes for charm-soaked resin and troll dandruff for dandelion spores. Or she could try dried eerie bark, or hollowed mushroom flares. By the time she’d exhausted the lengthy list she had a large collection of possible replacements. After, Bagsy was given free reign of the store cupboard.

‘Thank you, professor,’ Bagsy called over her shoulder as she reached for the exit, her bag filled with ingredients.

‘One moment, Bagsy,’ Stery said, moving towards her. He paused awkwardly, letting out an uneven breath. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re okay. When I heard you’d– when it was incorrectly announced that you’d died I wasn’t intending on staying at Hogwarts.’

Bagsy frowned. ‘What? Because of me?’

Stery inclined his head. ‘You must understand, Bagsy, that I haven’t met, let alone talked, to another doppelganger since I was a child. It’s more than likely that the only free doppelgangers in the world are standing in this room.’

Bagsy looked at the floor. ‘Free…’ There were plenty of doppelgangers in America, but they were kept for ingredients. ‘Their eyes,’ she breathed, hand shooting towards the wall so she could lean against it. ‘Doppelganger eyes are potions ingredients, but their eyes, our eyes… that’s where our souls are!’ her voice was almost a yell and a panicked expression was on Stery’s face as he tried to get her to be quiet.

‘Keep your voice down! Not everyone in this castle would be on our side if they knew what we were.’

‘They take their souls!’ Bagsy hissed. ‘In those warehouses they harvest nails and skin and hair and eyes, where our souls are.’

Stery took a step back and in his entirely grey eyes Bagsy saw a darkness. Bagsy baulked, realising he already knew this.

Stery said, thickly, ‘Yes. They do. It’s why those doppelgangers are so docile. They stand still, unmoving. Their minds are gone and, even before they take their souls, they pump them full of potions to keep them mindless.’

Bagsy thought she might be sick, so she threw open the door and hurried to the bathroom, hurling into a toilet for a few minutes before her stomach calmed. Shuddering, her hands shaking like electricity was coursing through them, Bagsy sat on the ground and leant against the cubical wall, balling into her fists. She could have figured it out earlier, that the warehouses took doppelgangers’ souls, but she simply hadn’t turned her mind to it. Her thought back to when Pepsini had been looming above her, intending to gouge out her eyes before she’d over shifted to death. Bagsy flinched violently at the realisation that he’d been trying to rip her soul from her body and for what? A fancy potion? A new invention? Nothing was worth that. Nothing was worth someone’s soul.

Chapter Text

It took almost half an hour for Bagsy to explain, in between sniffing and around the miserable murmuring of her voice, what she’d realised. It was late and Bagsy and Mezrielda were in Bagsy’s private room. Mezrielda’s teporiem spell, and warm arms around her, went a long way to helping her calm down. 

‘When I’m Minister for Magic I’ll change the legislation,’ Mezrielda vowed, once she understood. ‘I’ll outlaw it and I’ll go to war against America if I have to. No one will stand in my way – no one will be allowed to do something as evil as that.’ They were sitting on Bagsy’s bed in her private room, Eldritch having hopped onto Bagsy’s knee, blinking his large eyes comfortingly at her whilst Bagsy gave him a gentle scratch below his beak.

‘Himble and Florentchia…’ Bagsy whimpered. ‘They… they’re some of the people that do it… They make money off of it… the house I grew up in was paid for by it.’

Mezrielda gave Bagsy a squeeze. ‘We’ll start with them, then. The second I have any influence they’ll be the first to go to Azkaban.’

Snuggling into Mezrielda’s side Bagsy relished the thought. Not even an ounce of affection remained for the people she’d once thought her parents and the idea of them being trapped in Azkaban, the hissentors slowly building the rage inside them until they lost their minds, was darkly satisfying.

The days didn’t care what Bagsy had realised about the treatment of doppelgangers in America and kept passing by. To help keep her mind off the slowly growing pile of angst in her life Bagsy threw herself into adapting the magical absorption material she used in her spell-sponge gloves. She’d craft a square of material and tie it to a door before asking Mezrielda to sling spells at it to see if it worked. Bagsy grew frustrated when, a few weeks later, the fifty-sixth different combination of ingredients once again failed. ‘It’s missing something,’ she grumbled, pulling it free from the handle whilst Mezrielda returned the splinters on the floor to the broken door they’d come from.

‘It could be I need to cast implexio on it twice so it’s more tangled than usual?’

Bagsy peered at the material as she ran it through her hands. ‘No. That won’t be it.’ Humming, Bagsy shuffled through her bottomless toolbox, scratching the bottom of the barrel of her ideas. ‘Wait!’ She straightened up, pulling a pair of nail clippers from the toolbox. ‘I could use my own nails!’

Mezrielda glanced up and down the corridor. ‘Not so loud,’ she cautioned.

‘Right,’ Bagsy agreed, glancing at the paintings hanging on the wall. A wrinkled old man with a top hat pulled over his spiky hair was scowling at her but hadn’t seemed to understand the meaning behind what she’d said. Quickly, Bagsy clipped a few of her own nails off, trying not to shudder in revulsion at the idea of the doppelgangers in America. She was making this choice freely and of her own volition, and it wasn’t causing her any pain. It was nothing like the way ingredients were taken from the warehouse doppelgangers.

In the middle of the hall she began to work. Her idea spurring her on she rushed together a final attempt at the magical absorption material, weaving and combining every ingredient she had between two pieces of fabric with a healthy portion of repellent potions and strips of wipe-away cleaner, all shoved into a thin layer of sponge. At last she had a fairly thin, smooth piece of material. She stood up, so confident in her invention that she simply held it in front of herself and looked expectantly at Mezrielda.

While she’d been working Mezrielda had been absentmindedly trying to transfigure the stone of the corridor’s wall into air. She’d managed to make some of it a gloopy liquid but it seemed turning it into air was beyond even Mezrielda, but that didn’t stop the painting of the wrinkled man glowering at the gloop.

Giving the painting a glare Mezrielda returned the wall to normal before pointing her wand at the material Bagsy was holding. ‘Implexio.’ A yellow ball sparked along the fabric like static as the ingredients tangled around each other, ready to absorb spells. ‘Are you sure this one will work?’

‘Yes.’ Bagsy planted her feet, holding her breath.

‘Any spell?’

‘You’re strongest,’ Bagsy responded.

‘You asked for it,’ Mezrielda’s wand snapped precisely through the motion and a jet of amber and gold struck the material. It writhed for a moment, as if alive, before settling.

Bagsy looked down at the material, which shimmered like an orange lagoon, before beaming at Mezrielda. ‘It worked!’ she cried, throwing her arms into the air, the material fluttering like a flag. Then, she held her free hand up towards Mezrielda. Looking at Bagsy’s hand, and then at Bagsy’s smiling face, Mezrielda rolled her eyes but eventually, and with great reluctance, gave Bagsy the hive-five she was after.

Bagsy skipped to her next Artifisiary lesson. Quickly, she set up the memory-retrieving, thread-detangling machine to hover above the paper with Sir Pavot’s vow written upon it, the modified time-winder in hand. ‘Look!’ she out excitedly to Starrett, who had a faint smile of amusement. ‘I think I’ve done it this time!’ Swiftly, Bagsy attached the sections of absorption material to each limb. She’d carefully cut the sheet she’d made, filled with Mezrielda’s magic, into small chunks she affixed to the tweezer like clamps at the end of each limb. She’d been right – the magically charged material was able to interact with the thread and, unlike potions or spells, it didn’t upset the thread. With careful movements Bagsy attached each limb to one of the threads.

Each limb attached, Bagsy took a step back letting out a breath, her hands falling to her sides, every muscle in her body tense. It was nearly the end of term – the machine had taken weeks to create – and here it was floating before her, each limb tightly clamped onto one of the threads. ‘This is it,’ she said, before activating the magnetism.

In a whirl the joints snapped this way and that, moving around each other, trying to get as far as possible from the others. As they worked the threads they were attached to were slowly uncoiled from around each other, Bagsy and Starrett watching in silence. It was ten minutes, but felt like far longer, before the metal limbs of the machine were spread out equidistant from each other, the spectral threads they were attached too pulled taught and trembling like violin strings, entirely untangled.

Bagsy took the modified time-winder, held it into the centre of the threads, and pressed the big, red button on the end. It shuddered in her hand but didn’t break. In the now empty space between the threads Bagsy saw the flickering of an image begin to appear, showing a figure in dark clothing walking. The ghostly image was entirely silent and flickering faintly.

‘That’s it! Those are the memories of Sir Pavot! I… I did it.’ Bagsy bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. ‘I did it! I did it, mu–’ catching herself at the last second, Bagsy clenched her jaw, heart stalling. ‘M-My fellow magic user,’ she tried to recover, awkwardness tingling up her spine. Starrett slowly moved her eyes from the tangle teasing machine to Bagsy. ‘I-I’m so sorry,’ Bagsy rushed out, clicking the red button of the modified time-winder, the image vanishing. She knew Starrett must have realised what she’d nearly said. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d accidentally called Starrett mum. ‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean–’

‘It’s alright,’ Starrett said softly. ‘You must remember that I am your professor.’

Bagsy hung her head. She didn’t know why but the awkwardness was washed away instantly with a sharp sting of disappointment. ‘Right.’ She was unable to hide the bitterness. With both misery and embarrassment, it occurred to Bagsy that she didn’t like the fact Starrett was just her professor, and a small voice in her head couldn’t help but ask Bagsy how much better her childhood would have been if Starrett had been the one raising her.

‘But,’ Starrett continued, Bagsy unable to look up at her. ‘I am not unaware of your situation. You lack an adult figure in your life you deem trust-worthy. Truly trust-worthy, an adult who you don’t need to question whether or not is on your side.’ In silence, Bagsy continued to look at the floor. Starrett drew in a long breath. ‘I understand that I am perhaps the closest thing to a stable–’

‘No,’ Bagsy cut over, brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of her own feelings. ‘You’re wrong.’ Starrett’s expression vanished into a closed off look. ‘Himble and Florentchia neglected me, and they enslave my kind. I thought Cora cared for me but she wanted me dead. Pepsini seemed like a nice person – we had a shared interest – but once he knew what I was he tried to steal my soul.’

‘Steal your soul?’ Starrett let out in surprise.

‘He found out I was a doppelganger,’ Bagsy quickly explained, cringing that she’d chosen now, of all times, to accidentally reveal this. ‘He’s how I found out what I was, he wanted revenge for the illness that Cotesia caught from a village of doppelgangers so he tried to kill me and take my eyes.’ She gestured at her face for emphasis, shuddering.

Starrett’s gaze was an abyss of hatred. ‘He’s lucky he’s dead.’

Bagsy pushed on. ‘It wasn’t just Himble, Florentchia, Cora and Pepsini, though. I thought Bontie… I thought she was someone I could rely on, but even she turned out to be against me. But…’ Bagsy shook her head as she tried to fight down her emotions. ‘To say I lack an adult figure in my life who I can always trust, who I know cares for me and has my best interests at heart… to say there isn’t an adult in my life who I know will always be on my side… is wrong.’ Bagsy looked directly at Starrett, seeing her brown eyes widened just a fraction.

Starrett regarded Bagsy silently, eyes glistening. ‘You know I just–’ Starrett cut off, facing away from Bagsy. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better professor when you first came to Hogwarts.’ Abruptly, Starrett turned back around, her eyes clear once more. ‘We’ll leave our lesson there for now. What you’ve achieved here is beyond impressive. It’s remarkable and I have few words to describe how proud I am of your progress. That being said it’s nearly lunch and if I don’t eat quickly I’ll have to see Wattleseed and Kim feeding each other whilst making aeroplane sounds.’ Starrett’s nose crinkled in distaste.

‘Thank you, professor,’ said Bagsy. ‘For everything.’

Starrett wafted her gratitude away. ‘It’s my job, a job I wasn’t doing correctly for years.’

‘Even so.’ Bagsy turned off the memory retriever, packing it away. She may have accessed the memories of Sir Pavot but she still had to figure out how to get the machine to show them information beyond a flickering image of the knight in dark clothing. She was hoping Mezrielda might have a few ideas.

‘Dismissed,’ Starrett said simply.

‘See you.’ Bagsy grabbed the memory retriever, her spirits soaring as she approached the library where she found Mezrielda.

Mezrielda narrowed her eyes at her. ‘You’re happy.’

‘I just really enjoy my lessons with Starrett.’

Mezrielda scowled. ‘I detest that woman.’

‘No, you don’t, not really.’

Mezrielda watched in interest as Bagsy made the tangle teasing machine hover above the table, the paper below it, having it untangle the threads once more.

‘I suppose I detest Mr Mortem more,’ Mezrielda relented, getting up from her seat and moving around the table in interest. ‘You’ve finished the invention?’

‘Kind of. It settled the threads to show an image of Sir Pavot.’ She put the modified time-winder into it, pressed the red button and the machine did just that. The spectral image of a person in dark clothing appeared once more. ‘I’m just not entirely sure how to read the memories. A picture of a walking knight doesn’t exactly reveal much about the world heart.’

‘He doesn’t look like a knight,’ Mezrielda commented. She was right – Sir Pavot wasn’t in any kind of armour. If anything, he looked more like a theif. Mezrielda’s icy eyes moved from the spectral knight, whose walk was a sauntering gait as if he thought himself a king, and back to Bagsy. ‘If you’re willing to take the risk you could try reading his memories the way only you can.’

Bagsy looked over at the stampelia hunched in the window like a bear squashed into a tiny doghouse. The pink petals and green stems moved as if agreeing with Mezrielda – it could work.

Bagsy poked a finger through the spectral image, which wavered from her touch. She paused, taking off her robe and throwing it over her chair, before rolling up the sleeves of her jumper. She even went as far as to shake her arms to mentally prepare herself.  ‘This is a non-physical image of some kind. How am I meant to…?’ as Bagsy asked, she curiously pressed her hand flat against the air were the knight’s arm was. Not expecting it to work she pushed her own consciousness towards the image’s mind as she had done when reading other people’s minds. Instantly, the library nook she’d been standing in was gone.

A familiar black void greeted her, a slippery tiled floor below her feet, and she yelped in surprise. Taking a second to look around herself she realised what this meant. She’d be able to read Sir Pavot’s memories herself.

Bagsy turned to her left and saw a crack of white light in the darkness – a door, left slightly ajar for her to open. ‘Oh, stars,’ she breathed. ‘I really can read the knight’s mind.’ The noise of her voice echoed in the darkness, joined by the tap of her shoes as she walked towards the door. With a soft creak she pushed and stepped into the light.

She was in a small room, the walls and floor were made of rickety wood and the bed in the corner looked uncomfortable and lacked a mattress in favour of hay. Sir Pavot was standing over a basin, washing his face. He was shirtless and wearing dark trousers with large. As Sir Pavot turned and pulled a shirt on Bagsy saw material wrapped firmly around his chest and realised he must be like Nevis.

Sir Pavot had short blonde hair and white skin Bagsy assumed was tanned from working outside in the sun. He was tall and wrapped all sorts of different padded materials around his arms, legs and shoulders as if gearing up for war. Bagsy frowned. He didn’t look like much of a knight. Bagsy had always thought of knights as being in big suits of armour but Sir Pavot looked lanky and lithe, as if he could slither in and out of shadows, rather than an honour bound paragon of law.

Bagsy followed Sir Pavot as he left what Bagsy presumed was his home. He walked for an entire day though for Bagsy the time passed in a blink. She saw, in fast motion, him sauntering along, waving confidently at those who passed him, shooting friendly winks and dipping his head in respect to noble men on horses. There were roaming hills to his left and wide, flat fields to his right and a thin, oddly winding river that Sir Pavot stayed close to. Eventually, the so-called knight, though Bagsy was starting to grow suspicious of the title, checked over his shoulder before ducking into some shrubbery. It took Bagsy a moment to realise the shrubbery hid a tunnel and she ducked into the dark space herself, following Sir Pavot.

It wound through the ground, twisting and turning in confusing patterns and Bagsy struggled to keep up. She had to push bursts of thaumaturgic energy into her legs to keep Sir Pavot in sight, the passage dimly lit by torches. Eventually the tunnel opened and Bagsy watched Sir Pavot duck into the shadows of a small room with a handful of people. Some were in full suits of armour with gold finishing or bright read fur decorating the tips of their helmets, whilst others were dressed more like Sir Pavot.

One of them, garbed in a black robe with a hood pulled over their face, stepped forward. They were incredibly tall and had to hunch in the small space. ‘Brothers of the Secret Knighthood,’ he spoke, his voice low and rumbling like an earthquake in the underground space. ‘We have found the place of legend. This is where the girl was stolen to all those years ago and where, earlier this year, many good men ventured to rescue her never to be seen again.’

The men murmured to each other, exchanging ominous looks.

Sir Pavot stepped out of the shadows, drawing a small dagger Bagsy hadn’t realised he’d had, and holding it high. ‘In the name of honour!’ Sir Pavot projected. ‘We will find the heart of these creature’s world and we will destroy it and return peace and balance to the kingdom!’

An older looking man to Bagsy’s left snorted quietly, turning to a friend. ‘He takes this knight thing far too seriously.’ The man next to him raised his eyebrows in response, looking up and down at the half-suit of armour the old man was wearing. The old man scowled. ‘That’s different – this is a family heirloom, passed down to my grandfather from the last true knight of the Kingdom.’

Sir Pavot wasn’t done, though, and though the tall man who had to stoop in the space was trying to get him to shut up, Pavot pressed on. ‘The country has forgotten the justice of knighthood! For centuries we have had to hide but with this action we will save the country from that beast and return the dignified order of knighthood to the people of the world!’

The old man scoffed, loudly this time. ‘The world thinks we’re fools.’

The tall man tapped a cane on the floor. ‘The world does not know we exist,’ he corrected. ‘And it will stay that way. Sir Pavot, as admirable as your enthusiasm is we must keep this mission as secret even if we succeed. We will find the home of those devil creatures, that stole that little girl all those years past and more recently released that wretched abomination upon us, and we will destroy its heart.’

Pavot frowned at the tall man. ‘We don’t know it was they who released the beast. We just know there is a link between the world beyond this cave and the creature ravaging our home. Nothing more.’

‘Pavot, hold your tongue.’

‘Honour compels me to speak truly, High Knight Brillon.’

High Knight Brillon, the tall hooded man, let out a long breath before gesturing at the wall behind him. ‘We have what is needed to open this,’ he said as the rattling sound of a rickety wagon echoed in the small space. A wagon was trundled up to the edge of the cave, something held within it that was covered in a black sheet. As it moved past those gathered the men flinched backwards, pinching their noses and turning their faces. Bagsy caught a whiff and tried not to gag it was so rancid.

‘Quickly,’ High Knight Brillon snapped at the man wheeling it along. ‘Before my nose falls off.’

The man pushed the wagon next to the back of the wall before taking a few steps back and the men fell into silence, slowly edging away from the wagon.

The old man let out a grumble after a few minutes passed. ‘It’s not working–’ he began to say, before a white light guillotined through the darkness. Bagsy shielded her eyes, almost thrown off her feet by the billowing of wind from the gargantuan gap that had formed in the wall. The men screamed, some ran away from the light that looked like a gateway of sorts, but Sir Pavot bravely pushed through the gushing air.

‘Do not be afraid!’ he called. ‘We fight for justice! We fight for the salvation of our loved ones! How can we be afraid? Even if we die we die for what we believe in!’

Some of the men seemed to hear Sir Pavot and slowed their retreat. Pavot, leg muscles straining against the stream of air, worked towards the gateway and stepped through, grabbing and pulling the wagon after him.

Bagsy, pushing energy into her legs, jumped, the wind bustling her face, and hurled herself after Pavot.

‘He’s a mad man,’ she heard High Knight Brillon curse as she did. ‘This is not what we had expected. This is witchcraft! Pavot, get back here!’ As the light grew around Bagsy, and the gateway swallowed her whole, Hight Knight Brillon’s voice was sucked away and she found herself landing on a gravelled pathway that twisted into the horizon and hovered above a deep green sea miles below.

She pushed to her feet and instantly knew something was wrong with the memories she was looking at. In the cave the events before her eyes had been clear and sequential, but now there were blurs popping in and out of existence, the image warping, flickering and turning upside down or back to front in sharp changes. Bagsy staggered as first she was on a path and then in a domed space the size of Hogwarts castle itself at the centre of which was a pulsing, green shape of geometric glass. With another snap she was on a hill surrounded by thick vegetation like a jungle with the gleam of stars above her head and then with another snap she saw Sir Pavot, dagger drawn, fighting with dragons and wolves the size of carriages. With another snap, Pavot was in the centre of the domed space, reaching towards the wagon to pull the black sheet off what it was hiding, the rancid smell filling the air. There was a snap again, and she was on the path, then back on the hill, then amongst the dragons and wolves, and back to the dome again.

It was disorienting. Bagsy could tell something about the place had messed with Sir Pavot’s memories. Between flashes she saw the pulsing shape or Pavot’s hand slowly getting closer to the sheet, moments from pulling it back. When finally the black sheet was ripped off Bagsy saw a wagon of human skulls.

In a final flash Bagsy saw Pavot’s hand placed against the green shape, his eyes shining with a burning magic. ‘Oh world heart… I want the world to be perfectly peaceful. I beg, make it so…’ The magic in his eyes grew and strange, white tendrils descended from the ceiling, surrounding Pavot and Bagsy. The light drained from Pavot’s eyes and his head slumped forward and the memory closed on Bagsy with such force she worried her bones had been pulled from her flesh.

With a cry Bagsy was thrown onto the floor of the library nook, skidding across the hardwood and coming to a stop against a book shelf, a few books toppling onto her head. She winced, putting a hand to her scalp, feeling sweat on her brow. She stared, wide eyed, at the image of Sir Pavot in his dark clothing.

‘Bagsy?’ Mezrielda rushed over, alarmed. She crouched next to her, tilting Bagsy’s head to check for injuries.

Bagsy let Mezrielda inspect her head for a moment and when she moved to step away, Bagsy’s hand lurched out and grabbed her forearm. Slowly, Bagsy raised her gaze to Mezrielda’s face. ‘I saw the world heart,’ she breathed. ‘I know where it is.’

Chapter Text

Bagsy stared up at the hole that led to Fitzsimmons’ office, trying to keep her breathing level. When panic wrung its fingers around her heart and squeezed, she reminded herself Mezrielda was at her side. In a blur of motion she was sitting on a plush stool in the dimly lit, moth-filled room.

There was the noise of clicks and clacks and Starrett climbed in. ‘What’s this about? I have lessons to plan.’ Fitzsimmons blinked calmly, indicating Bagsy and Mezrielda. Starrett glanced back at them with narrowed eyes, sitting down on one of the stools. ‘Well?’

Bagsy clasped her hands, stilling her tense muscles. ‘I used my doppelganger… stuff… to read the memories of Sir Pavot.’

Starrett sat up straight. ‘Without Professor Stery present? Without letting us know?’

Bagsy looked away. ‘I didn’t think I’d actually be able to read his memories.’

Fitzsimmons held a hand out towards Starrett, who looked like a bull ready to charge. Starrett huffed, crossing her arms tightly. Fitzsimmons placed their hands in their lap and regarded Bagsy. ‘What did you see?’

‘Lots of stuff.’ Her voice quiet in the space. ‘Sir Pavot was a part of a group of secret knights in 1804. From the sounds of what they were saying no one knew about them and if they did wouldn’t take them seriously.’ She paused, thinking on how to word her next sentence. She hadn’t even explained her reasoning to Mezrielda yet – she worried doing so would make her ban the option of sharing her knowledge with Fitzsimmons and Starrett so, instead, they’d rushed straight here. ‘Whoever they were they knew about the beast and her attacks, and I think they knew about… about you.’ Bagsy looked at Fitzsimmons, who tilted their head quizzically. ‘They said something about a girl who was kidnapped by a different kind of people. Then one of the knights, High Knight Brillon, seemed convinced the beast was let loose from the secret world these people had taken the girl to.’

‘I see.’ Fitzsimmons hummed. ‘They spoke of Vinidia, how she was taken from their world to the dreamers and how when she later left became the beast.’

‘That’s what I thought, too,’ Bagsy agreed. ‘The knights kept talking about how they were going to go into the world where the girl was stolen and were destroy it so their own world would be saved. Somehow, they opened this gateway and it was this big light thing and Sir Pavot went through, but when I tried to understand his memories of the world he went into they were all out of order and warped. I saw this pathway over an endless green ocean, and there was this huge, like really huge, room in the centre of which was something made of glass. There was Pavot trying to pull a sheet off the wagon and finding human skulls and then I saw him pressing his hand against the green glass… thing before white tendrils descended. The memories ended there.’ Bagsy was almost breathless, eyes darting from one face to another. ‘I t-think… that what I saw was the land of the dreamers, and I think that the green thing was–’

Mezrielda was on her feet. ‘The world heart.’

Bagsy gave an ominous nod, swallowing thickly.

Fitzsimmons narrowed their enlarged eyes. ‘It has been half a millennium since I was in that world. My memories of it falter in my mind but I do not recall this glass object of which you speak.’ Fitzsimmons rose to their feet as well. ‘What lessons do you have after lunch finishes?’

Bagsy and Mezrielda exchanged a look.

‘Double Medmad,’ said Bagsy.

‘Transfiguration and a free period,’ said Mezrielda.

Fitzsimmons moved towards the hole in the floor. ‘I will have to send my apologies to your teachers,’ they said, stepping over the opening and gently floating down. ‘You will not be attending their classes this day. Whilst my memories of my childhood home are distant I still recall how to get there.’

Angrily, Starrett descended the ladder after Fitzsimmons. ‘You can’t be serious?’ She dropped to the floor as Fitzsimmons stepped to the side of the corridor, waiting for Bagsy and Mezrielda as they descended from the room. ‘It’s far too dangerous. They absolutely cannot come with us.’

Fitzsimmons responded quietly, ‘Emese, as much as we may dislike it they are involved. Our best chance of keeping them safe is keeping them informed and keeping them close. We have tried to isolate them from our plans and this has yet to successfully keep them from harm’s way.’

‘So we should walk them straight into danger?’

‘We are not walking them into danger, both of us will be present. Instead of pulling wool over their eyes we should train them for what is coming. You have always said this, your Artifisiary lessons are based on this principle.’

Starrett pursed her lips. ‘That is different. That is training in a controlled environment. They are too young to be treated like this.’

‘They are nearly adults,’ Fitzsimmons countered. ‘It is their fates the world is meddling with, they have a right to contribute.’ Starrett opened her mouth to protest further. ‘They have shared much with us this year. I wish to return the gesture.’

That seemed to somewhat placate Starrett, who looked past Fitzsimmons with a seething glare at Bagsy and Mezrielda. ‘Fine.’

Seeing Fitzsimmons and Starrett argue with each other was a deeply disconcerting experience but Bagsy’s anxiety slowly calmed as they walked along. In silence, the four of them proceeded through the maze-like corridors until they reached the moving staircases before continuing on towards the exit. A cool spring breeze blustered through them and Bagsy, who’d left her robe in the library, wrapped her arms around herself. At least it was warmer than it had been before Christmas, she consoled herself.

They headed towards Hogsmeade and just as Bagsy was wondering how far the anti-apparation ban of the castle stretched Fitzsimmons came to a stop and held out their arm. ‘Starrett, I will take you there first.’

Still not looking pleased with the plan Starrett took a hold of Fitzsimmons arm. With a pop, and a suction of air, Fitzsimmons and Starrett vanished. The next moment Fitzsimmons reappeared and held their arm out once more.

‘I’ll go first,’ Mezrielda said suddenly, reaching forward and taking Fitzsimmons arm. Before Bagsy could respond the two had vanished. The next moment Fitzsimmons had returned for a final time and held their arm towards Bagsy. Taking in a breath and holding it, Bagsy placed a shaking hand onto the cream-sleeved arm of Fitzsimmons. The world stretched and shrunk around her, whirling down a plughole into darkness, before expanding in a burst of colour once more. Bagsy stumbled a few steps, finding a hand on each shoulder steadying her, as she arrived in a vast field with rolling hills on one side and a stretched out, flat, green horizon on the other.

She glanced to her left to see Mezrielda supporting her and then to her right to see Starrett similarly keeping her upright. ‘Thanks,’ Bagsy said, as the two let go, glaring at each other. Turning to look behind her, Bagsy saw Fitzsimmons’ taking in their surroundings. There was a river nearby but since 1804, when Bagsy had seen it in Sir Pavot’s memory, it had swelled in size. There were also at least three bridges, one of brick, one of wood and one of stone, and there was even a collapsed tree whose thick trunk was a make-shift bridge for some children playing by the water. Bagsy glanced around again, spotting a small café and bus station, though none of the muggles seemed to notice them, they were too busy fussing over some very odd-looking contraptions that had two wheels connected by a confusing shape of metal pipes. They were strapping the strange contraptions to metal bars that rose from the ground and glinted in the sun. Bagsy wished Professor Barnsley was there to explain it all.

Starrett said, ‘Is this the place?’

Fitzsimmons inclined their head. ‘If my current memories are to be trusted this is where myself and the beast left the land of the dreamers.’ With disciplined steps Fitzsimmons progressed through the field, their robes letting off clouds of dust as they moved. They came to a stop by a small hill covered in shrubbery and Bagsy recognised the place Sir Pavot had ducked into.

Fitzsimmons wand was in their hand and they were moving it in a semi-circle before the shrubbery, repeated the motion over and over. At first nothing appeared to happen but with each movement the shrubbery grew into the shape of a semi-circle itself, revealing a hidden passage. After a few minutes Fitzsimmons stopped, standing still and staring unblinkingly at the tunnel.

‘Dantes,’ Starrett said softly, taking a step towards them.

‘I’m alright.’ Their voice was flat as they ducked into the dark tunnel.

Starrett gestured for Bagsy and Mezrielda to follow. ‘I’ll bring up the rear.’

Mezrielda went in first, entirely unperturbed by the darkness, while Bagsy had to take a second before forcing her legs to move, crouching in the small space and trying her best not to think about the colour red or the heat of flames.

‘Lumos,’ Mezrielda cast, a light sparking at the end of her white wand. Bagsy went to retrieve her own from her pockets, for once happy at the realisation that she might be able to cast a light charm of her own, only to realise her robe, whose pocket contained her wand, was back at Hogwarts. A weight attached itself to Bagsy’s heart and pulled it to the centre of the earth as dread seized her. Without her robe and inventions she was beyond vulnerable. Still, she had her thaumathletic abilities, she consoled herself, and from the three pinpricks of light in the tunnel everyone else with her had wands. In Starrett’s case hers was hidden somewhere on her person so even if someone tried to take it from her they wouldn’t know where it was.

As they progressed the sounds of crumbling earth taunted Bagsy’s ears and the smell of damp soil crawled down her nostrils. The path twisted and turned until Bagsy wasn’t sure which way was up, left or right but eventually it opened onto the familiar small cave she’d seen before. The room was entirely empty besides the torches in the walls that were rotten and old. Thankfully, the light-charms lit the room well enough.

Fitzsimmons was at the far wall, their hand pressed against the solid earth. ‘This is where we left from,’ they said. ‘Vinidia and I.’

Mezrielda tapped her knuckles against the wall, as if knocking. ‘How do we get in?’

Fitzsimmons said, ‘Before pressing my hand against the wall would have been enough, yet the gateway remains closed.’

Mezrielda pointed her wand at the wall. ‘Alohomora.’ Nothing happened.

Starrett wafted her hand through the air. ‘Patentibus.’ Still, nothing.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Mezrielda cycled through spells. ‘Perludulus. Vacmurus. Colliquify!’ Wand lowering for a beat Mezrielda stared at the wall, entirely unchanged. She snarled. ‘Rocushift!’ Bagsy started in surprise as wings sprouted from Mezrielda’s back and her eyes glowed like two emerald torches. In the sudden shifting of the earth Bagsy reached out to lean against the wall, the world shaking around her as dirt fell from the ceiling and a warning rumble quaked through the ground. There was no escape from the noise and yet the wall Mezrielda’s wand was directed at didn’t budge.

Starrett, also leaning against the side for balance, hissed at Mezrielda, ‘Stop that! Or have you forgotten we’re in the tunnel you’re about to collapse?’

Mezrielda’s nostrils flared but she swished her wand down, dismissing the spell. The wings on her back faded like shadows, the glow of her eyes vanished and the shaking stopped. Bagsy sunk to her knees, gripping her stomach and squeezing her eyes shut. She needed to get out of the tunnel and to somewhere that felt less cramped.

Fitzsimmons regarded the wall. ‘When Vinidia and I fled this place, she wished for those who’d attacked us to be sealed within. I believe her wish has also sealed out those who wish entrance.’

Starrett voice grew closer to Bagsy as she spoke. ‘We can’t get in?’

Fitzsimmons laid their hand against the wall once more, their eyes looking at something far away. ‘No.’

Bagsy felt Starrett help her to her feet, dusting her shoulders off and checking her over.

Fitzsimmons turned and walked back the way they’d come, something like grief furrowing their brow as they went. ‘There is nothing to be gained here. We shall return to the castle.’

‘Good,’ Starrett agreed, ushering Bagsy and Mezrielda ahead of her. Bagsy cast a final glance back at the small cave before allowing herself to be led outside.

Chapter Text

With the figurative and literal dead end in the search for the world heart Bagsy and Mezrielda found themselves focussing on their studies more than ever. Bagsy had to constantly remind Mezrielda, who’d open a window to fly out and escape work, that she needed perfect grades if she wanted to be Minister for Magic one day. With a grumble Mezrielda would shut the window and sit back down. An added deterrent to Mezrielda’s flight from work was the stampelia which was now so large that there was only one window she could open without having to spend an age pushing leaves and pink petals aside.

The third and final quidditch match for Hufflepuff arrived one weekend and Bagsy was thankful to be on the side-lines once more, working through a box of popity corn, that continuously jumped around the cardboard box it was in, as she stared, transfixed, at the action.

‘I’d strategize differently,’ Mezrielda commented, eyeing Jon as he tried a foolhardy shot at the goal post which the keeper caught.

‘Jon’s always gone for the riskier shots,’ said Bagsy, shuffling to the edge of her seat and craning her neck to get a better view.

When the new Hufflepuff seeker managed to grab the snitch away from the Gryffindors Bagsy jumped out of her seat, her box of popity corn tipping over and the kernels hopping all over the place, as she let out a cry of joy. Mezrielda rolled her eyes in amusement before waving her wand to clean the mess Bagsy had made. Hufflepuff were still at the bottom of the table for points and Bagsy could see Jon sullenly stomping off the pitch, but he had another year to come first and Bagsy was sure he could do it. He didn’t need to come first of course, but it still had to sting to come last in his first year as captain.

‘Come on,’ Bagsy said to Mezrielda, hurrying down the stands to find Jon.

Jon must have walked at a fast pace as Bagsy and Mezrielda only managed to find him at dinner that evening, where he was leaning grumpily over a bowl of soup, glaring at the sweetcorn and peas as he stirred his meal. Fiona was murmuring quietly to him and Bagsy saw Jon’s shoulders sag as he let out a long breath in response to whatever she’d said. By the time Bagsy reached him and sat down next to him he seemed a little better.

‘Thanks, Fiona,’ Jon said quietly, before giving Bagsy and Mezrielda a muted nod in greeting.

Itsuki flopped down opposite him. ‘Jon, you did the best you could,’ he rushed out. ‘I tried to find you after the match, where did you go?’

Fiona shot Jon a look. ‘He was hiding in the Eagle Club room until I dragged him to get some food.’

Jon ate some soup. ‘I do feel a bit better.’

‘You were just hungry,’ Fiona reasoned. ‘There’s nothing a good meal can’t fix.’

Bagsy glanced at the food on offer, not seeing any sweetcorn and pea soup, and guessing it was a gift from Fiona.

Itsuki was about to pile his own plate with some stuffed potatoes when he noticed a glass of blue and pink swirling liquid in front of him with a label attached. Curious, he flipped the label over. Bagsy leaned forward, peering as Itsuki read it, seeing his name neatly sketched onto the paper.

‘It’s from Killian,’ Itsuki breathed in disbelief, before picking the glass up and taking a sip. He paused, tilting his head to the side as he considered the flavours, and then smiled. ‘That’s yummy!’ He took another sip.

Killian sat down next to Itsuki. ‘What is?’ he asked. Bagsy’s eyes were fixed on the glass. She recognised the colours, but she wasn’t sure where from.

Itsuki tapped the glass. ‘A gift from you. It’s really nice, thank you.’

Killian frowned. ‘I didn’t leave that here.’

Bagsy sprung out of her seat, vaulting the table to land at Itsuki’s side, snatching the glass out of his hand and looking at it closely. There was a hum of confusion, and Itsuki reached up towards his mohawk. Bagsy glanced at his dark hair, seeing the tips of the strands slowly vanish like the fuse on a bomb.

In a burst of speed, Fiona had leapt over the table as well, almost knocking Jon’s soup over. ‘Remember what Stery told us to use. ADORED,’ Fiona rushed out. ‘Quickly.’

‘What’s first?’ Bagsy said, as Itsuki’s hum of curiosity grew into an alarmed cry as he realised his mohawk was disappearing.

‘Analyse!’

The two turned to look at the glass.

Bagsy shook it. ‘Hair-loss inducing potion.’

‘Colours match. As does the effect.’

‘Next?’

‘Don’t rush! We haven’t finished analysing!’

Itsuki’s cry was turning into a wail. ‘Hurry!’

Bagsy said, ‘What else is there to analyse?’

‘How to treat it!’

Furrowing her brow Bagsy looked at Itsuki’s hair, shimmering as it vanished. ‘Give him something to dilute the potion to slow the effect. Then craft an antidote, rinse and dry his throat and hair.’

Itsuki’s face paled. ‘What?’

Killian put his hand on Itsuki’s shoulder. ‘They’ve got this, don’t worry.’

‘I’m worrying!’

Bagsy grabbed Jon’s soup. ‘Sorry about this.’ She slid the bowl in front of Itsuki.

Jon tried to grab it back. ‘I was eating that!’

Fiona shot Jon a silencing look then made a gesture between Itsuki and the soup. ‘Itsuki, drink that as fast as you can.’

Itsuki grabbed the bowl, drinking straight from it, meanwhile Bagsy emptied the potions ingredients from her robe onto the table, the vials clinking onto the wood.

‘This one.’ Fiona grabbed a dark black liquid. ‘This one, too.’ A selection of herbs. Bagsy grabbed the remaining ingredients, pulled a cauldron from a tiny pocket in the side of her robe, at which Mezrielda raised her eyebrows, and set to work. Thanks to the aid of swift scales and a scorching heat below the cauldron from Fiona’s wand, by the time Itsuki had finished downing the soup Bagsy was pouring the newly made antidote into a cup.

‘Now drink this,’ Bagsy instructed him.

Itsuki held back a burp. ‘I’m not sure I can.’

Fiona placed a hand firmly on the table. ‘Do you want to lose your mohawk or not?’ Gulping, Itsuki picked the cup up and drank the antidote in one go before letting out a harsh breath and stifling another burp. ‘That’s douse done,’ Fiona muttered to Bagsy. ‘Now we need to rinse and dry.’

‘ADORED,’ said Bagsy, looking at the potions ingredients they’d spread on the table, seeing a water jug beyond them. She filled Itsuki’s cup up with water.

‘Really?’ Itsuki complained. In unison, Bagsy, Fiona, Killian, Jon and Mezrielda shot him a look. Sighing Itsuki drank that, too.

Then, just to be safe, Bagsy upended the rest of the water jug over Itsuki’s hair, who jumped in surprise, the water dripping off his now soaked strands onto his robes.

‘What was that for?’ Itsuki wiped water off his face.

‘Now to dry,’ said Fiona, ignoring Itsuki and spotting the refreshment dust amongst the potion ingredients Bagsy had fished out of her robe. She grabbed a handful and chucked it at Itsuki’s hair, before opening his mouth and flicking a few specks onto his tongue.

Itsuki recoiled back, spluttering, drenched in water and muddied with the refreshment dust but as Bagsy watched she saw the disappearing of his hair slow and stop, with two inches or so of mohawk remaining.

A few seconds later and the refreshment dust had done its job. Itsuki was entirely dry and even pushing his tongue around his mouth. ‘Somehow I’m thirsty.’

Bagsy and Fiona let out relieved laughs, Killian patted Itsuki on the back, Jon looked disappointedly into the now empty soup bowl and Mezrielda curiously picked the glass of hair-loss potion up.

Fiona hopped back over the table whilst Bagsy spent a minute packing away her potions ingredients before walking all the way around to her seat next to Mezrielda. She sat down next to her, Itsuki already enthusiastically recounting the event to Killian, despite the fact he’d been there, whilst checking how much of his mohawk was left.

Mezrielda placed the glass down in front of Bagsy, tapping the rim, the blue and pink liquid swirling. ‘Someone planted this for Itsuki to drink.’

Bagsy looked at the potion, then at Mezrielda and then suspiciously around the hall. ‘Who do you think?’

Mezrielda looked past Bagsy and down the Hufflepuff table. Bagsy followed her gaze to see Primrose smiling at them before raising a goblet in cheers.

‘I like Itsuki’s new haircut!’ Primrose called. Bagsy watched as the eyes of the Hufflepuffs who’d witnessed what had happened slunk to Primrose. It wasn’t just Itsuki, Fiona, Jon and Killian who were glaring. Some of the older and younger years seemed annoyed at how Primrose had disturbed the peace. Again.

‘But how?’ Bagsy hissed to Mezrielda, turning away from Primrose and ducking her head, hoping she would stop looking at them. ‘An auror watches her every move and she’s kept in isolation when not in lessons or eating meals.’

Mezrielda’s brown eyes turned icy as she looked into the distance, her lips pursed as she thought. ‘Perhaps she had outside help.’

‘Rebekah? She takes potions and she used to be friends with Primrose, though I never see them hanging out that much anymore.’

Mezrielda looked back towards Primrose and Bagsy followed her gaze. Rebekah was sitting next to Primrose, smirking at her and nudging her in the ribs.

‘That’s enough confirmation for me,’ said Mezrielda.

Bagsy nodded, eyes fixed on Primrose as her smile dropped and she pushed Rebekah away from her. There was a small, heated discussion between the two and then Rebekah got to her feet, stalking away with a sour frown.

Mezrielda let out a low noise. ‘That didn’t look pleasant.’

‘What was that?’

‘I’m guessing Rebekah lost her use so Primrose told her to piss off.’

‘That would be in character for Primrose.’

‘It would.’

The almost-destruction of Itsuki’s hair became a rather amusing story that Itsuki was happy to retell to the other refulgents. Oscar nodded politely, whilst keeping his eyes averted, as his listened, Howe fell about in giggles, and Elijah let out a few empty laughs, while Nevis’ eyes widened in horror, continually darting up to Itsuki’s hair as if worried it would begin to vanish again.

As Itsuki finished miming a jug of water being thrown over him, and Nevis let out a small yelp of alarm, Bagsy noticed Jon slipping by them, a letter in his hand. ‘Excuse me,’ Bagsy murmured to the others, not waiting to see if they’d heard her before setting off after Jon.

As she turned the corner, she heard Itsuki say, ‘Right, Bagsy? … Bagsy?’

‘Missing Hufflepuff,’ responded Nevis’ small voice.

Nosy as ever, Bagsy followed Jon all the way to the owlery and entered the tall, owl-filled space to see him send one of the birds into the air, a letter clutched in its talons.

Jon turned to leave but stopped at the sight of Bagsy. ‘Oh. Hi, Bagsy.’

‘Hi, Jon,’ said Bagsy awkwardly, not entirely sure why she’d thought following Jon was a good idea. ‘What, uh… what were you doing?’

Jon rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up at the owl that had flown out one of the holes in the wall to begin its journey. ‘I wrote a letter to my brother.’

Bagsy furrowed her brow. ‘Your brother?’

‘Yeah. I, um… I decided to listen to Fiona’s advice.’ Bagsy waited patiently for Jon to elaborate. Jon’s shoulders sagged and he scuffed a shoe across the stones, kicking bits of straw and small bones. ‘I’m asking Ford for advice on running the team. I want to win and I want to be a good captain, the best captain, better than him, but I don’t think I know how.’

Bagsy smiled. ‘You know what, Jon? I think that’s a wonderful idea.’ She’d give anything to still have an older sibling she was willing to ask for advice. For a brief moment she indulged in a fantasy where her childhood was uneventful, and her largest problem was quidditch and the solution a simple case of seeking aid from Bontie. It was a nice idea, but she didn’t dawdle in that imaginary world, it made the one she had to return to, where Bontie had taken her to those caves, far too painful.

‘I appreciate that, Bagsy. I guess it does make me better than Ford, in a sense, as I’m willing to ask for advice.’ Jon shook his head. ‘No. No, Fiona’s right. I need to stop doing that.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Comparing myself to Ford. It won’t do me any good, it just makes me feel like a failure. I need to do what I told Fiona to do last year and focus on being the best version of myself, and doing things for me, not because of other people. My choices shouldn’t be forced one way or another by trying to outdo my brother. My choices need to be my own and I need to own them.’

Bagsy’s heart sank. Even if Jon’s reasoning applied to his situation she knew it wasn’t the case for herself. When Bagsy made her own decisions things went wrong. It was better for everyone concerned if she just did what others told her to. ‘Let’s head back. We should get ready for the trip to Hogsmeade,’ Bagsy said, instead of the slowly building mountain of anxious thoughts that was pressing against her tongue.

‘Too right. Itsuki and I have to prepare for Snippity’s. He’s going to use one of his new permanent dyes on my hair,’ he explained, gesturing. ‘I can’t wait. It’s a pain to keep my roots blonde.’

As they set down the stairs Bagsy narrowed her eyes in thought. ‘Itsuki said you don’t go to Snippity’s because you prefer flirting with a clerk in a different shop?’

Jon shrugged, adjusting the quidditch-captain badge on his robes, before dusting off a few cake-crumbs from his sleeve. ‘I don’t really do that anymore.’

Bagsy’s conversation with Job sat with her for a bit and without realising it she was writing a letter to Greenda. She wanted to know how she was doing with her internship but, more importantly, she wanted advice on how Greenda dealt with making mistakes. Bagsy had a numb feeling that, had things gone differently, she would be writing this letter to Bontie. In her first few years at Hogwarts she wrote to Bontie regularly. Now, the idea made her feel queasy.

She sent the letter off with Eldritch, wringing her hands as she watched him fly off. Greenda had made mistakes, just like Bagsy, but she kept going. Then again, no one had ever made as many mistakes as Bagsy. Maybe that was the difference between being able to continue and not. If you made a few mistakes you could shrug them off, but what if every action you took ended in failure?

Given the misery slowly boiling inside of her it was a relief that Bagsy was still allowed to go to Hogsmeade. Fitzsimmons and Starrett would watch over her from the shadows as she shopped so Bagsy could continue the tradition of buying nice things for Mezrielda. It was exactly what she needed.

‘Honestly,’ Mezrielda chided Bagsy as she presented her with a box of dark chocolate sea shells. ‘Chocolate is so childish.’

Bagsy just grinned as she proceeded to demolish the treats. ‘I thought chocolate was childish?’ she asked as they walked back to where they’d line up to return to Hogwarts, the box already empty. Bagsy could sense Starrett and Fitzsimmons were nearby.

Mezrielda countered, ‘The height of maturity is being able to indulge in childish activities without appearing odd.’

‘Right.’ Bagsy held back a laugh. ‘You’re one step higher than the height of maturity, though.’

Mezrielda narrowed her eyes suspiciously as they came to a stop behind some seventh year Ravenclaws. ‘How so?’

‘You avoid childish activities and still appear odd.’ Bagsy let out an eep as Mezrielda hit her with a freeze-sneeze jinx, before quickly downing a warming potion to dispel it.

‘If I kept jinxing you, you’d eventually run out of potions.’

As they walked back to Hogwarts Mezrielda’s words stuck with Bagsy. With each step she realised that, with her current inventions, in any incident she would eventually run out of spell-baubles or potions.

Bagsy kept thinking on how to even out her arsenal when she got back to her room, Eldritch swooping in through the window and landing on her work bench with his feathers proudly puffed. Bagsy gave him a stroke on the head as a thank you, the owl blinking his massive eyes happily, before he dropped Greenda’s response on the desk.

Bagsy opened it quickly, scanning the words, only to feel disappointed.

Hi Bagsy,

The truth is, I don’t know how to deal with making mistakes. I’m the same as you; I just keep making them. I guess I try to ignore them but that’s not a good solution, my mistakes just wait in the corner of my vision. Sometimes I forget they’re there, but they always come back to haunt me. Try to remember we’re all human. No one can be perfect. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help – or write more – Head Healer Durhingis doesn’t believe in taking breaks. I have to get back to work, it’s exhausting here at St Mungo’s. Anyway, keep working hard, and be sure to visit soon. (Mal has new bread recipes he’d love to share with you).

Regards

Greenda

Frustrated, Bagsy put the letter into a drawer and glared at the wall. Greenda made mistakes but if she thought hers were on the same awful level as Bagsy’s she was wrong. Bagsy’s mistakes were foolish and avoidable. If Greenda, who only made minor, unavoidable mistakes, didn’t know how to get past them then Bagsy had no hope.