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“Lovegood!”

Luna’s eyes widened when Evan Gurlick popped up from his desk with a wide grin. 

“Fancy a trip into the field?” He reached for his robes and placed a hat on his head. She brightened up, eager to get out of the office. 

“I’d love that!” She sat up and the pile of parchment on her desk nearly hissed at her. Luna had been editing for two weeks now, and she was convinced the pile was sentient, sussing out any hopes she might have of abandoning it entirely. “Er, I shouldn’t,” she groaned, her back melting against her seat. “Mrs. Cambridge wants these on her desk by the end of the day.” 

“Mm,” he hummed with a frown. 

Together they peered over to find the elderly woman at her desk. Henrietta was the most purple person she’d ever met, donning the colour as if it were her entire personality. Even the feather on her petite hat was a bright and vibrant shade of violet.

Henrietta Cambridge had worked at The Quibbler longer than anyone else, overseeing any and all editing. According to Gurlick, she never missed a thing. Not a comma, not a colon, not even a single stop. She was the reigning champion of the annual spelling Glumbumble, and there was a rumour that she invented a few of her own words. 

Luna wasn’t curious enough to find out which.

For all her flare, the woman had the same proclivities as Mrs. Norris, popping up when she was least expected. It would be impossible to get past her.

Luna eyed the exit with a strange sort of longing. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a bother if you joined me for an early lunch?” Gurlick tipped his hat with a knowing smile and it was all she needed to put down the dreadful red pen. 

They made a beeline for the door and for a moment Luna thought she might have heard the sound of a chair dragging against the floor, but the door sealed shut behind them and the world was her oyster once again.

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The August heat was intense, and no matter how many windows Hermione opened, it was useless without a decent breeze. Her hair stuck to her back and she considered making a trip to Hogsmeade to have it cut—no, trimmed. Maybe cut? 

Hermione had considered a big chop for years, but if spending months in a tent with two boys didn’t push her over the edge, then the summer heat was no match—maybe.

She peeked into her school trunk for a hair tie and pulled her hair into her favoured pineapple up-do. With all the cleaning and decluttering of the house, it had rapidly become her default hairstyle.

With a sigh, she headed downstairs to get her day started. Today, she’d planned on tending to the fireplace. The Floo needed to be connected but first it needed a good scrubbing. An hour later, she was on her hands and knees and covered in a healthy layer of soot. It hardly mattered how many Scourgifys she’d cast, nothing worked. The soot clung to the walls, repelling any magical efforts to vanish the mess.

Iron bristle brush in hand, Hermione continued her task when the sound of an owl caught her attention. Landing at the open window of the front porch, it was a beautiful creature, perched with a proud chest of perfectly preened feathers. The great horned owl screeched softly, a thick roll of parchment tied to its talons. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, handing it a soot-covered treat which he took gladly before flying off. 

The parchment felt heavier than it looked, tied in a red satin ribbon with a bright red wax seal. It felt too important to handle with her hands coated in soot, so she put it down and went to the half bathroom across the hall. 

Several cleaning charms and a good scrub later, she walked out not completely convinced that she’s gotten every speck of dirt, but it would have to do. When she re-entered the living room, she assumed the letter was right where she’d left it, except now it was covered in a small pile of other correspondences. It appeared that her new address had been made public. 

Hermione had never seen so many luxurious pieces of ribbon and wax seals to match. Some of the rolls were brightly coloured, she assumed in an attempt to stand out among the others. She fished for the first roll, determined to figure out why she’d suddenly become so popular. 

Dear Miss Granger,

Considering a career in Law? We are delighted to offer you a position with our firm! Here at Cloak & Cauldron Counsel, our clients seek out our service to find justice for any number of causes.

Your efforts in ending the year-long war with dark forces is just the kind of drive we need to bring us to the next level! With your help we could be a driving benefactor not just in Britain, but on a global scale.

We are interested in scheduling some time with you this week to tour our offices as well as showcase some of our high profile accounts.

Upon your acceptance, we are prepared to offer a competitive salary as well as a commission package you can’t refuse.

Hope to hear from you soon!

CC&C

Hermione blinked at the gold lettering. It was a job offer. 

Unravelling rolls of thick parchment and unsealing envelope after envelope, Hermione soon learned they were all job offers. In the time it took for her to open half of them, another dozen landed swiftly on top of the pile. 

She turned to look at the house that was becoming her home, one day at a time. The iron brush sat discarded before the fireplace, and she was reminded of all the totems in the basement that still needed cleansing.

Making a decision had never been so difficult. Because truly, what was she deciding? She needed to get a job eventually, no list of cleaning tasks would erase that fact. 

Her eyes skimmed the first letter, one line standing out among them all. 

With your help we could be a driving benefactor not just in Britain, but on a global scale.

How could she help anyone when McGonagall had given her the most important task of all? She thought of Fred, Peeves, and Moody. Threads, souls of light she’d been charged to save. 

With a flick of her wand, the shutters snapped shut, blocking another owl from landing with a small stack of envelopes. 

The living would have to wait.

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The wizarding world had many nooks and crannies to escape into. With so many means of travel, it was easy to be in a country one moment and half way across the world in another. 

This afternoon, however, Ginny found herself stepping out of a fireplace and into the reception area of a small tea shop named Leaves n’ Petals. It seemed to have a dusting of pink sprayed on every surface. A soft breeze carried tiny flower petals down from the ceiling which disappeared just before they had a chance to hit the ground.

It was charming and quaint but she didn’t have time to stop and browse as she was running late and this wasn’t her real destination. 

Stepping out into a small, circular plaza, Ginny was met with a tall, golden post, and nailed to it were about a dozen plaques of all shapes and sizes. On the top was a dark wood sign trimmed in more gold that read ‘Welcome to Upper Flagley! The shopping centre of the future.’ 

She snorted at the thought, her eyes finally landing on the sign she was looking for. ‘The Wild Ember Lounge’. The plaque pointed due north between a sweets shop and a cauldron shop. She rounded the post, ignoring the afternoon crowd of shoppers as they went about their day. 

She’d never heard of Upper Flagley before today but when she received Robins’ invite, she was eager to meet up with her former teammate. It had been almost two months since Ginny had seen her last and it would be nice to see what she’d been up to. 

The doorway to The Wild Ember was a deep violet-coloured wood, its deep grooves were filled with light that twinkled like live embers. When she pulled the golden handle, she did not expect the steady thrum of music that spilled out into the alley. 

Her jaw hung open as she stepped inside and onto a metal balcony. Lowlights in hues of blue and purple pulsed across the lounge at the rhythm of a soft latin beat. A guitar was strumming, its notes bouncing off every wall, and the floor hummed with the subtle vibration of a base. 

Her fingers gripped onto the railing as she craned her neck to get a better view of the gallery below. There were about a dozen leather booths filled with witches and wizards as well as goblins, house-elves, fairies, and even a few ghosts. Waiters wended expertly through the mass of people with trays of drinks and samples of food balanced delicately in their palms.

Her heart raced, excitement coursing through her until she realised she wasn’t even remotely dressed for such a place. Her eyes darted around her and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a sign pointing to a nearby restroom.

Ginny bolted for the door, locking it behind her. She was met with yet another opulent space. She’d never seen such a well-furnished lavatory. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined one side, complementing hovering bowls that she supposed served as sinks. Fancy doorways that led to more private loos lined the other wall, and she thought that perhaps she could get used to this. 

Ginny stepped before a sink, looking at her reflection. Her face was flushed, and a subtle grin threatened to become a wide smile. She moved quickly, letting down her hair from an old clip that had lost a few too many teeth from its combs. 

Clutching her wand to her chest, she exhaled. Really, this wasn’t the first time she’d had to change up in a moment's notice. 

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Ginny had transformed into a femme fatale of a witch. Dark eyeliner framed her eyes, elongating them, giving her a distinctly feline look. Deep merlot lips contrasted against her fair skin. 

A silver halter top caught subtle glimmers of light, and her mini skirt only just covered enough skin. 

She shivered as she made her way down the iron steps and into the throng of people. Ginny wasn’t cold by any means, but something about the music and atmosphere electrified her very blood. People parted for her like the sea, eyes raked down her body, and for the first time in a long while, Ginny felt powerful. 

“Woah,” a familiar voice said, just loud enough to travel through the music. Ginny turned towards the voice, her eyes travelling up the length of a pair of long legs, thick calves shimmering with a layer of glitter. A thin, light blue dress did nothing to hide the contours of the woman’s body sitting on top of a tall stool along the bar. 

“Ginny freaking Weasley , boy do you know how to show out!” Flicking long waves of blonde hair over her bare shoulder, Demelza Robins stood from her pedestal and offered her a blue-coloured drink.

“I could say the same to you,” Ginny said with a smirk, taking the drink and bringing it to her lips to sample.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Robins said in a tone Ginny couldn’t readily discern, but soft green eyes darkened as her old friend leaned in closer. “Care for a dance?”

The blue drink went down smoothly. With a soft thud, Ginny returned the cup to the bar, and snaked her arm around Robins’ slim waist. 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

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“Rosalina with two a ’s.” The busty woman leaned over to inspect Luna’s notes. A pair of large breasts bent her quill until the small snap made her regret not using a pen. “Sorry,” Rosalina giggled, and Luna was not amused. 

“It’s quite alright,” Luna said softly, reaching into her satchel for something else to write with. 

“Well, I think we have everything we need then.” Gurlick smiled, his cheeks reddening when Rosalina traced his shoulders with her fingers. 

“Oh,” she pouted, her chin sinking into her chest. “You sure I can’t get you another pint?” 

Luna rolled her eyes. For the last hour they’d been trying to get ‘the scoop’ on a potential sighting of a Swooping Evil. Gurlick brought her along to the Leaky Caldron to interview his ‘source’ who was in fact the newly hired barmaid. It was only when this source described the creature as a blob of yellow goop that Luna realised they were wasting their time.

“And you’re sure it didn’t have any wings?” Luna asked, and was practically ignored as the woman reached for a pitcher to pour a red-faced Gurlick another drink. Luna groaned, getting up from the rickety chair. “See you back at the office,” she muttered and grabbed her satchel. “Business expense, my arse,” she grumbled. 

A sighting of Swooping Evil might have been interesting in theory, but she was sure now it was all just an effort to lure Gurlick into spending The Quibbler’s coin.

The day was almost over and again she felt like she hadn’t accomplished a single thing. Hours slipped on by and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. 

When she was younger, The Quibbler often felt like the voice of reason in a world where no one paid attention. The longer she worked there, the more disillusioned she seemed to become. 

The Quibbler was dull. 

As though all the imagination has been leached from the pages, the writers lacked all the skill and guile that was required to tell a truly engaging story. In the end, however, it wasn’t about the writing itself, but rather the subject matter.

Before the war, the headlines of the Daily Prophet were oftentimes intense and made an impact all on their own. 

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS

DUMBLEDORE: DAFT OR DANGEROUS?

POTTER, PLOTTER? LIAR TOO? 

DARK MARK IGNITES UNPRECEDENTED WIZARD PANIC

BRIDGE COLLAPSE DEATH TOLL RISES

Each and every headline was a sign of the times, a mark in their history.

No one wanted to know the truth about flobberworms and how they changed colours if you fed them an obscene amount of carrots. No one was reporting any sightings of the long-extinct Catalonian Fireball dragon. No one wanted to learn the beauty regime of some Muggle opera singer and why she might be part Veela. 

The Quibbler had been reduced to nothing but a tabloid, touting conspiracies and outlandish claims, and Luna was desperate for something more.

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“What do you think?” The icy blue eyes of Aberforth Dumbledore asked with hope, and Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell him his lentil soup had a very strong hint of mint instead of what should have been bay leaf. 

“Er, really delightful.” She licked her lips and nodded her head. His face lit up and when he slid her container full, she accepted it with a smile. She muttered her thanks and tried to make space for it in her grocery bags. Packed full of veggies and meat, she settled for holding it in her hands.

“Oh I also have—”

“I really must be going,” she said hurriedly, grabbing her things and making as quick a getaway as she could before he offered her bay leaf tea. 

Soon distracted with another customer, Hermione took her leave and pushed the door of the Hog’s Head open with her foot. Container in hand, she angled her body and her bags just right so she could fit through the door.

Hermione wished she’d had the foresight to shrink things down to a more manageable size because the moment she made it through, she collided with someone standing right outside. 

“Ugh!” A man scoffed in disgust as the lentil-mint soup spilled all over thick velvet robes. Unbalanced, Hermione’s body lurched forward, bags, soup, and herself crushing the unsuspecting wizard to the ground.

“Ungh,” she groaned, certain she had squashed half of her groceries under her own weight.

“What in Merlin’s—?” 

Hermione shuddered because the tip of her nose hovered less than an inch over Draco Malfoy’s face. 

“Granger?” He asked, and it was all wrong. 

For years, her name was spit from the lips of the Slytherin Prince like venom, like something foul. This time, her surname wasn’t spoken with a sneer but rather a small wonder, as if they’d been old friends who hadn’t seen each other in many years. He blinked at her in silence, his eyes a lighter shade of grey then she’d remembered. “Are you ok?” he asked softly, almost a whisper and she was sure he’d been hexed.

“I’m fine,” she grunted, finding her nerve and finally pulling herself off of him. She whipped her head around to gather her things. 

“Let me,” he said behind her, and in a moment he levitated everything off the ground and neatly into her bags. “Sorry about that.” His wand waved over her and the remnants of the lentil-mint soup vanished. Her jaw dropped slightly, momentarily stunned. 

The day Hermione Granger thanked the likes of Draco Malfoy would only mean that the world had flipped on its axis and today was not that day.

“Right,” she breathed, grabbing the well packed bags and moving to leave. 

“Well, wait a moment.” Draco hopped to block her path. “Let me get you more—soup was it?” He pointed at the ground where the rest of the soup was already running towards a nearby drain.

“It’s fine,” Hermione huffed, trying to step around him once more. 

“Well, let me help you with—” He reached for the handle of a bag and she quickly pulled away. 

“I don’t need your help,” she hissed, her words coming out more harsh then she’d intended. Still, it had the desired effect. Malfoy backed up and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Right, of course not.” He cleared his throat and bowed his head slightly. “Apologies,” he muttered, and something like shame seemed to wash over his features. A slight grimace formed on his lips as he turned away from her, continuing on into the Hog’s Head and leaving her alone.

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“Thank Merlin, you’re home. We have any pep—?”

The sound of paper bags slamming onto the kitchen island made Ginny wince. Every sound seemed to amplify and she regretted not stocking her bedroom with her usual cocktail of potions that had helped her get through numerous hangovers. This one was particularly nasty, and she had a strange suspicion that it had something to do with a neon orange drink Robins insisted she try. 

Ginny cast a glare at Hermione. “Oi, you mind keeping it down to a hush?” 

Hermione had a matching glare of her own. 

“Did you just wake up?” 

“So what if I have?” Ginny grumbled, returning to her search for anything that might stop her voice echoing in her own skull. 

“It’s like two in the afternoon,” Hermione scoffed, and Ginny was sure she had fists to her waist with a judgemental frown. 

“Your point?” Ginny said, closing the cupboard gently. “Seriously, not a single Pepper-Up? I’d take a bloody Wiggenweld at this point.”

“This isn’t Hogwarts, I don’t have a supply of potions lying about that I have no use for,” Hermione remarked, the bags shifting aggressively as she began to put things away. 

Ginny leaned forward, resting her head on her forearm, anything to ground herself and make the world stop spinning. 

“Here,” Hermione practically slammed down a small white bottle on the counter before her. 

“What’s this?” Ginny groaned. Its contents rattled when she lifted it to read the label. ‘Aspirin’

“It will help. It’s Muggle medicine. Two quid—mm, about ten Sickles,” Hermione amended but Ginny didn’t bother to follow the maths, instead popping open the bottle to find nearly two dozen white rocks. 

“Do I just eat them? Like candy?” 

“Ha, no.” Hermione grabbed the bottle, pouring two of them into her palm and offering her a glass of water. “You swallow them whole, here.”

Ginny grimaced, placing two of them onto her tongue. At first they didn’t taste like anything, that was until they started to dissolve. 

“Drink,” Hermione pressed the cup into her hands hurriedly. Ginny gulped down some water and the rocks washed down. “Not too bad, eh?” Hermione shook her head with a small smile. 

Ginny wrinkled her nose, waiting for the effects to kick in, but nothing happened.

“I don’t feel any different,” she complained. 

“Well no, Muggle medicines aren't quite as efficient as potions, but give it about an hour.” 

“ An hour? ” Ginny gasped, swaying slightly from the effort. “I’d hardly call that medicine if it takes an hour.” Ginny moaned, her feet delivering her to a chair so she could lay her head down on the island counter. 

“Sorry, we don’t exactly have the funds to stock potions right now,” Hermione said as she continued putting things away. Ginny could hardly talk, it wasn’t as if she had any money to contribute, so she settled for the aspirin and shut her mouth. 

After a few minutes, Hermione finished clearing up and finally sat down across from her. She didn’t say anything right away. Ginny slowly lifted her head to find her frowning. 

“What’s got you in a tizzy?” 

“Oh, er—well—”

“Out with it, your big brain energy is giving us both a headache.” 

Hermione’s frown vanished and she chuckled. “Big brain energy?” 

“Come off it, you know what I mean,” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “What’s going on?” 

Hermione sighed. “I ran into Malfoy earlier at Hogsmeade.” 

“Oh?” Ginny sat up straighter, her interest piqued. “What was he doing there?” 

“I don’t know, I didn’t care to ask.” She waved her hand carelessly. 

“Right. It must have been weird seeing him after all this time,” Ginny reasoned. Really, she hadn’t heard about any of the Malfoys since their trials. Last she’d heard, Malfoy and his mother had gone off to France to live in the countryside. 

“Yeah,” Hermione muttered, staring off out the window. Ginny couldn’t be sure, but there was a strange aura about her friend that she couldn’t quite name. For now, Ginny kept her thoughts to herself, instead opting for a distraction.

“Luna’ll be by in a few. Figured we can do another ritual or two before the house gets all peeved again.”

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed in agreement, and that was the end of that conversation.

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“Shouldn’t we owl Harry?” Luna asked, sitting in her spot around the circle of paraben candles.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look across from her and Luna could sense deep thought in them both. 

“There are about two dozen totems downstairs, we can’t call him every time we do this,” Hermione reasoned. 

“He’s already seen enough death. I don’t think he needs another reminder,” Ginny supplied, her cheeks becoming hollow as if she were biting the inside of her mouth.

Luna didn’t insist further and settled into her seat. Together they lit the candles, and a solemn silence fell. 

While her work at The Quibbler was beginning to make her regret her choice in profession, this task gave Luna the sense of purpose that she’d been missing. Watching Moody pass on provided a kind of solace Luna didn’t even know she needed, and she was eager to experience it again.

“Ready?” Hermione asked, taking the totem into her hands. Luna and Ginny nodded and they began. 

Just like last time, Hermione twisted the top off and spilled its contents into the circle. Luna smiled as a soft breeze flowed through the room. Much like the time before, lights danced across the walls and floors and a ghostly figure took shape. 

A small gasp left her lips as Charity Burbage looked down at her with a smile.

“Miss Lovegood.” Her eyes crinkled shut as her lips stretched from ear to ear. “I must say, I did not expect to see you.” 

Luna’s mouth went dry when she looked up at their professor, a woman who shared much more than a classroom with her.

The groan of a heavy iron door slammed somewhere in the distance, an echo of a time Luna had thought she’d forgotten. It was over a year and a half ago now, but the sight of her Muggle Studies professor brought it all rushing back.

Mr. Ollivander had spoken about her, about the woman who kept him company in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. He said she’d cared for him when he was hurt and no one else bothered to bandage his wounds after several tortuous visits with Lord Voldemort. 

By the time Luna was thrown into the dank cell with the wand maker, his mind was weak, fragile. At first he knew who Luna was, he remembered every wand he ever sold after all. But then one day he caught a terrible fever.

“Don’t worry—” Mr. Ollivander croaked, a violent cough causing his entire body to shake. “You must stay away—can’t have you getting sick also. You must stay strong, Charity. Someone will come to help us,” he moaned, falling into a deep sleep. 

For three days, Luna sat at his side, changing the damp towel every hour. For three days, he muttered his thanks, his thanks to Charity. 

“Luna?” Ginny said sharply, the hazy memory clearing away. 

“Mm?” Luna hummed, swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat. 

“Wand,” she urged, holding her own wand up.

“Thank you, all,” Professor Burbage said to them, her form glowing brighter. Luna wanted to give her thanks, to tell her how sorry she was that her life came to such a tragic end. Looking up at her now, the truth felt like a weight, heavy and dark. They had both been stolen in the night and held against their will. 

Hermione spoke to her for a moment to explain what would happen next. It was all very elegant and solemn, but as Luna lifted her wand up, the only thing she could think about was the small empty cot that sat beside Mr. Ollivander’s. She remembered thinking that it was deeply sunken down in the middle, as if another person had used it recently.

Luna might have died much the same, had Harry, Ron, and Hermione not been there to save them. 

“Life and death, shadow and light…” Hermione began, and Luna followed along, word for word. Magic crackled in the air all around them and the feel of rough canvas and cotton was more real than the oxygen she breathed in. 

A blinding light scattered into every corner, chasing the shadows. 

“Goodbye,” Charity muttered her final words as she was swallowed by the bright light. 

Then darkness crept back into the room and Luna swore she was sitting in the cot at Malfoy Manor instead of the hardwood floor of 3 Charmed Way.

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Hermione stood on the top step of the veranda at the back of the house examining the field of weeds and grass far too tall to manage on her own. She was tempted to set it all on fire except she’d already spotted a colony of Bowtruckles, which meant there was likely a wiggentree hidden in the brush. 

Adopting a more frugal mindset meant taking advantage of every resource, and the garden was full of potential. She only needed to put her knowledge of magical creatures and plants to work. 

“Minnie always loved this view.” 

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when the ghost of Abigail McGonagall floated into view. 

“Madam McGonagall,” she breathed. 

“Apologies, I’d have thought you’d be used to the occasional visit from a ghost by now.” Abigail smiled, her gaze falling on her with what appeared to be amusement. “Seems you and your sisters are doing quite well?”

“We aren’t sisters,” Hermione corrected, leaning her head against one of the fence poles, her gaze appreciating the view of the endless hills and natural beauty of the highlands.

“But aren’t you?” Abigail asked after a while. Hermione noted how she tilted her head forward, her hat covering her brow. Abigail’s transparent eyes glinted as if she knew a different truth, one Hermione had yet to unveil. 

“Ginny and Luna are my closest friends. I’m an only child.” Hermione had thought plenty about what she might ask Abigail if she ever returned, but this particular thread continued to be a mystery. 

“Well, there must be something that binds the three of you in similar ways, the bonds of sisterhood can be formed through great triumph or tragedy,” Abigail hummed, floating out into the yard. 

At least that much was undeniable. The three of them had gone through many tragedies during the uprising, and yet—

“Each of our experiences were different and separate. I don’t see how that could have bonded us,” Hermione reasoned. “Besides, if there were any two people I would have been bound to, it would have been Ron and Harry. Why Ginny and Luna?”

“The Protectors of Life have always been a coven of witches, a sisterhood of witches,” Abigail said slowly and carefully as if she were speaking some kind of secret. Hermione pursed her lips. “You don’t understand,” Abigail said tersely, her tone shifting slightly, the colour of her form shifting from blue to lavender. “What binds you to this calling is deep and ancient magic, magic that is imbued by beings far older and greater than you could imagine.”

“Older? Do you mean there was a time where there weren’t any Protectors? Is that why the ghosts at Hogwarts can’t move on?” 

“The time before is irrelevant, you must focus on the tasks at hand—” Abigail sighed as she floated in circles away from the house. Hermione moved from the veranda, wading through the tall grass to keep up with her. 

“Another thing I don’t understand is why must there be three of us?”

“The Protectors of Life has always been a coven of three—”

“But if that’s true, then how was Professor McGonagall doing this on her own—?” 

“So many questions!” Abigail bit back, her form becoming a dark violet, casting a shadow over the garden. A cool mist emanated from her and Hermione knew something was wrong.

Time stretched as Abigail stared down at her angrily. In the next moment her entire body returned to a bright cerulean blue. 

“I’m sorry, it is difficult to control myself since—” she turned away from Hermione, her wide-brimmed hat angled up as if she were drinking in the sun. “Her spirit continues to elude me and I fear I am running out of time.” 

Hermione swallowed before taking another step through the weeds. 

“You will need help soon, won’t you?” she guessed, and it was a long while until Abigail spoke again. 

“The darkness calls to me.” 

“Let us help you. We can perform a cleansing—”

“I will return before it’s too late.” Abigail finally turned to her, the highlands stretching for miles behind her like a painting on a canvas. “I  know you have questions, but I cannot search for my sister and help you.” 

And there it was, the impossible choice: to learn more about this new destiny, or find out what happened to McGonagall. It always seemed to return to that.

“Long ago, shortly after my death, the mantle was meant to transfer to another coven. It fell on Minnie to teach them the ways, but they refused. When they did that, the rites remained in her hands alone until such a time when the next coven was ready.” 

“They refused? Who?” Hermione’s thoughts ran wild. Could she have refused? Was there a way to place this back in the hands of the right witches? If so, maybe Hermione could help with the search, she could go with Abigail instead.

“Madam McGonagall, who are they?”

“Perhaps they can answer your questions. If I recall, they were born about a generation ago. They were the three sisters Black.”

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Ginny was swaying. 

Not in a nonchalant way, no. 

She was nervous. Nervous about a lunch date of all things—if she could even call it that. Robins had sent her an owl the day before with four little words: Lunch tomorrow? My treat.

It took a pretty significant mental push for her to step onto the lifts. The Department of Games and Sports was on the seventh level, so the trip down was a bit turbulent and when the door opened she wasn’t prepared for it to be so empty, well, in comparison to The Department of Law Enforcement. 

Aurors weren’t dragging witches or wizards into a holding cell. There wasn’t a grumpy sergeant at the front desk asking what her business was and there certainly weren’t rows of desks with piles of cases stacked on top of one another. 

Games and Sports felt like a totally different world. Floating in midair were probably two or three dozen brooms of all kinds, flying in gentle circles. Among them she could just make out the golden trail of a snitch whizzing about. The walls were covered in team banners from all over the world and at the centre was a live scoreboard. 

Ginny didn’t realise she was halfway through the rows of desks with her mouth hanging open until she heard raised voices. 

“Listen, Nott, they told me to call someone from the DMLE, so I called.” 

“What exactly am I supposed to do with him? He should be in a hospital or something.” 

“No! No, hospitals. Please, I just need someone to look at them!” 

Ginny took her eyes off the scoreboard and followed the voices. 

“Look at what? Pictures? I don’t have time for—.” 

“Dennis, I know you think you saw him—” Ginny knew that voice, it was Robins. Finally, she found the conference room where three people stood huddled around a table. One of them was her maybe-date.

“I did see him! Just look!” That was Dennis Creevey. Ginny didn’t think she’d ever seen someone with such pale skin. His eyes were blown open, almost frantic as he held up a picture for none other than Theodore Nott to examine. 

Ginny wrinkled her nose at the sight of him, he was the last person she expected to see. 

“What am I looking at here?” Nott sighed. 

“Just look right there, it’s him. Just wait for it to loop,” Dennis insisted, pointing at the picture in his hands. 

“Who? Who is it Dennis?” Robins asked softly. 

“My brother, Colin was there, he was sitting in the stands.” 

A cool chill spilled down Ginny’s spine as she approached the trio.

“Oh hey, Gin, I’m sorry…”

Robins greeted her but a high pitched ringing drowned her out because Dennis was right. As clear as day, the image in Nott’s hand looped to a set of Quidditch stands, and sitting in the front row was the image of Colin Creevey.

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“Miss Lovegood, a moment?” Henrietta Cambridge called Luna just as she was walking by her desk. Luna internally cursed her poor choice of the many available routes to her desk. For a moment she considered apparating, but avoiding the editor-in-chief wasn’t motivation enough to make Luna aparate after what happened last month.

“Yes, Mrs. Cambridge?” The woman turned in her chair and looked over her lavender spectacles to inspect Luna. It was hard not to feel judged as her eyes rolled down with a hint of a scowl. Luna was sure her choice of attire wasn’t up to par with the woman’s violet ensemble. 

“May I remind you that your role is to scan for corrections and not to rewrite the pieces,” she snapped.

“Of course,” Luna defended. She’s been doing the job for a few weeks now and sure, she might have replaced a word or two, moved around a few sentences, but she wouldn’t call that rewriting pieces. 

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” With that, the witch turned back to her work, her very purple feather swishing in the air like a whip.  Luna sighed, returning to her desk and slumping down in her chair. 

She’d been given the easier job at The Quibbler, and she couldn’t even do that correctly. The stack of articles still needing correction fluttered in place, a subtle reminder that she had to keep at it.

Her gaze fell to her top drawer, its contents haunting her. 

Luna knew she shouldn’t have titled it. Giving anything a title, a label—it breathed a kind of life to the words she’d written that made it impossible to ignore. 

‘The Life and Death of Charity Burbage’

It surprised her how easy it was to write. How quickly the words flowed. As if she were meant to bring new life to the words that described a forgotten soul.  

Forgotten.

It was a simple term, filled with despair and misfortune. Luna never put much thought to hatred, it was such an extreme emotion and it was uncharacteristic of her to live in such a state. But this word? This concept of being lost to oblivion? She detested it.

 Everyone deserves to be remembered. 

She yanked the drawer open, rescuing the article from its prison, and marched straight into her father’s office

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Hermione hadn’t been looking forward to visiting the Department of Magical Law Enforcement again. The last time she’d been there, she had some pretty fierce words for both Robarbs and Kingsley. Apparently, questioning their mastery of magic—or rather, their lack of—was grounds to restricting her access from the entire building for a month. Who knew?

The lifts came to a halt and the lattice doors snapped open to reveal precisely the wizard she was looking for. 

“Hermione,” Harry sighed, his body seemingly deflating at the sight of her.

“Harry.” Hermione gave him a smile, but she was sure it wasn’t making a difference by the way he hung his head slightly. Sure, they weren’t really fighting anymore, but her being at his place of work again probably wasn’t something he was hoping for. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here without invitation,” he said, stepping into the lift with her and hitting the switch for level seven. 

“I—is that right?” She blinked, taking hold of an overhead handle to keep her balance. “I thought it was just for a month.” 

“Yes, but beyond that, you are the only witch in all of Britain that requires express permission to enter the DMLE.” 

“Huh.” Hermione laughed. “You’d think helping put an end to the darkest wizard of the age would win a girl some points.” 

“Well, it doesn’t. Believe me.” Harry smirked, finally shedding his foul mood. It was nice to see him relax around her again. Moreover, she noticed how much sharper his jaw was, less rounded than she remembered. No longer the boy she grew up with, Harry had matured into his features nicely.

Hermione supposed she had done some of her own growing up but there was time to ponder her looks another time. 

“So, I’m assuming you need something.” He raised his brow at her, green eyes penetrating her thoughts. 

“Ouch.” Hermione feigned ignorance, she’d have to find another time to ask about Andromeda. “Can’t a girl just visit her best friend?”

Harry barked a laugh as the lift came to a stop and it was utterly charming. As he stepped out of the lift, Hermione realised why he looked so different. 

His hair was combed.  

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that he’d practically grown up right before her eyes. 

“My best friend? Hermione Jean Granger?” He placed his hand on his chest.  

“You should have gone into theatre, Potter,” she pursed her lips. He continued through the lobby, and Hermione was taken with the sight of what looked to be the Games and Sports division.

“I get enough attention without an orchestra to serve as the soundtrack of my life.” When she looked back at him he’d started walking toward a wall of doors and stopped at one labelled ‘Conference Room B’. 

“Er, could you wait out here? I’m actually here on official business.”

“Oh, of course.” Hermione nodded, taking a step back. She heard the door click open, then shut. A part of her wanted to eavesdrop and see what was going on, but she’d already made the mistake of coming to him with her own agenda, she didn’t want to create any more tension between the two of them, at least not today.

So, Hermione settled for watching a set of broomsticks circle the air above her. There were a few scouts sitting in the desks across the office, but not nearly as many as there were in the DMLE. It was quiet, almost peaceful, until Hermione heard the door open behind her again. 

"Hermione?" It was Harry.

“Yeah?”

“Is she here?” That was Ginny.

“You’re gonna want to see this,” he sighed.

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“Hermione Granger.” Theo said her name as if he was about to spread butter on toast.

Ginny scowled at the snake of a man when his voice deepened into a steady hum and a smile like a fox made itself at home on his aristocratic face. She wished he’d left when Robins did, but he insisted on staying put until Harry arrived. 

“Keep it in your pants, Nott.” She nearly growled but reminded herself that Dennis was still freaking out right beside her.

“Those are Auror robes. Harry, tell me he’s not—”

“Not now, Hermione,” Harry grumbled, pulling her attention to the table as Theo stepped aside. 

Ginny had to admit, she hadn’t noticed Notts’ robes at first. Hermione was much quicker than she when it came to things like that. She made a mental note to ask Harry about it later. 

“What’s—Dennis? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, finally noticing him huddled beside Ginny. Dennis was quick to answer. 

“He’s alive, Hermione. Colin is alive, look.” Dennis lifted the image for her to examine, but not before she turned to Ginny and then Harry for confirmation. Something passed between them at that moment. In fact, a heavy weight of sorrow became etched into her features. 

The three of them had seen the bodies. They’d seen what remained of the witches and wizards who’d died that night. Ginny swallowed, trying desperately to banish the memories of the lifeless corpses. So instead she focused on Hermione as she waited for the image to loop. 

There was an irony to their new bond, that Ginny was some kind of anchor in their new trio, but in reality, it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Hermione was the most grounded person she knew. While Luna might not have the most down-to-earth personality, she sure as hell wore confidence like a well-worn pair of shoes. 

But Ginny?

Life granted her no favours after the war. Balance was a foreign concept. Ginny had no plans.

Hermione gasped, her fingers caressing the image of their dead friend. When she looked up again, her eyes met Ginny’s with that infamous resolve. 

“We have to go,” Hermione said and Ginny knew it was a call to action, to a purpose

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Luna didn’t bite her fingernails. She had never understood the soothing effects the habit could have on a person until today. Her fingers layed delicately against her lips, the nails touching her front teeth and the grating feeling brought a subtle satisfaction she wasn’t expecting. 

She watched her father’s eyes as they flitted back and forth on the page dutifully reading her piece as he said he would. His brow began to crease and as he arrived at the bottom Luna caught his throat bob as he swallowed. Half expecting him to start sweating, he took a deep breath and put the parchment down. 

Soft blue eyes met hers and she wished she could pluck the thoughts directly from his mind so that he didn’t have to be pained to say them. 

Luna knew this could go one of two ways. 

He could double down and remind her that she was new and he couldn’t possibly print her story over any of the columnists who had spent years earning their stripes. Or—he was so moved by her words, by Charity’s story, that he didn’t know what he could say to her. 

Luna wasn’t so naive. 

“You don’t have to print it,” she said innocently, painfully. The brow in his crease softened, with relief? Surprise? She couldn’t readily tell. Measuring her words and schooling her expression into something passive, something nonchalant, she continued. 

“I just wanted to see what you thought.”

“Oh, of course,” he sighed. He busied his hands with rolling the parchment back up. “It’s wonderful, I didn’t know much about her. This is a lovely tribute.”

She watched how he treated her piece with care, pulling a strip of fine ribbon from a holder instead of a dirty rubber band. He wrapped it around the centre twice, all while praising her use of vocabulary and near-perfect grammar. 

“Your penmanship is delightful, and it’s clear you’ve done your research.” He tied a bow and the ribbon fell beautifully around the scroll. 

Like a gift, he handed it back to her with a small smile and Luna blinked back the threat of tears. Her face grew warm and she bit her tongue, taking her piece into her hands. He averted his eyes because her father was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. 

Luna looked down at the bright, violet ribbon. 

They were just words to him, words on a piece of paper. 

For her, they were a memory. All that remained of the person who once lived and breathed the same damp air that Luna had. 

She wasn’t angry or disappointed with her father, he had to treat her fairly. It didn’t matter how much skill she had, or how determined she was. The world worked in ways that were quite unexpected, but her father? He was doing the right thing, and that she should have anticipated, at least before now.

“Keep at it, you have so much potential, Lunabug.” 

Lunabug.

Despite all his wisdom and all his love, the truth remained that she was his daughter. The scroll became heavy in her hands. Potential be damned. Charity was already being forgotten and the world needed to remember, now.

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“Is this the right place?” Ginny asked, leaning so far over the railing of the Quidditch stands that it made Hermione nervous. Ignoring her friend, she held up the photograph to the background of the seats. They were certainly in the right place. 

“How do we know he needs to be culled?” Ginny asked, her voice trailing farther away. 

“The book says we’ll know if he doesn’t seem right.”

“Doesn’t seem right? Like Fred?” 

“Not exactly.” Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Ginny walking in the underpass of one of the elevated stands.

This field was unlike the one at Hogwarts, which flew vibrant-coloured flags from each of the four houses. Black and yellow canvas covered the stands, the colours of the Wimbourne Wasps.

“You think Harry can get us to meet the team?” Ginny jutted out her chin down at the pitch. At the centre, Harry and Theo were talking to the caretakers, giving Hermione and Ginny time to find Colin.

“We aren’t here to socialise, Gin. Help me look around, will you?” 

Ginny groaned, moving across the stands to join her again. 

“Did you know Harry got a new partner?” she asked, plucking the photograph out of Hermione’s hand to do her own inspection of the site. 

“No,” she answered simply.

“Is that because then you’d have to ask him about Ron?”

Hermione scowled. “No, I’ve just been busy.” 

With the picture held up between them, they both tilted their heads to get a different perspective. 

“Busy filling out job applications?”

“Have you been reading my post?” Hermione scoffed. 

“Oh you mean the small mountain of letters in the parlour?” Ginny smirked.

“Did you have time to read them before or after your fifth hangover this week?” 

“Ouch,” she gasped. “Just jinx me next time, why don’t you.” 

“I might.” Hermione chuckled.

“I believe you.” 

They tilted their heads simultaneously and got back to it.

Chapter Text

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Ginny approached the centre pitch at a meandering pace. Harry stood on the mound, pen and pad in hand, writing notes. The caretaker nor Theo were anywhere in sight and she’d nearly turned back to join Hermione in the stands twice, but she found she didn’t want to. 

“Change your mind, have you?” Harry asked smartly, his focus still on his notes. Ginny didn’t say anything at first. It had been nearly two months since they’d had the intense spat effectively ending whatever they were to each other. She didn’t expect to reopen that conversation anytime soon. 

“Because I can tell you now, she isn’t interested—oh—” Harry finally looked up and a part of Ginny was relieved that he wasn’t actually asking her if she’d changed her mind about them. If he had, she wouldn’t know how to respond, which unsettled her. 

“Let me guess,” Ginny grinned. “Another friend of yours fancies Hermione?” 

“Theo isn’t my friend.” Harry’s features hardened and returned his work. They stood in silence for a moment before he inhaled deeply, his green eyes landing on her again, this time softer. “Find anything?” 

Ginny didn’t answer him right away, their eyes seemingly connected by a thread. She missed his eyes. She shook her head in response. 

“Right, well I suppose we should head back. I have to figure out how I’m going to report all this.” He placed the pen behind his ears, putting the notepad into his pocket. Ginny remained rooted in her spot and felt like she should say something, but everything would come out wrong. Honestly, she didn’t know why she’d come down here to begin with.

He began to walk toward her, or rather toward the exit. She closed her eyes tightly, desperate for a needle and thread to sew her mouth shut. Ginny could just let him walk away, let them go on as they were. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Ginny always wanted to know. 

“What?” He stopped in his tracks just beside her, their shoulders barely touching. 

“My first game as Seeker, after the I won us the game, you kissed me—”

“I remember.” 

Silence stretched again, and she gathered her courage to look up at him. 

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Is that really what you mean to ask me?” He kept his gaze forward and she knew it was his way of staying level headed. Harry has always been easy to read, at least she thought so. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me sooner?”

He commanded a bravery that Godric himself would have been proud of as he turned to face her. 

“I was afraid. Mostly afraid of Ron.” Ginny smiled, the tension easing between them but his brow furrowed as he dug in deeper for a different truth. “I knew Voldemort would come for me again, and I knew he would go through everyone I loved to do it. So I was afraid, afraid that I wasn’t strong enough to let you go when the time came.” 

“You were though,” she whispered. “You left.” He always left.

He swallowed, his jaw clenching as he tore his eyes away and toward the sky.

“He needed to be stopped, I won’t apologise for—”

“I don’t want an apology,” Ginny scoffed.

“Then what? What do you want?” Harry didn’t physically bite her, but his words sunk deep nonetheless. 

Ginny didn’t reply, her eyes stinging, threatening to release tears she thought she’d cried long ago.

She felt his robes shift beside her and he walked away.

Chapter Text

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It was surprisingly simple to pack up her things. Luna had only worked at The Quibbler for little over two months, so aside from her satchel, some quills and ink, she soon found she didn’t even need a box. 

Leaving, however, presented several obstacles.

First, Gurlick stopped her. He wanted to know if she’d kept any notes from their visit to The Leaky. Of course she had, but it was probably bad form to relinquish them to him with the words ‘waste of time’ angrily written across the singular page.

Next was her deskmate—well, previous deskmate, Margaret Kay, the mousy-faced woman who always seemed to be nibbling on cheese. She stopped Luna to get her opinion on a title for her piece. Choosing between ‘Liquid Luck Lucks Out’ and ‘Felix’s Failed Falsetto’ was not high on her priority list. 

Luna was feeling more confident about her decision to leave with each step, that was until she was mere metres away from the door. 

“Miss Lovegood.” 

Henrietta Cambridge waddled into Luna’s path and something about the woman’s face gave her the slight impression that she’d been caught. 

“Mrs. Cambridge?” 

Her eyes narrowed and Luna filtered her thoughts, fearful that perhaps Cambridge could decipher her true intentions. 

“I see you’ve completed all of today’s edits.” Cambridge nodded toward the stack Luna had dropped off earlier. 

“Did I forget something?” 

Cambridge hummed softly, then shook her head, the lavender-coloured feather pinned to her hat swishing to follow. 

“Good work.” 

Without another word, Cambridge walked back to her desk and the path to the door was clear again. Luna took one last look back at the office. It felt fitting that she’d spent her first summer out of Hogwarts working here. It felt like the trial run she needed. 

Walking outside into the afternoon air was invigorating, as if all of life was in the palm of her hand. 

“Luna! Thank Merlin I’ve found you!” Dennis Creevey ran up to her with a crazed look in his eyes. “I know you’ll believe me, you have to believe me! Besides, you owe me!” he said, gulping in mouthfuls of air. 

“Easy, what’s the mat—”

“No time for small talk, sorry about this.” 

Before she could stop him, he grabbed her wrist and performed a side-along Apparition. Her lungs seemed to collapse on themselves as she was violently whisked away.

Chapter Text

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“I knew you couldn’t stay away.” Nott’s head popped up above his cubicle when Hermione came to a stop before the rows of desks in the centre of a busy bullpen. She groaned, her chest deflating a bit.

“Have you seen Harry?”

“So you aren’t here to see me?” Nott replied with a familiar grin, and Hermione had the sudden urge to smack him. She wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t as if she spent enough time with the man to truly know him, but looking at his smug face she surmised Theodore Nott just looked smack-able.

“No.” She continued her search for Harry, ignoring the fact that he was rounding his desk to join her.

“That’s unfortunate.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Two word responses, how charming.” 

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled cheekily and was quite proud of herself too. Determined not to pay him any more attention, she headed deeper into the department to try to find Harry.

Two days. That’s how long it’d been since their visit to Wimbourne and it was beginning to weigh on her. It was as clear as day that it was Colin Creevey who was in the photograph. Had he been alive still, he might have actually sat in the stands just enjoying the game, but Hermione needed to know. 

She stood on her toes searching for Harry’s mess of hair but there only seemed to be clerks and Aurors she wasn’t familiar with around. She turned to Nott who had been quiet for entirely too long, his head tilted softly and he had an amused look on his face—correction—a smack-ably amused look.

“You aren’t going to tell me where he is are you?” Hermione crossed her arms. 

“ Or —I could help you?”

Hermione took a deep breath, she supposed it wouldn’t be too much trouble to have Nott escort her. 

“Can you get me access into Wimbourne field again?” 

“Of course,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

An hour later they landed outside the management office of Wimbourne field not far from the entrance to the stands. 

“So what are we looking for?” Nott asked as he tossed the portkey aside.

“We aren’t looking for anything, I just need to check something out,” Hermione clarified. “Uh oh.” She groaned as she caught the caretaker jogging to them from the entryway. He was waving frantically and Hermione regretted not sneaking onto the field alone.  

“Everything alright?” Theo asked under his breath and he was much too close to her for comfort.

“Can you distract him?” She looked up at him and something she didn’t like passed between them. His grin was gone and he looked down at her almost too earnestly. 

“Sure,” he nodded and took a step back when the caretaker finally reached them, bending over to catch his breath. 

“I’m so glad they sent someone—” He coughed. “I tried to tell them that they had to leave.”

“Tell who?” Hermione asked and waited for the man to stand up straight again as he pointed  toward the Quidditch pitch. 

“That boy, the boy with the camera. You have to help him.” 

Hermione gasped as she witnessed Dennis Creevey hanging by the strap of his camera in mid-air. 

Nott was quick on his feet, grabbing a broomstick faster than she knew what to do.

Hermione refused to get on a broom, instead inspecting the stands for a good place to Apparate. That was when she spotted Luna.

Chapter Text

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Reeling from the unexpected Apparition, Luna stumbled down some steps. Unable to balance herself, her hip collided hard against what appeared to be a wooden bannister. A sharp yelp escaped her as she nearly fell hundreds of feet to her death. Catching herself just in time, her hands gripped the railing as she looked out into an empty quidditch field.

Although confused and quite furious with Dennis for basically abducting her, she found she was more anxious about having Apparated at all. Since getting splinched, Luna had started to prefer virtually any other form of travel besides Apparating. It wasn’t an experience she was ready to relive just yet.

“Den—Dennis?” Luna looked over her shoulder to find that she was quite alone.

A gust of wind made her tighten her grip on the railing and her eyes searched for her companion. A foreboding chill spread through her chest as she chanced a look down on the field. 

What if he hadn’t landed in the stands like she had? What if he’d plummeted to his death? 

Luna calmed her nerves, finding no evidence of his body on the ground below. She did however catch a glimpse of another man running toward them from the pitch. She could barely see him, let alone figure out who he was, all she could see was she he was waving frantically, pointing up in the air. 

It had taken her too long to notice that Dennis was hanging in midair by the strap of his camera. His legs kicked wildly in the air. At first glance, Luna could only see him and his camera that seemed to be affixed to the spot much too far for her to reach. 

She felt him before she could see him. It was nefarious, like Peeves but lacking all joviality. There was no mischief, there was no mockery like with Fred. 

Luna had experienced evil in different forms, of course, but nothing so ominous, nothing so rageful. The oxygen she breathed was laced with malice and her body convulsed. Sweat beaded on her brow as she bent over, vomiting the contents of her stomach to the floor.

“Why are you doing this?” Dennis cried. Luna blinked, dizzy. She needed to help him. 

She wiped her mouth and looked back up and that’s when she finally saw it—a smokey wisp of a hand clutching the camera strap. It was almost transparent, more so than the usual ghost, as if it intended to hide.

She followed the faint impression of an arm until her vision focused on the face of Colin Creevey. As if he could sense his unveiling, his head snapped to her. Luna whimpered softly as his voice plundered into her mind.

“Hullo, Luna.”

Chapter Text

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There were six steps to climb in order to reach the front door of 3 Charmed way. Harry knew this because he’d climbed them a total of five times in the last twenty minutes. Indecisive as he was, he finally decided to pluck the courage needed to knock on the door. 

No one answered. 

Perhaps he’d assumed wrong. Maybe he didn’t actually see Nott run off with Hermione but instead with another curly-haired girl. Harry knew better, and besides, Harry had to start his search somewhere.

He knocked again and still there was no reply. He waited another beat before he twisted the doorknob and the door creaked open. He stepped into the seemingly empty home only to be assaulted by the deafening tone of music. 

Harry covered his ears figuring that the house had been silenced and that’s why no one answered. 

“Hullo!” he shouted and stepped further into the vibrating home. 

Through the first sitting room and into the next, he finally caught sight of her. 

With eyes closed, and hips swaying to the beat of the music, Ginny was dancing with reckless abandon. The entire world seemed to melt away as he watched her run her hands through her hair and up into the air. She twirled softly, leaning her head back, exposing the freckled flesh of her neck and chest. 

Ginny Weasley was sublime and vivacious, two things he barely thought he deserved. How could any man resist the perfection that she was? 

They couldn’t, he couldn’t. 

Harry’s throat became dry as she bent over slightly, her thighs squeezing together in some kind of shimmy and he’d very nearly lost himself to the idea that he might be able to pull her closer. He longed to feel her flesh against his. For her touch to set him on fire. For her to be his again. 

Harry felt himself sway, leaning into her space. If only he could take her hand in his, maybe she could teach him to dance, to follow the rhythm she’d made her own. It could all be so simple, so—

“Harry!” Ginny gasped, she’d finally seen him. He blinked, tightening his robes to his waist in case she noticed the uncomfortable bulge that had formed in his pants. 

“Er, sorry,” he muttered as she turned down the music with a frown on her brow. 

“Don’t you know how to knock?” 

“No–yes! I mean I do—I did,” he stammered, too flustered to think straight. She pulled her damp hair from her sweaty shoulders to one side. Her brow perked up with a disapproving gaze as he was caught eyeing her sweaty tank top. How could he not? Her nipples were all but staring at him. 

“What do you want?” Ginny snapped. 

Merlin, what did he want?

Harry’s hand absent-mindedly rose to scratch his head, searching for the reason for his visit. Heck —he’d settle for any string of words that made sense at this point. Her bright brown eyes narrowed and he’d never felt so much pressure on his chest. 

Convinced he was short-circuiting, he was startled when she spoke again. 

“Out with it, Potter. ”   

“Hermione!” he blurted out, his brain cells finally having mercy on him. 

“Hermione? She was just in the—” Ginny turned to look in the kitchen to find it empty. Harry took advantage of the distraction and inhaled deeply, releasing it in a rush when she turned back. “She was just there.” 

“Is Nott here also then?”

“Nott? What would— fuck , tell me she didn’t go with him,” she demanded, a look of frustration on her face. 

“Go with him?” Harry’s head hung slightly, so it was the two of them she saw. “Please tell me she doesn’t actually fancy him back,” he groaned. 

“Fancy him? What? No.” Ginny snorted. “You should know better.” She reached over the fireplace for her wand. 

“Know better? What do you mean?” 

“She’s been obsessing over that picture Creevey showed us—”

Ginny stopped talking as an object whooshed past him, coming to a stop in front of her. It was a book. It opened, its pages flurrying open to a page for her to look at. 

“Isn’t that—?”

“Hush, let me read.”

Chapter Text

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

Vengeful Spirit .noun: while no single spirit should be considered normal or average, this spirit is quite common. Death in most cases is sudden and a brutal experience for the soul. Vengeful spirits usually have unfinished business or they are attached to some kind of anchor in the physical world. This class of Being can oftentimes resolve their own conflict and experience a cleansing through closure, but there is still a risk to the living should the spirit wish to harm another or worse, wish for their demise. Vengeful spirits will not give up their endeavour, fixating on the object of their misery. 

Etymology: 

Old English gāst (in the sense ‘spirit, soul’), of Germanic origin; related to Dutch geest and German Geist . The gh- spelling occurs first in Caxton, probably influenced by Flemish gheest .

Protectors must complete a perfect triangle surrounding the spirit by initiating a barrier utilising Periculum. The primary Culling method is a short form incantation thrice triplicated. Once contained, the spirit will likely become volatile but it is ultimately harmless. 

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

“Am I expected to memorise this spell?” Ginny asked the book and it shook, its pages ruffling in confirmation.  

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Harry breathed just over her shoulder. It took too much effort to stop her eyes from rolling out of her sockets. She ducked underneath the hovering book and made her way to the basement. 

“I’m not as quick as our curly-haired friend, but I think she might have found Colin.” She shuffled down the steps, Harry and the book close behind. 

“Colin?” 

“I told you, she’s been obsessing. She must have gone looking for you to bring her back to that field and found Nott instead.”

“What does that have to do with—ow, ok sorry, sorry!” Harry grunted from the steps. Ginny peered through the shelves to see the book was trying to push past him, its heavy cover flapping hard enough to hit him a few times on its way to her. A smile formed on her lips and she had a new appreciation for the sentient object.

On the off chance that Hermione might have forgotten to grab one, which Ginny admitted was unlikely, she grabbed an empty totem and placed it in her pocket.

“Let me see that spell again,” she muttered and the book obliged, opening back to the proper page.

Chapter Text

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

Hermione landed in the stands besides Luna, who looked even paler than usual. 

“Luna!” Hermione rushed to help her up and found her hands to be clammy and moist. Luna turned to her with eyes wide open. 

“He’s in my head,” she cried, tears threatening to spill. “He’s in my head, like the others.” 

“Who? Who’s in your head?” Hermione brushed the sweat-plastered hair from her forehead. 

“Colin. He’s so loud now,” Luna sobbed and she turned quickly to cough. Hermione patted her back tenderly while she turned to assess the scene that was playing out in the skies over the Quidditch pitch.  

Nott was flying in a slow and tight circle directly underneath Dennis, who was barely hanging on to what appeared to be his camera strap. 

“He’s here,” Luna breathed, wiping her mouth. 

“Colin?”

“I think he wants his camera, says that Dennis is—well he is saying plenty of nasty things. I think Colin feels like Dennis is a thief or something.”

“A thief? You don’t mean—”

“I can see him, he was invisible at first, but I can see now,” she hummed softly as she got on her feet to point. Hermione squinted her eyes but couldn’t see what she meant. 

“What do we do?” Luna asked. “We have to help him. Can’t we cull him?”

“I don’t know, I need to get the book, it will explain—”

“I don’t think we have time for that,” Luna gasped and Hermione’s heart jumped to her throat as Dennis began to swing violently from side to side. Nott was trying to get closer and it looked like the entity that held Dennis captive was not happy about it. 

“He’s so angry,” Luna sobbed, and Hermione couldn’t begin to understand the weight of having a crazed spirit invading her thoughts.

“Nott! Get away!” Hermione shouted and he looked at her with confusion. “Stay back!”

“He’s going to kill him, we need to do something,” Luna begged. 

Crack

Like two beacons of light, Harry and Ginny appeared beside her. 

“Gin—”

“We haven’t got time. I need you both to memorise this quickly.” Ginny began.

Chapter Text

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

Luna was in position, desperately trying to keep and hold the incantation in her mind, but it was proving to be a challenge. 

Nott had begrudgingly given his broom to Ginny, not that she presented him with much of a choice. Hermione had moved further down the stands so that they could align themselves in a perfect triangle, just like Ginny had instructed. 

Harry and Nott were forced to sit on the sidelines and watch, and do nothing, as Hermione vehemently insisted. 

All that was left was the task, to save Dennis. To cull Colin. To perform the ritual of sorts and be a part of this solution. 

Luna’s wand lay in her clammy palms, and her eyes found Ginny’s then Hermione’s. They were so confident and so sure. They had everything figured out—but Luna?

“You’ll all watch him die. He’s going to go splat, splat, splat.”

Colin’s voice was not his own, but demonic and putrid. Like living rot. It fouled the air around her, and the desire to vomit again was overwhelming.  

“The grass could use some fertiliser, don’t you think so? A nice little crimson shower with bits of Dennis for the worms to chomp, chomp, chomp down on. Do worms chomp—no. They’ll likely burrow into his lifeless eye sockets, yum!”

Luna gasped, the image of maggots and worms eating through flesh flashing in her mind. Bile rose in her throat, and Colin’s maniacal laugh echoed in her mind, the volume growing impossibly. She bent over and vomited what little else remained in her stomach. 

“The circle of life is just oh so fun, isn’t it? Eating and eating in circles and circles. Going around and around and arou—”

“Luna? Are you ok?” Harry called, approaching her slowly. 

“No! You should stay back.” She held her hand up to stop him. “It will only make him angrier.” Luna wiped her mouth again and returned her focus to the task at hand.

Out over the pitch, Ginny held her wand up. Down the row of stands Hermione mirrored the action. Luna held her own up meekly and as though they were a single unit they spoke the enchantment aloud. 

“Periculum.” 

Three sets of bright red sparks shot up in the air, coming to a centre point above them. The gathered enchantment let off a soft hue of red all around them. The mist gathered tightly into a three-sided barrier that solidified around the dangling form of Dennis. 

Luna jumped in place when Colin cried out in agony or anger, she couldn't readily tell. In the next moment Dennis was being hurled around violently. 

“Let me out! Let me out! Out! Out!” Colin screamed, his form morphing from transparent to a murky shade of violet. 

“Holy shit,” Nott said behind her. 

Shaking her head, she recalled the words Ginny had parroted all of four times. Separating the enchantment from Colin’s angry stream of thoughts. 

In the next moment a single cry made her stomach drop. Dennis slipped from the strap. He was going to fall to his death.

Chapter Text

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

Being on a broomstick again was a small torture. Ginny had avoided it for some reason—well, not some reason, but one particular reason. Not making the Harpies had left a sour taste on her tongue. Mounting a broom just felt bittersweet, a reminder that she would never ride it during a game, with a team. It would always just be her and the wind that flowed through her hair. 

No objectives. 

No goals to make. 

No hoops to keep. 

No teammate to cover. 

“Periculum! ” She cast the spell which joined together with Luna’s and Hermione’s. The irony smacked her in the face as the red barrier flashed into place.

With one hand on the broomstick and the other aiming her wand to the sky, the reality of her circumstances couldn’t be clearer. 

Ginny was part of a team, she was part of something greater than her ambition. It still hurt down to her core, but there was plenty of time to cope with her loss. For now, she’d focus on what she did have. 

She waited a breath before beginning and the moment stretched as Dennis slipped from the strap. Her breath caught in her throat and she wasn’t sure if the barrier would trap them out as well. 

A crack sounded and Harry appeared below in the field with his wand aimed at Dennis. She couldn’t hear him but she did see that Dennis’s body was slowing to a halt. When she could see that Harry had him, she breathed easier and returned her gaze to the task at hand. 

When she looked up, she could finally see the ghostly form of what she assumed was Colin Creevey. Camera securely in his clutches, he swirled within the barrier looking for a way out, but there was none. 

Ginny smirked and began to recite the incantation.

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

Spirit hiding in plain sight

Hear these words of truest light

Anger and fury your works must cease

We cast you out with words of peace

Return this spirit to our care

Who’s sorrow too, we shall spare

Chapter Text

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

“...Return this spirit to our care, who’s sorrow too, we shall spare.”

Just like with Fred, Colin was sucked into the totem in Hermione’s hands. The scarlet-hued barrier burst apart in a stream of lights, and all that was left was the sound of the wind. Hermione screwed on the top and took a steady breath. 

Two timid steps forward led her to the edge of the stands and relief flooded her when she caught Harry and Dennis waving up at her. Dennis was fine, but was she?

Colin Creevey was many things, but she never thought him to be vengeful. He was full of life, full of excitement and such a happy person, but in death something must have triggered this path. She moved to join Luna once more when her foot brushed against something on the floor. 

Broken lens and ripped strap, Colin’s camera laid on the ground in shambles. Her heart broke in two and she mused that perhaps it wasn’t Dennis he was angry with, but rather his untapped potential. 

Untapped potential .

The thought stayed with her as she gathered the remains of the instrument and returned to her friends. It made her question her choices and her own ambitions, none of which were clear right now and they likely wouldn’t be for a long while.

Chapter Text

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪

“I don’t see why not. We’ve obviously got a lot of work to do and it makes sense to just all live here,” Ginny chimed in. She was lying face up on the couch with an enchanted gust of wind blowing in her face. The heat was slowly sucking the life out of them. 

“There is an extra bedroom if you want it?” Hermione asked with a smile. “It has a few boxes, but we can go through them and store them away, I just haven’t had the time to go through them yet.” 

“Really? It isn’t too much trouble?” Luna sighed. She’d been trying to figure out how to ask them about moving in for a few days. Avoiding her father just wasn’t practical when she slept down the hall from him. 

“Actually, we could use the help. I still have to figure out what I'm going to do with the garden. Any ideas?” Hermione took the armrest beside Ginny to take advantage of the breeze. 

“Don’t ask me, I hated Herbology and back there is a jungle if I’ve ever seen one.” Ginny complained, reactivating the wind enchantment. 

“I would love to help with that!” 

“Great!”

Luna breathed easier, choosing a spot on the ground to also get some air. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Ginny spoke. 

“So what’s going on with Nott?” 

“What do you mean?” Hermione feigned ignorance. 

“Oh, come on!” Ginny sat up with her mouth hanging open. “The bloke obviously fancies you.”

“He does not!” Hermione wrinkled her nose at the thought. 

“I don’t know. It kinda looks that way,” Luna mused, leaning her head back in the empty spot Ginny had vacated. 

“Not you too,” Hermione grumbled. “And what about Harry? You two have been dancing around each other—”

“Forget I asked. The last person I want to talk about is Potter.”

Luna hummed a soft chuckle. 

“I’ve never known any two people more meant for each other than you and Harry,” she remarked absentmindedly. When Ginny didn’t say anything, Luna turned to look at the fiery witch, a glint in her eyes. 

“Oh yeah? How’s Longbottom doing then?” 

Ouch. Luna probably deserved that but it still stung nonetheless. 

“I think things are over with me and Neville,” she said somberly. It was true. It had been weeks since she’d seen him and the last time they spoke it was clear there was not fixing the mess that remained, at least not now. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Luna,” Ginny said, her tone filled with guilt. 

“Don’t be, it’s ok. I’m ok—or, I will be.” Luna smiled when Hermione’s hand caressed her shoulder reassuringly. 

“We’re going to be ok, I think,” Ginny said, lying down again, her head landing softly on Luna’s shoulder. 

Luna settled into the moment, surrounded by good friends. 

“Now’s probably not a good time to talk about finances is it?” Hermione said in a small voice.

“Er, don’t you have job offers being flung at you? Care to share in the wealth of opportunity?” Ginny reached over toward a pile of unopened letters.

Hermione groaned and it didn’t make Luna feel any better to have to admit what came next. 

“Actually, I could probably use one too.” 

“What? Why?”

“Aren’t you still at The Quibbler ?”

Hermione and Ginny stammered. 

“It just… wasn’t the right fit,” she admitted. 

“Well now I’ve seen it all,” Ginny laughed. 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. 

“Well who’d have thought Hermione Granger would be without a job. That Luna Lovegood wasn’t working at The Quibbler , a newspaper she’s handed out since she was old enough to read, and me, not playing Quidditch! It’s like a bad joke, that is.” 

They each exchanged a silent glance before falling into uncontrollable laughter. 

Hermione, Ginny and Luna might not have everything figured out, but they did have each other.

𓆩⋆✧⭑☽☪︎☾⭑✧⋆𓆪