Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Granny Beetle was not June’s real grandmother.

The old witch had come into June’s life last summer, when the Scrimgeour siblings had evacuated to the coast on a train organized by the Ministry of Magic. The evacuation hadn’t been mandatory, but the Ministry had highly encouraged all London wizarding parents to send their children away; after all, even magic had its limitations. There wasn’t much that could be done against bombs that their Muggle neighbors weren’t already doing. 

And so June and her siblings and Marie, her sister’s white cat, had boarded a train with dozens of other wizarding children, none of whom knew what awaited them at their destination, none of whom even knew if they’d ever see their parents again. 

June was the middle of three children, and the only one with their mother’s brown hair and eyes—both her older sister, Sylvia, and her younger brother, Peter, had their father’s blue eyes and freckles. But June was her father’s daughter through and through—curious and analytical, asking questions from the moment she could speak. Although she had her mother’s tendency to worry. 

Sylvia was the one most like their mother—it was why she had been sorted into Hufflepuff. But she had less of their mother’s neuroticism, and her nurturing instincts extended to people outside of her immediate family. This meant that in the absence of their parents, she had taken on the maternal role, insisting that June and Peter eat, singing tenderly–she was in the magical choir at Hogwarts and thus quite a good singer–and generally being her usual bossy self. Secretly, June had appreciated this; without Sylvia there to take charge, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done. Probably succumbed to nerves, she expected. 

June’s sense of foreboding grew as the train pulled into the station at the end of the day. 

“What kind of family d’you expect we’ll end up with?” she’d asked. She was so close to Sylvia she kept stepping on the back of her sister’s shoes. 

“I don’t know,” Sylvia answered. She pulled her luggage behind her, her other arm wrapped around Marie. “I hope it isn’t anyone too strict.” 

This statement did nothing to reassure June, who had hoped that her sister would have more confidence in their future. Instead, she found herself worrying more than ever–who would take the place of their parents while they were here? What if they wound up with someone awful? 

Soon enough the Scrimgeours were lined up in a row at Village Hall with the other evacuees, June trying not to listen as strangers debated which child they wanted to bring into their home, and whether they could afford to take in more than one. Peter squeezed her hand so tight she began to lose feeling in her fingers, but she didn’t fuss or ask him to let go, especially once it became apparent that many of the hosts had no qualms about separating siblings. 

Sylvia put her arms around the younger two Scrimgeours protectively, as if by the force of her will alone she could prevent anyone from breaking up the family. June bowed her head, her eyes shut tight, as this horrible realization washed over her. As awful as it had been to board the train without her parents, she’d at least had her siblings with her. 

Now she was facing the very real possibility she’d be completely separated from her entire family. 

Please , she’d thought desperately, please, don’t let us be separated. Please. 

Her prayers were answered by a squat old witch in floral robes who had taken one look at the way the three children clung to one another and announced she’d take them all. She’d introduced herself as Granny Beetle—that was what everyone in the surrounding village called her—and loaded them and their luggage into an empty pig trough, which flew them out of the village to a remote, picturesque cottage nestled among the craggy cliffs high above the sea. 

Despite the circumstances, the cottage was such a delight that it was almost like being on holiday. Instead of London’s smog, the air was fresh and so salty you could almost taste it, and Granny Beetle’s cottage was surrounded by more open land than June had ever seen in her life. 

And it wasn’t only the Scrimgeour children who found refuge with Granny Beetle: The cottage also acted as the temporary home for displaced magical animals evacuated under the Ministry’s hastily assembled Fantastic Association for the Relocation of Magizoological Species, or F.A.R.M.S. for short.

The kitchen was perpetually warm to keep the salamanders comfortable, and in the garden there were brightly colored feathered snakes, a herd of winged pigs, and two fire-breathing deer with golden antlers.

And then there was Nugget.

Born a scant two weeks before the Scrimgeour children’s arrival, Nugget was the last of a litter of golden-furred nifflings. Her litter-mates had been collected by goblins, but she had been left behind, too runty to help in the mines. 

June had taken to the little niffler immediately. One was rarely seen without the other, whether June was romping through the grassy fields beyond Granny’s cottage or hiding in the drawing room with one of Granny Beetle’s fascinating old books.

This, of course, was June’s favorite pastime, for she had been a voracious reader from the time she learned her letters. While Sylvia practiced piano in the sitting room and Peter raced the flying pigs in the garden, June would lay stretched across the drawing-room floor, pouring over books. 

Usually Nugget took advantage of her mistress’s lack of attention to flit about collecting the shiny knick knacks that cluttered the shelves, but today the niffler was curled on June’s shoulder, basking in the warm light that filtered in through the open window. June had one hand pressed against the pages of a book so old it was falling apart at the seams. The leather had flaked from the spine so that the title was no longer legible, which was the only reason she hadn’t read it before now, because it was about her favorite topic in the whole world: 

Insects. 

June loved insects. Although she loved all animals, she had a special place in her heart for all manner of arthropods–even spiders, to the dismay of Sylvia, who was terrified of them. She never tired of reading about insects; they were simply fascinating creatures, and however much she thought she knew about them, there were always new facts to uncover. 

She would have continued to pass the book over if she hadn’t been returning a glittering quartz bookend over the objections of Nugget, who had pilfered it. The books had fallen over in the absence of the bookend, and as she’d righted them she’d caught sight of the title embossed across the front.

 ‘An Introduction to Magientomology’ 

The title page provided a definition June was already familiar with, but which she of course carefully read with a fond familiarity.

Magientomology

Ma·gi·en·to·mol·o·gy

/ˈmajiˌen(t)əˈmäləjē

noun

the branch of magizoology concerned with the study of insects.

June propped her chin in her hands as she flipped through the chapters until she’d found the chapter on different species of magical ants and began reading. 

Myrmecoleons are a type of large ant found in Near East regions. These ants are most famed for the hoards they collect and their viciousness when it comes to thieves. Magimyrmecologists theorize that Myrmecoleons originated when ancient wizards bred nifflers with ants.

Opposite this was a full page ink-wash illustration depicting a group of wizards in turbans fighting off the most enormous ants June had ever seen. The ants snapped their mandibles ferociously at the wizards, whose wands emitted tiny red sparks - the only hint of color in the otherwise monochrome illustration.

“I was in Professor MacMillan’s class, y’know,” said a voice somewhere above June’s head. 

June slammed the book shut, breathing hard and glaring up at the speaker. “Blimey, Eliza!” she complained, furious at having been startled. 

The ghost of a teen girl floated overhead. She was wearing a long nightdress, but silvery pockmarks covered her face and hands in imitation of the Dragon Pox that had killed her. 

As June’s heart rate returned to normal, she considered the statement the ghost had made, puzzling over the apparent non sequitur. “Who is Professor MacMillan?” 

Eliza gestured toward the book.

June looked down at the cover again, noting the authors for the first time:

Myrmosina MacMillan and Lasius Thorn.

“That was our textbook,” Eliza explained, “In Magientomology. It’s always so funny when them profs give out books they scribbled themselves, init?”

Once, June had found Eliza and Granny Beetle’s West Country accents impossible to understand. Now she didn’t even need to translate before answering. “Sylvia never mentioned Magientomology.” June’s tone was accusing; her older sister was well aware of her passion for insects.

“That’s ‘cause Hogwarts don’t be offering Magientomology no more.” Eliza drifted nearer, and June had to scoot backward across the floor to avoid being floated through. “MacMillan and Thorn went missin’, so they stopped offering it. Me classmates and I had to swap over to the Beasts class.”

“Missing!” June flipped the book open to the inside cover, but there was no author blurb to be read. 

Before she could ask any more questions, the patter of bare feet came from the hallway, growing nearer and nearer. June had only just turned to look when the door swung open, and Peter burst into the room, rosy cheeked and out of breath, waving an envelope aloft. 

“O June!” he cried jubilantly. “The post arrived!” 

June leaped to her feet, flapping her arms so vigorously she almost dislodged Nugget. The niffler squeaked in protest, digging little claws into the girl’s shoulder until she ceased flapping. 

“Is that–” June began as Peter thrust the envelope at her. There was no need to finish her question; there, written in emerald green ink, was her name. She slid a finger beneath the envelope flap, tearing it open, and pulled out a thick sheet of parchment. 

The letter was written in the same emerald green ink that had been used to address the envelope, and was in the same tiny, neat hand. Eagerly, June read the long awaited message: 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Armando Dippet

(Chanc. Order of the Walnut, Grand Sorc., Order of Merlin: Second Class)

Dear Ms. Scrimgeour,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Galatea Merrythought,

Deputy Headmistress

Like most magical children, June had waited impatiently for the day she would receive her school acceptance letter; impatiently, and with no small amount of anxiety. Although her parents were both Hogwarts alumni and Sylvia was currently enrolled, the thought of waiting and hoping only for a letter that never arrived had haunted her. 

Her family had, of course, reassured her that her acceptance was a given, but she had only half believed them; it was a relief to have the letter in hand as solid, material proof. Soon she would be a student at the best magical school in all of Britain – maybe even the whole world. She’d be a proper witch with her own wand and everything. 

“Granny Beetle needs to send an owl back,” June said, reading the letter a second time. She started for the door, but Peter got there first. 

“I’ll tell her!” he shouted, bounding out into the narrow hallway without even waiting for her to answer. 

“Oh, no, you don’t! It’s my letter, not yours, Peter!” 

She barrelled after him, so intent on reaching Granny Beetle before Peter that she didn’t notice when Nugget leaped off her shoulder and slid across the polished wood floor.

She caught up with him at the end of the hall and shoved her way past. 

He stumbled into the wall with a yelp, but he was back on his feet in a moment. “Don’t push me!” he exclaimed indignantly, jostling her as they careened into the kitchen on top of one another. 

June’s stomach rumbled as the smell of fried fish greeted her. She ignored it, fixing her gaze instead on the astonished visage of Granny Beetle, a squat witch barely taller than June. Granny had tried to tame her white hair with a bun, but loose strands stood up in all directions. Her wand peeked out of the pocket of her flour-covered floral apron and she held a dishrag in one hand. 

“What’s all this racket, then?” she asked, tucking the rag into the apron with her wand. 

“June pushed me!” Peter repeated while June yelled over him, “I got my Hogwarts letter!!”

Granny Beetle folded both arms across her chest and looked from one child to the other. “Take it steady now. June, you first.”

June held her letter aloft, her face beaming with pride despite the accusations her brother had leveled at her. “My Hogwarts letter came. Look!”

“Aye, yer sister’s done arrived in the post today, too,” Granny said before turning to Peter. “Now, Pete, what be it you got to say?”

Peter scuffed his feet against the floor. “June pushed me. When we were coming to the kitchen—”

“That’s because you were trying to tell my news before me!” June interrupted, imitating Granny Beetle by crossing her arms.

“It’s not proper to shove.” Granny Beetle’s mouth crinkled into a smile, taking the sting out of her admonishment. “Juney, you’m gonna help Silvy with the washing. Pete, you and me’ll sort out supper. Come on now, my lovers.”

She ushered them into the kitchen, wordlessly overriding their attempts at dragging their feet.

“But we haven’t sent our reply to Hogwarts yet!” June objected in a desperate bid to avoid chores. “It said in the letter we have to send a reply by July 31st.”

Granny flicked her wand toward a row of baskets hanging from the ceiling, causing one to float gently down until it landed with a thump on the kitchen table. “It won’t take two weeks for an owl to fly to Hogwarts even with this horrible war.”

“But the bombs…” June twisted her hands as Granny Beetle nearly shoved her out the door into the back garden, where she could see Sylvia’s blonde head bent over a washtub.

“If Hogwarts could send an owl to you, you’ll be able to send one back, mind. Post owls be smart birds, Juney. Don’t you fret.”

Supper was a loud, excited affair. Sylvia had received a prefect’s badge with her letter, and she was so pleased by this she’d pinned it to her robes. Her promotion had set Eliza off on another round of reminiscing. 

“I was set to be Head Girl, you know,” she said wistfully, floating above the empty chair beside Sylvia. “But then I died and that Gryffindor nitwit Matilda Ross got the job.”

June was less interested in Sylvia’s promotion, or her opinions on who ought and ought not to be selected for the prefect position from other houses, or Eliza’s mortal rivalries; she was still thinking about her earlier discussion with the ghost.

“I wish they still offered Magientomology at Hogwarts,” June said, listlessly prodding her fried fish. She had known about the former Magientomology classes for less than a day, but she felt their loss keenly.

“They used to,” Granny Beetle said. She tasted her fish experimentally, then sprinkled more malt vinegar over it before continuing, “But that was afore my time. Eliza might be able to tell you more about it.”

“She already told me.” June glanced at the ghost. Eliza was now telling Sylvia about the time the Gryffindor prefects had tried to lock her and the other Slytherin prefect in the Astronomy Tower. Sylvia was gripping the tail of her blonde braid with one hand, eyes wide with shock at such a flagrant disregard for law and order.

“It’s a pity they stopped giving it.” Granny Beetle shook her head, still shaking the vinegar bottle, seeming quite unaware she was drowning her dinner. “I reckon there weren’t enough professors gutsy enough to try after Professor Thorn passed away.”

“He died?” June gasped. “I thought she went missing?”

“Arr, no, he died in a blaze. ‘Tis common knowledge. But as for Professor MacMillan, she vanished without a trace. Yet folks do know what became of Professor Thorn. No mystery about that, I tell you.”

“But,” June said, frowning as she attempted to reconcile Granny Beetle’s version of events with Eliza’s, “Eliza said two professors went missing.”

Sylvia fell silent, her attention drawn away from her new honors and Eliza’s teenage exploits. Even Peter was listening. His fork hung motionless in the air, supper forgotten. Fried fish skin slid off the tines to fall in a heap into his mushy peas.

“Thorn’s body weren’t never found,” Eliza argued mulishly. “He were only reckoned dead like. ’Twouldn’t 'a been the first time, now would it?” 

Peter turned round eyes on Eliza. “But couldn’t you just ask if he was a ghost?”

Eliza floated out of her chair to hover above the dining room, swelling with indignation. “What tosh! Ghosts don’t know who’s snuffed it.”

“They know if’n a family member’s died,” Granny Beetle said. 

There was a sudden chill, as if winter had descended upon the diners. Goosebumps rose on June’s bare arms and she noticed frost forming on the windows. 

“Well, I weren’t no Thorn, were I?” Eliza retorted. “There were whispers o’ dodgy goings-on, but I never saw no reason to reckon any of it were true. The worst I ever heard o’ was that numpty Driscoll, and that were his own mess, not the profs’.”

And with that, she turned her back on the living witches, her arms folded and her nose in the air. 

Eliza’s chilly attitude and the unnatural cold that resulted did nothing to freeze June’s curiosity. She rubbed her arms vigorously for warmth as she whispered, “What kind of dodgy stuff?” 

Granny Beetle shrugged. “Ermm, can’t say for sure. There be talk going round, y’know. But I do know that there be folk who was right chuffed when the department got closed down.”

Sylvia leaned forward, her prefect badge glinting in the candlelight. “But why? What could have been so bad?”

Granny Beetle shook her head. “I don’t rightly know. But I do mind a-hearing that there were some... experiments... that went wrong. Horribly wrong.”

“What a load of rubbish,” Eliza said, still refusing to look at any of them. “Experiments? Under the Headmistresses’ nose? How d’you think they’d manage that, eh? It weren’t no fault of the profs Driscoll mucked things up.” 

Granny Beetle narrowed her eyes at Eliza’s translucent back. “Well, I be only passing on what I’ve been told. And they wouldn’t have let you in on any of them experiments, I reckon. Ye never even took yer O.W.L.s, did ye?”

“Professor MacMillan would never have put her students in danger with experiments,” Eliza insisted stoutly. “And no more would Thorn.” 

“Professor MacMillan was Professor Thorn’s wife,” Granny Beetle explained to the Scrimgeour children. “Many folk say the fire and Thorn’s disappearance were related.”

“He were a Reader during Professor MacMillan's time,” Eliza supplied, “One of them wizards what left the American Confederation to study at Belinos Hospital, but he never went back. He took over after his wife disappeared, but then he disappeared, too. I had him me first year in Magientomology.”

“He studied at Belinos?” June repeated. Belinos was quite a prestigious magical hospital over in Edinburgh, but for the life of her she couldn’t understand how he’d landed at Hogwarts. “What was he doing teaching Magientomology, then?”

“Oh, he studied magitoxicology and healing magientomology,” Eliza answered. “Lots of foreign wizards studied healing at Belinos in those days. He kept to hisself after MacMillan vanished, he did. But he were a proper good teacher if ya didn’t blab too much during his lessons. And he sure as hell weren’t messing with no Dark Arts, no sirree.”

To June’s disappointment, Eliza refused to answer further questions on this topic, instead loudly returning her attention to Sylvia’s promotion to prefect, and even Granny Beetle wouldn’t continue the conversation, telling her to eat her supper before curfew arrived. 

But June couldn’t stop wondering what was really behind the two disappearances. Dark Arts experiments at Hogwarts seemed implausible on the surface, but why else would a husband and wife disappear without a trace? If there wasn’t some dreadful secret underlying the mystery, then why would Hogwarts have shut down the whole department? But no matter how much she worried over the question, she couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. 

They had only just finished washing up the dishes when an eerie, undulating howl pierced the night like some kind of mechanical, Muggle-made banshee–the air raid siren. Sylvia clapped a hand over her ears. June automatically glanced toward the window, half expecting to see explosions light up the darkening sky.

Granny Beetle extinguished the candles with a wave of her wand before muttering, “Lumos.” A faint blue light emanated from the tip of her wand, barely enough to see by. She gestured toward the back door impatiently. “Quickly, now.” 

June could just see Granny’s silhouette tottering into the garden, followed by Sylvia, who still had her hands clapped over her ears. June and Peter hurried after, still jostling one another in their haste. 

Outside, the F.A.R.M.S. animals were in a state of panic. The feathered snakes spread their crests in agitation, and the flying pigs swooped and squealed in terror.. Only the deer seemed unaffected. They stood calmly in the middle of the yard, peering at the approaching witches with inscrutable dark eyes.

“This way, you lot. In, in, in.” Granny Beetle gestured with her wand, herding the distraught animals after the children, towards a funny-looking earthen mound near the back fence. Flowers sprouted along the top—yellow corydalis and daisies and clusters of white yarrow—obscuring the fact that the funny-looking mound was, in fact, the roof of their Ministry-issued air raid shelter.

Peter darted down the steps first, disappearing into the yawning darkness. Sylvia, the deer, and the snakes all disappeared after him. The pigs balked at the entrance. Granny scowled before muttering a spell that sent them squealing down the steps.

The shelter was substantially larger inside than it looked on the outside; no self-respecting wizard would use an Anderson shelter in its cramped original state. Four plain wooden beds lined one wall. Thick woolen blankets were folded on top of each. Along the other wall ran a plain wooden bench.

There was even a feeding trough in the back, indistinguishable from the one Granny traveled in except for the slop inside. The winged pigs huddled together by the trough, grunting and snorting and jostling one another for access.

“Be we all here?” Granny asked fretfully, counting children and animals. The pigs were stationary now, too transfixed by their slop to make things difficult, and the deer retained the placid attitude they’d exhibited outside, but the snakes slithered round Granny’s feet in an uncountable mass.

“Immobulus,” she said, and the snakes froze while she tallied them. 

“I’m here,” said Eliza, who had just drifted through the walls to join them. She looked just as serene as the deer, perhaps because she was already dead. 

“I thought they weren’t supposed to bomb here,” Peter said, clutching June’s arm. That was what the Ministry had said, after all; it was only the cities that were supposed to be in danger of bomb raids. The rural villages were supposed to be safe; that was the only reason parents had sent their children away from home. It was why so many magical animals had been sent away from cities and the port towns deemed likely targets. 

And yet, the Ministry had also given away free bomb shelters even to the witches and wizards living in the remote areas they claimed were safe.

“We’ve got a proper shelter,” Granny Beetle said before casting charms to dry and warm the uncomfortable space. 

Sylvia tugged off her shoes and hauled herself into the pinkest of the beds, a forlorn expression on her face. She said nothing, but wrapped her arms around her knees.

June scrambled into the bed next to Sylvia’s. “Will we have to wear our masks?” 

The gas masks the Ministry issued to civilians were terrifying in appearance, not to mention uncomfortable and hot. June found it difficult to breathe while wearing hers, which seemed to rather defeat the purpose. 

Eliza floated around the shelter with an unsettling air of hopefulness. “Ooh, don’t you put them on. I’d like another ghost or two ‘round these parts.” 

“I’ve made our shelter untouchable,” Granny said, casting a withering look toward Eliza. “The Muggle gas won’t be gettin’ in ‘ere, my lovers.”

June pulled the itchy wool blanket up to her chin and stared at the tin roof overhead. It was difficult to sleep without the cuddly ant and bee that ordinarily accompanied her to bed. She opened her mouth to ask Granny to conjure them for her, but a deafening boom drowned out her plea.

The pigs abandoned their trough with frantic squealing. 

June cowered beneath the blanket, visions of carnage dancing through her head with each thunderous explosion—the blackened shell of the cottage, flames licking the flowers that camouflaged their shelter, Grindelwald’s followers terrorizing the coast under cover of the German bombs.

One of the snakes coiled into bed beside June. She stroked its feathers gently, welcoming the distraction from her thoughts. 

Granny pointed her wand at the pigs one by one, casting silencing spells on the terrified animals, and then cast an old charm to muffle sound on the shelter itself, plunging them into an eerie silence. Then she settled into the fourth bed. “Nox,” she said, and the light from her wand went out. 

Chapter Text

The next morning Granny Beetle conjured bread and jam from the kitchen pantry, which she distributed among the four of them. Peter shoved his breakfast into his mouth so fast June was surprised he didn’t choke, but Sylvia merely stared at her plate, her blue eyes haunted. 

“I forgot Marie,” she whispered. Her braid had unraveled during the night. “What if she’s d-d-dead because I left her?” 

June dropped her toast onto her lap, suddenly nauseous. In last night’s race to the shelter, she’d completely forgotten about the indoor pets. 

"I needs to check and see if it’s safe to leave the shelter and then we'll see 'ow your critters fare,” Granny promised as she pushed herself gingerly to her feet.

June and Sylvia crowded around Granny as she unlocked the door, anxious to reassure themselves that their pets were safe. 

Dense fog cloaked the back garden. They trudged forward, squinting, trying to discern the state of the yard. The clothesline remained upright, the cottage undamaged. June pushed past Granny and ran through the grass, her robe streaming behind her. Sylvia dropped her uneaten bread and raced after. 

Peter hesitated only a moment before bounding up from his bed and hurrying in their wake. 

“Sylvie, don’t you leave your toast on the ground!” Granny shouted after them, but to no avail; the children had already reached the door and shoved and pushed one another until all three of them were inside. 

They were greeted at once by a plaintive meow from Marie, who was sitting by the door. The cat rubbed once against Sylvia’s ankles before trotting over to the clay bowls beside the stove.

Sylvia crouched down beside Marie, sobbing in relief. “Oh, Marie, you’re all right! I was so worried.” 

June ran past her sister and thundered up the stairs to the bedroom they shared. The room had once belonged to Granny Beetle’s daughter, and there were still mementos tucked here and there–the curly-haired wooden doll in Slytherin Quidditch robes and holding a miniature broom on one shelf, the stack of old broom catalogs on the desk, the black-and-white photos of teen girls playing Quidditch in the yard. One of the Quidditch players - a curly-haired teen girl — grinned and waved as June walked in, only to be knocked off her broom by a bludger. A trundle bed was in the center of the room, the lower bed permanently pulled out now that the bedroom had two occupants. Both of June’s treasured stuffed animals — Ant and Bee — were nestled together against the pillow. Safe. Accounted for. And there, on the nightstand, was Nugget’s cage — and the door was ajar. 

“I forgot to put her in her cage before supper,” June breathed in horror. Between the arrival of her Hogwarts letter and the tales of Dark Arts and intrigue, she hadn’t even noticed when Nugget had separated from her. She gazed around the room anxiously. If she were a niffler, where would she hide? The most obvious places were, unfortunately, not in the bedroom,  especially after last night, with all the bombs. But she couldn’t help but want to look in here first; if she found Nugget safe and sound up here in the bedroom, then maybe it wouldn’t matter that the niffler had spent all night uncaged and unsupervised in a house full of temptingly shiny objects. 

As June scanned the room for potential niffler hiding spots her eyes landed on Sylvia’s school trunk, which was pushed up against the far wall, right beneath the window. Robes were draped haphazardly over the open lid. Perhaps, June thought as she strode toward it, Nugget had been attracted by Sylvia’s telescope or her bobby pins.She rummaged through her sister’s belongings, discarding old textbooks, sheet music, and mismatched socks onto the floor beside her. 

“What are you doing?” came a sharp voice from the direction of the door. It was Sylvia.

June could see her sister from the corner of her eye, standing in the doorway and glowering. She felt a stab of guilt but she continued pulling broken artifacts and worn-out clothes out of Sylvia’s trunk, pretending she hadn’t heard. 

“Stop ignoring me, June,” Sylvia said warningly. “And leave my stuff alone.” 

“I’m looking for Nugget!” June explained as she moved aside a stack of textbooks, but there was no niffler hiding there, only crumpled parchment and a broken quill. 

“That’s still my stuff!” Sylvia insisted, stomping across the floor until she was looming over June. 

June let the last ink bottle fall to the bottom of the trunk in defeat. She withdrew her head from the trunk, not looking at her sister. “Nugget isn’t there anyway,” she muttered sullenly. 

Sylvia slammed the lid of her trunk closed and then stood in front of it with a sour expression as if afraid her sister would invade her possessions again. June folded her arms and scowled at the floor. 

Granny Beetle’s amplified voice filled the house, jolting the girls out of their standoff. 

“June! Come down ‘ere!”

They ran into the hallway. June peered over the banister and into the foyer below. Granny stood at the bottom of the stairs. She craned her neck to glare up at the girls with such ferocity June sank in on herself in an unconscious desire to become invisible. 

June cast one reluctant look back at her room before dragging herself down the stairs. Granny Beetle said nothing further but led her into the dining room, where it was immediately apparent why she had been summoned. The house may have still been standing, but the contents certainly weren’t. All the cabinet doors hung uselessly from the few hinges remaining. Shards of china were scattered across the floor. Drawers were open, devoid of flatware and the miscellaneous junk that was normally stored inside. Even the knobs had vanished, leaving useless holes in their place. 

“Where be Nugget?” Granny demanded, fixing a disapproving look on June. Her hands were on her hips again, one foot tapping in impatience. 

“I…I…” June stammered. She wanted to protest that they had no proof the destruction was Nugget’s fault, but her arguments felt weak even to her. After all, it was no secret that nifflers were considered poor housepets for this very reason. 

Granny was still looking at her expectantly. June opened her mouth, but instead of words all that came out of her was a wail of despair, and she collapsed onto the floor with her arms over her head. If only she’d remembered to bring Nugget into the shelter none of this would have happened. Now the house was a wreck, Granny and Sylvia were both angry with her, and she might never see Nugget again. 

Granny inhaled in a deep, patience-seeking way before muttering, “Reparo.” 

June peeked out from between her hands to watch the shattered china fly through the air and reform along the shelves. But nothing else came flying out to become whole again. None of the knobs returned to their drawers. 

Sylvia crouched down next to June and patted her on the shoulder, apparently having already forgiven her for trespassing. “Never you mind, we'll find Nugget, shan’t we, Marie?”

 Marie took off into the hall. Sylvia tugged June by the elbow. “Come along, Junebug, let’s follow.” 

 June couldn’t see what good following Marie would do. Nifflers were finders, not cats, and it was the niffler that was missing. 

 “You better ave a gander if'n you can't come cross yer niffler, love,” Granny said, her voice gentler now. 

 But to June each word was a recrimination that no amount of gentleness could mask. She drew in on herself, her shame burning into her like the falling bombs of the night before. She waited for some other horror to descend upon her, but the only sound now was that of Granny Beetle circling the dining room muttering charms as she cleaned up Nugget’s mess. June rubbed the tears from her eyes and slunk out of the room without a word. She trudged down the hallway, watching for any sign of Nugget’s passage - a shard of porcelain, perhaps, or a coin that had been dropped in haste - but there was nothing to suggest what direction the niffler had taken once she’d left the dining room. 

 “Junebug, I think Nugget’s been in here!” Sylvia shouted from the sitting room. 

 June’s heart soared. “You found her?” she exclaimed, picking up her pace, but when she entered the room it wasn’t Nugget she found, but both her siblings staring at an overturned lamp and a mantle devoid of its usual knickknacks.  “Where’s the floo powder?” she asked slowly, scouring the mantle as if she might have simply missed it. 

 “I’ve got it,” Sylvia said, waving a bottle full of what looked like bright green sand. “It’s about the only thing still here.” 

 At least they knew the niffler hadn’t somehow traveled to another wizarding household. That meant she was still somewhere in the cottage. June stared around the room in a hopeless sort of way. It was all very well and good to know that Nugget had been in the sitting room, but she didn’t see Nugget now. And then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. There, on the far side of the room, the wardrobe was shaking. “Nugget?” June asked in a quavering voice, inching towards the wardrobe. “Are you in there?” 

“How can we be sure it’s Nugget?” Peter demanded, gripping June’s arm with both hands. “It could be a boggart.” 

June hesitated. On the one hand, it was obvious Nugget had been in this  room, and very recently at that. On the other, boggarts did seek out dark places like wardrobes, and she would hate to let one loose in the house. Of the three of them, only Sylvia had a wand, and she wasn’t supposed to use magic over summer holiday. “Wouldn’t we know if a boggart had got into the house?” she suggested tentatively, casting a desperate glance at Sylvia for support. 

“Why on earth would it be a boggart?” Sylvia snapped peevishly. “The two of you are so ridiculous sometimes.” 

That wasn’t the support June had been hoping for. “I’m not ridiculous,” she said, stung. Nevertheless, it was quite true the evidence pointed toward Nugget, whatever her nerves tried to say about it. She pried her arm free of Peter and rolled up her sleeves. “I’m going to open it,” she declared firmly. 

Peter stepped backward to hide behind Sylvia. The wardrobe continued to shake. June took another tentative step towards it, gritted her teeth, and yanked it open.

A gold blur shot out from the wardrobe. 

June lunged, but Marie was faster. Her paws closed around Nugget’s quivering body, June’s hand closed around Marie’s tail, and Marie released Nugget with an angry hiss and a swipe of her claws at June’s hand.

“Ouch!” June yelped, letting go at once. She nursed her stinging hand as she gazed hopelessly around the room. Nugget had already vanished from sight. “Oh, where did she go?” she wailed. 

“There she is!” Peter pointed towards the patched and frayed sofa, where Nugget’s backside could just be seen squeezing between the mustard yellow cushions. 

Marie leaped onto the sofa after, fishing between the cushions with her paw. 

“No! Marie, shoo!” June pried the cat away and deposited her firmly into Sylvia’s arms. When she turned back to the sofa Nugget had abandoned the cushions and was streaking around the corner of the room, showering the floor in bronze knuts. 

“June, you allowed Nugget to slip away!” Sylvia complained as they ran after the niffler once again. Marie struggled in her arms, hissing and spitting in her attempt to break free. 

“I was trying to catch her!” June shot back defensively.“And in any event, Marie was going to have her for breakfast!”

“She wouldn’t,” Sylvia panted. She was falling behind the other two, unable to run and keep Marie still at the same time. 

“She might,” Peter said. Sylvia shot him an angry look at this betrayal. “Well, she might! Cats do eat rodents, you know.” 

“Nifflers aren’t rodents, Peter,” June said, unable to stop herself–magizoological inaccuracy was one of her greatest pet peeves. Then, realizing she’d inadvertently argued against her own worries, she added, “But Marie would eat one all the same.” 

 It was at that moment that Sylvia cried out in alarm. June turned, ready to argue, only to see Marie wriggle free of her sister’s arms. The cat leaped to the floor and darted up the stairs ahead of the children. 

“Oh, no, you don’t!” June said, lifting the hem of her robes as she pelted up the stairs. 

Sylvia, freed of her burden, caught up with her at the top and pushed past just as Marie’s white tail whisked around the doorframe into their bedroom.

“Oh, Marie!” Sylvia exclaimed, rushing into the bedroom ahead of June. She dropped to her knees next to the trundle bed, reaching beneath to drag Marie out. The cat’s tail lashed the air like a whip, although she was otherwise docile in Sylvia’s arms. 

June shut the door and gave Marie a suspicious look. “Nugget, where are you?” she called. 

She lifted the green and silver bed skirts, peering beneath the bed. It was too dark to make out more than indistinct mounds that could have been anything - dust piles or niffler or perhaps the carapace of a dead cockroach. June narrowed her watering eyes, but that did little to protect her from the dust that tickled her eyes and nose. She wished she could scourgify the dust away like she’d seen her parents doing, or at least cast a protection charm of some sort against her face. But even if she was allowed, she didn’t know any spells; the best she could do was wear that hideous gas mask, and she was hardly desperate enough for that. 

She dropped to her stomach and slid beneath the bed, eyes half-closed against the dust. She opened her mouth to call for Nugget and promptly inhaled a cloud of dust, which sent her into a violent coughing fit. 

Barely audible over her hacking came the scurrying of little claws against the wooden floor, and then soft fur brushed against her cheek as something came streaking out from under the bed.. 

Peter whooped with excitement. “I’ll catch her!” 

June wriggled backward and opened her eyes. Nugget was clambering up a chest of drawers. Peter snatched her up by the scruff of her neck and handed her to June, who clutched the niffler to her chest in equal parts relief and frustration. 

“You little troublemaker!” June chided, but further admonishments were interrupted by an insistent tapping noise coming from the window. 

All three children turned to look. An owl was pecking against the glass. Marie leaped onto the sill, staring hungrily at the bird. 

“I’ve been trying to defend you,” Sylvia complained, wrapping her arms around Marie’s waist and hauling the cat away from the window. “And here you are wanting to eat the post owl!” Marie meowed irritably, her gaze still fixed upon the owl. 

June opened the latch with her free hand and the owl swooped into the room with a grateful hoot. Nugget gave one frightened squeak and wriggled out of June’s grasp. The bedskirts swayed as the niffler whisked out of sight once again. 

“Nugget!” the children chorused, and Marie made another valiant attempt to escape from Sylvia’s arms. With one slash of her claws she was free, landing on the floor with a soft fwump . 

June dove for the bed, blocking the cat from disappearing beneath after Nugget. She groped blindly after her niffler but the owl refused to be ignored. It nipped her on the ear quite hard. 

“Ow!” June yelped, clapping a hand to her ear and glaring incredulously at the owl. “What was that for?” 

It hooted indignantly and thrust out one scaly talon, upon which was tied a rolled-up magazine–the latest issue of Magientomological Review . 

Ordinarily the delivery of her favorite magazine caused June to leap for joy, but the stress of Nugget’s continued escapades dampened her usual enthusiasm. 

“Oh, very well,” she sighed. She glanced towards the bed in longing. Nugget was still hidden, but Sylvia had hold of Marie. 

Satisfied that her sister wouldn’t allow Nugget to become breakfast, June untied the mail and then rummaged in Nugget’s cage for a pellet. 

“Here you are,” she said, placing the pellet on the window sill. “It isn’t much, I know.” 

The owl hooted softly, snapped up the pellet in one gulp, and winged its way out of the window.

Sylvia shooed Peter toward the door. “Come on, let’s see if the salamanders need us to stoke the fire.” 

They disappeared, taking Marie with them and — blessedly — shutting the door behind them. If she wanted to read, she could do so without fear that Nugget would make another break for it. 

June sat down on her bed and flipped open the magazine. Her subscription to the Magientomological Review had been a birthday present, possibly the one she most highly treasured. Even with a paper shortage they managed to print a magazine every other month, with articles detailing the latest in Magientomological research and a section that wrote articles about living Magientomologists. This month had articles about Fire-Crab embryology, the spread of vanishing sickness by the Caacrinolaas parasite, and the hormonal cycles of Vampire Bugs. 

Before she could read a single article, Nugget emerged from hiding and climbed into her lap. June stroked the niffler’s head affectionately. 

“Never scare me like that again,” she said sternly, still petting Nugget gently. “It’s bad enough that I have to worry about losing Mum and Dad. I don’t need to worry about losing you, as well.” 

Nugget made no reply; she had fallen asleep. 

June sighed and settled back against her pillows, returning her attention to the magazine once more. Her gaze roamed idly over the table of contents while she debated which article to start with. And then her heart nearly leaped out of her chest as her gaze landed on a title so exciting she could hardly believe it was real: 

    Hogwarts Reinstates Magientomology Classes - p. 15

Excitement swept over her. She flipped immediately to page 15. A black and white photograph of a thin witch wearing pince-nez blinked up at her. The accompanying article read: 

 The appointment of Magientomologist Opabinia MacMillan to the coveted Professorship of Magientomology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry marks the first time in sixty-nine years that Hogwarts has boasted a magientomologist among its ranks. 

Hogwarts stopped offering Magientomology in the wake of the death of Professor Lasius Thorn, who was tragically lost in the 1871 fire that destroyed L.A.R.V.A headquarters. The only Magientomology instruction students currently receive is in the Care of Magical Creatures course offered by the Department of Magizoology. A Spokeswitch for        Hogwarts School has confirmed that they will not be reforming the Department of Magientomology. 

For years rumors have been circulating regarding Dark Arts experiments conducted by the previous Magientomology professors, rumors fueled in part by the death of a student during MacMillan’s tenure and in part by the association of Professor Thorn with many of the original members of the Irish Nationalist group the Coffin Flies. It was well-  known at the time that many of the Confederation wizards residing in Great Britain were those of Irish descent recruited by the Coffin Flies, who were notorious for their willingness to use the Dark Arts. While Thorn was officially cleared of wrong-doing, his reputation never recovered. 

By the time of his death there were some who even accused him of being behind the disappearance of his wife, Myrmosina MacMillan, and who believed he had staged his death and returned to live out his days in the Confederation. 

The spokeswitch has dismissed these rumors as unfounded. 

"When working with magical arthropods, there is always an element of danger,” the spokeswitch stated. “While it remains a tragedy, many powerful witches and wizards have lost life and limb in the pursuit of magizoological knowledge. We should honor their memories with gratitude for their sacrifice, not cast aspersions upon them after death.”

June looked down at Nugget, fast asleep in her lap, and resisted the urge to flap her arms. Her head danced with visions of lessons about acromantula and bowtruckles – maybe even those myrmecoleons she had read about yesterday. And then reality sank in. She flopped back onto her pillow, sighing heavily. 

“But I’ll only be a first year,” she muttered, lifting the magazine to stare at the photograph of the new Magientomology professor. “So you’d better not disappear before I can take your class.”

Chapter Text

June’s last month at Granny Beetle’s was bittersweet. As excited as she was at the prospect of Hogwarts, she would miss the cottage and the salty sea air and plucking salamanders out of her tea in the mornings. She’d miss Granny Beetle’s comforting presence and Eliza’s air of smug superiority. She would miss Nugget–nifflers hadn’t been on the approved list of pets–and, of course, she would miss Peter. 

Peter, for his part, grew increasingly sullen as the summer wore on. June tried to lift his mood by offering to read passages out of her new textbooks to him, suggesting this would give him an edge on the other students when he was of age, but for some reason this only made him moodier. But the week before Sylvia and June were to depart, an owl arrived with news that even cheered Peter up: Mr. and Mrs. Scrimgeour would be coming to Granny Beetle’s to escort their children to the train station themselves. 

On the morning of August 31st, June awoke early. Outside was still misty and dark, but she was too excited to go back to sleep. She slipped off the trundle bed as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake Sylvia, dressed as quickly as she could in the dim light, and then tiptoed downstairs to the sitting room. Peter was already there, staring intently at the cold, dark fireplace. 

“Good morning, Peter,” June greeted him in a whisper. “Have you eaten any breakfast?” 

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off the fireplace as if by the very act of watching it he could will their parents into arriving sooner. 

 “It’s too early for Mum and Dad,” June pointed out. “I promise you won’t miss anything if you come and have some toast with me.” 

By the time Sylvia and Granny Beetle had come down, Peter was back in front of the fireplace. June had joined him, unable to keep her own impatience in check. Granny Beetle shook her head when she saw them. “Your parents won’t come any quicker if you sit there,” she said in exasperation. “Why don’t you make sure you’ve got all your things together, eh?”

Sylvia sighed and trooped back out of the room. June started after her, but before she could take two steps there was a loud whoosh from the fireplace, and then a figure appeared inside the grate, spinning faster and faster until a man landed upright and Edwin Scrimgeour stepped into the room, brushing soot out of his straw-colored hair. 

“Dad!” June exclaimed, forgetting all about packing. She rushed forward,    enveloping him in a fierce hug. 

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Edward said, laughing and squeezing her in his arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you. All of you.” June stepped aside, allowing Peter to take her place. Edwin embraced his son with the same enthusiastic affection he’d greeted June with. Then he let go, moving away from the fireplace. “Come on, we’d better move or your mother won’t be able to get out.” 

As if his words had summoned her, another figure spun into view in the fireplace and out stepped Mrs. Scrimgeour, looking disheveled and anxious. “Is this the right place?” she asked, gazing uncertainly around the room until her eyes landed on June and Peter. “Oh, thank goodness! I was worried I’d get out at the wrong grate. How have you been? You’ve all been good, I hope? Have they been good for you?” She directed this last question at Granny Beetle, who gave her a reassuring smile in response. 

“They’ve been a right pleasure to have, never you fret about that,” Granny said in the same soothing tones she used to calm the children during the bombings. 

Mrs. Scrimgeour returned the smile with a rather tense one of her own. “Oh, good,” she sighed. It was only then that she seemed to realize one of her children was missing. She peered about the sitting room, furrowing her brow. “Where’s Sylvia?” she asked, craning her neck as if her eldest daughter could possibly be hiding behind Peter or tiny old Granny Beetle. 

“Probably hasn’t realized the time,” Mr. Scrimgeour said indulgently, patting his wife on the arm. “You know how they are at that age.” 

“She was just down here before you came,” June said, rising to her sister’s defense. “She only left to bring her luggage down.” 

Right on cue, Sylvia reappeared in the doorway. Her trunk hovered behind her, the sleeve of a robe dragging along the floor. “I’m packed,” she announced breathlessly. 

Mrs. Scrimgeour eyed the sleeve that was shut between the lid. “Do fold your robes before we go, Sylvia. You wouldn’t want them to get ripped.” 

Sylvia turned pink with humiliation; she had never taken well to being criticized. Then again, her mother wasn’t always the most tactful critic, June thought, watching as her sister moved to block the trunk from view.  “I don’t know how that happened,” Sylvia muttered, angrily yanking open her trunk, shoving the sleeve inside, and slamming the lid shut again. 

Mrs. Scrimgeour pursed her lips in disapproval but didn’t comment on the obvious lack of folding. She turned her gaze upon June, who was sure her cheeks were just as pink as Sylvia’s. “And are you packed, Junebug?” she asked, evidently having noticed that only Sylvia had luggage with her. 

June inched backwards, trying not to look too guilty. “Almost!” she fibbed. As soon as she was out of the room she ran flat out to the stairs, hurtling up to the bedroom. Her new school trunk stood next to the trundle bed, the lid open. Her parchment, quills, and ink were already in the trunk, as was her cauldron and potions ingredients. But she had been so interested in her school books that she’d fallen asleep reading them. Some were under the sheets, others beneath the bed, having fallen off during the night. She collected them hurriedly, placed them reverently inside the trunk, then flung her clothes in after with much less reverence–although she was quite careful to ensure no stray sleeves got caught in the lid. 

“There,” she said, lowering her plush ant and bee into the trunk with the same reverence as the books. “I think that’s it.” She scanned the room one last time, checking for anything she’d missed, but all of her belongings were now packed. All, that is, except Nugget. June knelt down beside the bedside table, staring forlornly between the bars of Nugget’s cage. “Oh, Nugget,” she sighed. “I’ll miss you terribly, you know.” 

The niffler reached a paw through the cage, patting her nose.

“I’m not sure Granny will be pleased if I leave you with her,” June said with another sigh. Truthfully, she was sure that Granny Beetle would be perfectly willing to look after the niffler. After all, she’d volunteered to host Nugget’s mother, not to mention the other F.A.R.M.s animals who were sheltering here. And June knew Peter would help care for Nugget, too. And yet, June couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Nugget for so long. It was difficult enough to be separated from her family, but at least she and her parents knew why they were separated, and she could send letters. And while Peter was disappointed at being left behind while his sisters attended Hogwarts, he understood exactly what was happening and why. But Nugget was only a niffler. What if she thought June had abandoned her and decided she liked Peter better? 

June glanced at her trunk, considering. She didn’t want to suffocate her pet, but she couldn’t have the cage in sight, either. So how was she to get Nugget to Hogwarts? After a moment’s hesitation, she unlatched the cage door and lifted the golden-furred niffler out. 

“You’ll need to stay quiet.” she whispered, placing the niffler in the pocket of her robes. Nugget squirmed unhappily; June stuffed her hand in the pocket, holding Nugget in place, but it was quite obvious she needed a better solution, as now she wouldn’t even be able to haul her luggage down the stairs.  “Keep still, will you?” she hissed, trying to brainstorm and prevent Nugget’s escape at the same time. There had to be some manner of keeping the niffler close without literally holding onto her the entire train ride. And then she had it.  “Hold still,” she said again. She clamped her hand more firmly around the niffler, and dug through her trunk with her free hand until she’d found what she was looking for: A black hair ribbon, quite long and slender and made to keep even June’s untidy hair in place. She lifted the squeaking, struggling niffler out of her pocket and tied one end of the ribbon around Nugget’s middle. The other end she tied around her wrist, then dropped Nugget back into her pocket. 

“Now I’ll feel if you try and escape,” she said, feeling very pleased with herself. She threw Nugget’s cage into her trunk, shutting the lid with a snap. She felt a tug on the ribbon and hastily shoved Nugget back out of sight before stumbling into the hall, dragging her trunk behind her. She couldn’t believe how heavy it was now that all her school supplies were in there; she was sure it must have been at least as heavy as she was, if not more. She certainly couldn’t lift it, and it thudded heavily on each stair as she lugged it behind her. 

She hoped they’d learn hovering charms this year, or maybe a spell that lightened heavy loads. 

As soon as she reached the sitting room she collapsed on top of her trunk. “There!” she declared, panting heavily. Nugget gave a squirm of displeasure from inside her pocket. June clamped a hand over the niffler to make her be still. 

Mr. Scrimgeour pointed his wand at the fireplace and the logs erupted into flames. “All right, girls, let’s say goodbye to Mrs. Beetle.” He raised his voice, not moving from his spot. “Mrs. Beetle! We’re about to head out.” 

“Where’s Eliza?” June whispered to Sylvia, but her sister only shrugged in response. 

Mr. Scrimgeour flung a fistful of green powder into the fireplace. The flames turned from orange to bright green as they licked the blackened bricks. He held out the jar to Sylvia. She stared at it, silent and unmoving. He pressed it forward insistently. “Please take it.” June thought there was a hint of a plea in his voice. 

Sylvia’s movements as she took the jar were stiff and jerky. She held it at arm’s length, twisting her neck to look away from the fireplace. 

June rubbed sweaty hands down the front of her robe as her father spun seemingly out of existence. Her stomach was performing sympathetic somersaults. Or maybe these were anticipatory somersaults. Whichever one, she wished it would stop. 

Sylvia marched forward, stopped, and glanced over her shoulder. She looked as queasy as June felt. But she smiled at her sister as she grabbed a fistful of powder and handed her the jar. June grabbed it with both hands and stood watching as Sylvia marched into the flames after their father. 

June took a fortifying breath and plunged her hand deep into the green powder. She felt it slipping between her fingers even as she pulled her hand out again. 

She shook as she walked into the fireplace and squeezed her eyes shut against the inevitable rain of ash. “The Leaky Cauldron,” she said aloud, and she was whisked away. 

From the Leaky Cauldron they made their way to the Muggle Underground, which they took to King’s Cross Station. All the while, June was desperately trying to keep Nugget hidden. It would be bad enough for Nugget to escape in front of her parents, but she hadn’t accounted for quite how many Muggles they would have to get through before she boarded the train. “I thought people weren’t going out and about now with the war and all,”  she whispered to her father as they stepped out onto King’s Cross Station. 

“That’s only at night,” Mr. Scrimgeour said as he helped her load her luggage onto a trolley. “We’ve got to go about our business during the day, wizards and Muggles both.” 

They walked briskly toward the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, June practically running to keep up with her father’s longer legs. Mr. Scrimgeour stopped in front of the barrier and looked around. The rest of the family was hastening across the station behind them; Mrs. Scrimgeour looked quite harried. 

“We’re here,” she panted, letting go of Peter’s hand. “Sylvia, June, why don’t the two of you go on through.” 

Sylvia marched straight up to the barrier and disappeared.

June cast a nervous look around, expecting to see Muggles watching, but none were. They were too preoccupied with their own destinations to pay any attention to one family waiting by a barrier. She took the barrier at a trot, closing her eyes as it loomed in front of her, and then — 

“Junebug, you can open your eyes now.” 

June opened her eyes. Sylvia was standing next to her. And all around was a swarm of other Hogwarts students, as well as cats and owls and toads. The Hogwarts Express awaited, its scarlet paint bright and cheerful. They had made it. They were on Platform 9 ¾. 

Her parents and Peter arrived behind them. Mrs. Scrimgeour stooped down to kiss her youngest daughter on the cheek. “Be good for me,” she said fondly. 

“I will,” June promised. She returned her mother’s hug with one hand, the other stuck in the pocket of her robes to keep hold of Nugget, who was squirming so much June wondered if nifflers could sense their owner’s anxiety. Because now that she was here, confronted with the reality of saying goodbye to her parents on another train platform, she found she was reluctant to leave. 

Her mother seemed to sense her mood, because she nudged June gently. “Go on, you don’t want to be left behind, do you?” 

Sylvia was already wheeling her luggage onto the train, Marie following in her wake like a peculiar white shadow. 

June hurried up the ramp after her sister, puffing with exertion. “Sylvia, wait!” she cried out. 

Sylvia turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes not quite meeting June’s. “I’m sorry, Junebug, but prefects are supposed to sit up front.”

June’s face fell as she watched Sylvia walk away. Now what was she supposed to do? It had never occurred to her she might have to ride the Hogwarts Express without her sister, and she felt quite forlorn as she wandered down the corridor, peering into train compartments in the hope one of them would be empty. The first compartment she looked into only had two boys inside, but one of them was so huge his very presence made the compartment seem crowded. She didn’t even bother asking if there was room, but moved on to the next compartment, which was also full of boys–older boys, who were whispering furtively to one another. The door was slightly ajar, and she heard one of the boys say, “Are you sure, Tom?” and a boy who must have been Tom answered, “Quite sure, Nott.” 

The next compartment held another group of boys, although these looked like fellow first years. One of them had a toad perched on his shoulder and his feet up on the seat across from him. Their uproarious laughter could be heard even through the door. One compartment seemed to have room — it held only two other girls–but when June slid the door open one of them stood up, tossing her victory rolls haughtily, and said, “We’re saving these seats.” 

June was feeling more and more despondent with each compartment she passed. There was a compartment full of witches and wizards who looked related, and June felt another pang of disappointment that she couldn’t spend the train ride with Sylvia. The train began to move as June pressed her face against yet another compartment window. There was only one person inside, a girl of about her own age. She caught June’s eye and slid open the compartment door. 

“Hullo. Would you care to join us?” she asked brightly. She had rosy cheeks, an abundance of dark curls, and a friendly smile. June took to her at once. 

“Yes, please,” June answered gratefully and hauled her luggage through the compartment door. 

“I’m Elisenda.” The girl said as she slid the door shut again. “Elisenda Albo.” 

“I’m June,” June said, but she wasn’t looking at her new companion; she was staring up at the luggage rack, wondering how she was supposed to get her luggage all the way up there when she could barely drag it along the aisles. After a moment of debate, she decided to sit; it wasn’t as if the compartment was full, anyhow, so it wasn’t in anyone’s way. 

As if on cue the door to their compartment slid open again, revealing two more girls. One was tall and freckly, with an abundance of frizzy, straw-colored hair. The other seemed to be trying to hide behind the freckled girl, but June glimpsed a sheet of black hair that fell into her face and the thickest glasses she had ever seen on anyone younger than eighty. 

“Is there a spot to sit?” Demanded the freckled girl. She had a brusque manner about her that June found quite intimidating. 

Elisenda, however, didn’t seem put off in the slightest. She patted the seat beside her invitingly, as amiable as ever as she answered, “Please, come in, June and I don’t mind, do we, June?” 

June cast a doubtful look at her luggage. There were seats, certainly, but there wasn’t much room unless she could somehow get her luggage onto the rack. Not to mention she now had to share a compartment with three strangers, instead of only one of them. 

“Becky Driscoll,” the freckled girl said as she dragged a trunk and a wire birdcage into the compartment after her, “And this ‘ere,” she jerked her head to indicate the bespectacled girl, who was hovering behind her awkwardly, “is Myrtle Warren.” 

Myrtle hovered in the doorway, looking desperately anxious in a way June understood all too well. 

“Come on, now, Warren,” Becky said over her shoulder. “Don’t just be standin' there. Or do you fancy sittin' on the floor?” 

Myrtle heaved a sigh and plodded through after her. “You don’t have to pretend you want me here,” she said sullenly.

Becky didn’t grace this remark with an answer. She had come to a stop, blocked from nearing the luggage rack by June’s trunk. She glanced at June, who shrank back, expecting some kind of reprimand, but Becky only said, “Do you need a hand gettin' this into the rack, then?” 

“Oh!” June exclaimed in relief. “Yes, please. I can’t reach that high.” 

Becky grunted and heaved the trunk into the overhead compartment as if it weighed nothing. Then she shoved her own trunk up, too. 

She sat next to June, the birdcage in her lap. “This,” she said, indicating the stocky brown owl inside, “is Macha.” 

The owl gave a sleepy hoot in reply. And before June had even realized what was going on, Nugget’s head appeared over the edge of her pocket. The niffler took one look at the owl, made a frightened squeak, and instead of burrowing back into the safety of June’s pocket dived for the floor. The ribbon June had used for a leash fluttered behind Nugget; the end that had been tied to June’s wrist was frayed. 

Nugget was fast, but Becky was faster. She leaned forward and snagged the niffler before she could disappear beneath the seats. “I take it this is yours?” she asked, sounding amused. 

June hugged Nugget to her chest, her cheeks burning. “Thank you,” she mumbled. She risked a glance at the other girls, gauging their reaction. All three of them were staring at her, a sensation she didn’t like one bit. Even Myrtle had abandoned her sulking and was watching June avidly. 

“Is that a mole?” Myrtle asked in a timid voice. “Can I see?” 

“Nugget isn’t a mole!” June corrected automatically, but she held out her hands so the other girls could get a better look at her beloved pet, her anxiety easing as it became apparent the other girls were curious, not upset. “Nugget is a niffler.” 

Myrtle leaned forward, wiggling her fingers and cooing. “Aww. Aren’t you precious?” 

Becky folded her arms, her expression inscrutable. “They’re meant to be messy little blighters, aren’t they, nifflers?” she asked. 

At once, Myrtle’s smile vanished. She scooted all the way to the other side of the bench, staring at Nugget with alarm. “What do you mean, a mess? It isn’t going to poop on us, is it?” 

June opened her mouth and then shut it again hastily. This was an element of niffler smuggling she hadn’t foreseen. Would Nugget be able to go the whole train ride without using the bathroom? 

“Err. How long is the train ride?” she asked awkwardly. “Does anyone know?” 

“We could ask one of the prefects,” Becky suggested, standing up swiftly as if she intended to do just that. 

June leaped to her feet so quickly that she hit her head on the underside of the luggage compartment. “Oh! No, you don’t have to,” she said, wincing and rubbing her head. 

“Even if I told ‘em about your pet, they can’t take it away,” Becky pointed out, rightly guessing why June was so reluctant for her to leave. “What are they going to do, toss it off a movin’ train?” 

June hugged Nugget so tight the niffler squeaked in protest. “Throw her off the train?” June echoed, staring at Becky in horror. It seemed too cruel to be believable, and yet, so did bombs and poisonous gases.

“I won’t tell ‘em,” Becky promised tersely as she slid open the compartment door. “I’ll just ask how much longer the ride is.” 

Not long after Becky had left, the compartment door slid open once more. Fearing that she had broken her promise not to snitch, June stuffed Nugget hastily into her pocket, but the person in the doorway was neither Becky nor any prefect, but a plump little witch pushing a trolley stuffed to the brim with sweets. 

June’s mouth watered as she contemplated the cart. She hadn’t had any sweets for ages, not since the Ministry began rationing sugar; she was astonished that the Hogwarts Express sweets trolley wasn’t suffering from the shortage the way the sweet shops in Diagon Alley had been. She pulled out her wallet and began counting out silver sickles, which she handed to the trolley witch in exchange for a heaping pile of chocolate frogs, which she began tearing into straight away. Myrtle was staring at the wriggling chocolate in her hands. And then it dawned on June - Myrtle didn’t appear to understand much of anything about the wizarding world. For all June knew, she was a Muggle-born who had never even heard of chocolate frogs before today. That decided her. Nobody should be deprived of chocolate frogs. 

“Here, have one,” June said. She didn’t wait for Myrtle to acknowledge her offer before tossing it at her; it hit the glum faced girl in the back of the head. June winced. 

“Throwing things at people isn’t very nice, you know,” Myrtle said, giving June a reproving glare from behind her thick-rimmed glasses. 

“I wasn’t throwing it at you,” June protested, but as soon as the words left her mouth she realized how silly she sounded and conceded, “Well, all right, I was, but I meant for you to catch it.” 

Myrtle continued scowling at her. Hoping to lessen the tension in the compartment, June tossed a frog to Elisenda, too. 

“Go on, try one,” she said encouragingly, tearing open another and popping the frog into her mouth before it could escape. 

“Try one of what?” asked a voice from the doorway. 

Becky had returned. She was, June noted with relief, alone. 

“We’re eating chocolate frogs,” June explained, tossing one to Becky, who caught it easily. 

“Cheers.” Becky sat down, pulling Macha’s cage into her lap again before opening the chocolate frog June had given her. “By the way, we’ve got four hours to go now.” 

“Four hours?” Myrtle repeated, slouching in her seat with an air of miserable resignation. “That’s ages .” 

June, who didn’t want to spend four hours with Myrtle moping, wheedled, “Aren’t you going to at least try your frog? They’re really good, I promise.” 

Myrtle cast June a deeply skeptical look before opening her chocolate frog. It leaped out of her hands and leaped about the compartment until Becky caught it. She held it out to Myrtle without a word, too busy chewing her own frog to speak. 

“How can you eat those?” Myrtle demanded, leaning away from Becky until she was pressed up against the compartment wall. “It’s alive!” 

Becky shrugged and popped that one into her mouth, too. 

“It’s only an enchantment,” June promised solemnly, holding out another chocolate frog package to Myrtle. “I would never condone animal cruelty.” 

Myrtle seemed to be trying to merge into the wall in her desperation to get away from the chocolate frogs. “I don’t like my food to move,” she mumbled, shuddering in revulsion. 

Realizing the futility of convincing Myrtle to try them, June dropped the chocolate frog back onto her lap. “All right, then, but you should at least look at the card. They’re collectible, you know.” She held up her own most recent card, examining it. A wizard in a white powdered wig scowled up at her. Hedgehogs were climbing up his shirt, nibbling at his cravat, and even sitting in the palm of his hand. June sighed in disappointment. “I don’t understand why anyone wants to collect Thaddeus Thurkell. Why would we celebrate someone who turned his children into hedgehogs?” 

Elisenda, who had been looking at her own card, looked up with a horrified gasp. “He turned his children into what ?” 

“Hedgehogs,” Becky answered. She had one arm slung over the top of the birdcage, and her expression was serious. “Couldn’t bear the shame of having seven Squibs in the family.” 

Myrtle shook herself out of her self-pity. “How can there be squibs in the family?” she asked, frowning at Becky. “Surely wizards give birth to human children the same as Muggles.” 

“Squibs are human, too,” Elisenda said sharply. 

“No, they aren’t,” Myrtle interjected. “Not unless a wizard squib and a Muggle squib are completely different.” 

“Muggles can’t have Squibs,” June said. “A Squib can only be born into a wizarding family. If a Muggle gave birth to a Squib, that’s just a Muggle.” 

Myrtle stared at her before finally saying “When Muggles talk about squibs, they mean firecrackers.” 

“Oh,” June said, feeling terrifically ignorant. “No, wizards couldn’t give birth to firecrackers. He turned them into hedgehogs because they couldn’t do magic.” 

he compartment fell into an uncomfortable silence. June was grateful she wasn’t a Squib; although she was certain that neither of her parents would transfigure her into a hedgehog over it, it still sounded awful–growing up surrounded by the magical world while knowing you could never do the things that came so easily to your family, never truly belonging in the place that ought to have been home. Just the thought made her chest ache. 

After a while, Becky spoke up. “What cards did you all get, eh?” 

“If anyone has Belatina Bravehawk, I’ve been trying to get her for ages,” June piped up, grateful to Becky for the distraction. She didn’t need to spend the rest of the train ride lost in thoughts about her parents. 

“What did she turn her children into?” Myrtle asked suspiciously. 

June cast Myrtle a reproving look. “They’re Famous Wizard cards, not Bad Parent cards,” she said testily. “Belatina was an acromantula breeder.” 

“What is an acromantula?” Myrtle asked, looking at June’s pocket, where the outline of Nugget’s now sleeping form could be seen. “Are they as cute as nifflers?” 

A look of dreamy adoration came over June. “Oh, acromantulas are one of the most adorable creatures in the whole world,” she said. “And clever, too. They can learn human languages and even use logic and reasoning. And they can be quite loyal to any wizard who helps them. Only,” she added regretfully. “It’s rather difficult to earn their loyalty seeing as they usually eat people who come near them.” 

 “I can't say I’ve ever heard acromantulas called adorable before now,” Becky said dryly. She picked up her card and shook her head. “Not Belatina,” she added, flipping it over and reading aloud the description printed on the back. “Famous for gettin' offended at feck all and cursing poor innocents. Kicked the bucket in Gaol.” She looked up, grinning. “Good ol' Ethelred the Ever-Ready, bless 'im.” 

 Myrtle slouched so far down in her seat June was afraid she was going to fall out of it. “First fathers who turn their children into animals, then men with nothing better to do than quarrel all day long. Do wizards only memorialize horrible people?” 

“It’s easier to be famous for terrible reasons than good ones, isn’t it?” Becky mused, slipping Ethelred the Ever-Ready into her pocket. “Just like we chat more 'bout wars an’ famines than we do peaceful times. Go on, show us your card, Warren, let’s have it!” 

Myrtle reluctantly bent down to pick her card up off the floor, where she’d dropped it when her chocolate frog had made its escape. Becky snatched it out of her hands, reading the back to the other passengers. “Herpo the Foul was an Ancient Greek wizard, and the first known creator o’ the Basilisk.” She handed the card back to Myrtle, but Myrtle shoved her hand away. 

“There are loads of them that aren’t horrible,” June said, rummaging through the pile of cards she’d accumulated from today’s sweet’s haul. She   held one up. A beautiful woman in a greek chiton stared imperiously at the girls. “This is one of my favorites, Circe. She turned men into pigs.” 

Elisenda looked up from examining the picture of Thaddeus Thurkell. “And that’s not horrible of her?” she asked slowly. 

June handed her another chocolate frog. “They deserved it,” she said firmly. “For behaving like pigs in the first place.” 

Chapter Text

By the time they arrived at Hogsmeade Station, the temperature was crisp and cool and the sky was fading into a night made all the darker by the lack of any streetlamps. The students were a mass of black, now: they had changed into their school robes and their pointed witch’s hats before disembarking. 

June caught sight of Sylvia and waved frantically, trying to catch her sister’s attention. She was rewarded when, a moment later, the other girl had elbowed her way over. “Where is the school?” June asked, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd. “Can my friends and I follow you?”

Sylvia shook her head. “Sorry, Junebug. First years have to go with Ogg,” she replied, nudging June toward a hazy orange light that had suddenly flared out of the darkness. 

Sighing in disappointment over once again being forcibly separated from Sylvia, June clamped both hands over Nugget as she trotted in the light's direction. The lantern illuminated the face of its carrier, revealing a man with a rather squashed-looking face wearing a lumpy looking hat. 

“Is that the whole lot, then?” The man, Ogg, swept the lantern over the students crowded around him. When no more were uncovered he pivoted. “Carefully now. Dinnae want to twist an ankle in the dark.”

The first years followed the bobbing lantern along a steep, narrow path in nervous silence. Even Becky, who had seemed so fearless back on the train, stayed close to the others. June could hear Myrtle heaving great, gloomy sighs to her left, and Elisenda murmuring wordless reassurances. They turned a corner, and all at once the path opened at the edge of a vast, dark lake. On the other side of the lake towered a mountain, and high up on the mountain, tiny with distance, was the silhouette of a magnificent castle, its many turrets, and towers jutting skyward and tiny arched windows glowing yellow. 

June’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of the distant castle. This would be her home for the next ten months — away from all her family except Sylvia. The past year with Granny Beetle hadn’t prepared her for the enormity of this new experience. “How are we getting across?” she whispered to the girls around her. Surely they weren’t expected to swim across that lake; it looked impossibly huge, almost a small ocean. Perhaps there was a Portkey somewhere; she wished her father had warned her about that. She hated Portkey travel. 

“I reckon it’s those boats,” Becky said. Unlike June, she was tall enough to see over the heads of the people in front of her, and she was staring intently in Ogg’s direction. 

June had to stand on tiptoe before she saw what Becky had meant. There, rocking in the shallow water at the edge of the lake, was a fleet of little wooden boats. 

Ogg beckoned the nervous first years forward. “All aboard,” he ordered, standing guard on the shore while they embarked. “Four only, mind, unless you fancy a splash in the lake.” 

A massive boy who had to be twice as tall as Ogg made a beeline for the boats, and the gameskeeper grunted. “Except for you, laddie. You’ll need a whole boat to yourself.” 

June climbed into one of the boats. Elisenda, Becky, and Myrtle followed. It was as if they all just knew that sharing a train compartment meant they were obligated to share a boat, too. As soon as they were all inside, Elisenda gave a nervous laugh. “Have any of you rowed a boat before?” 

“Never,” June answered. She peered over the side at the dark, translucent depths below. Nugget lifted her snout over the edge of the boat in imitation of June, who drew the niffler back into her lap. “Maybe this is a test and we’re supposed to figure out how to magic our way across.” 

That hardly seemed fair, when they’d had no magical training at all, and some of the first years were Muggle-borns, but June needn’t have worried. Ogg had climbed into a boat now. He pointed dramatically toward the mountain with a shout of “Forward!” 

The boats sailed away from the shore all at once. June stared up at the castle with wide eyes, pouring over everything Sylvia had ever told her about Hogwarts. The mountain drew nearer and nearer until they could see the ivy clinging to its sides.. Myrtle gave a little scream. “We’re going to crash!” 

The girls braced themselves, but there was no impact, because the boat didn’t crash at all but glided right under a cliff in the mountain, sailing serenely down a subterranean channel in the dark. It was a good thing the boats could navigate the channel without aid, because June could barely see anything. The orange glow of Ogg’s lantern was merely a pinprick in the distance. At last they came to a stop. Becky hopped out of the boat and onto the rocky shore, then helped the other girls climb out. 

Ogg swept his lantern across the boats bobbing in the harbor, then, apparently satisfied that none of the students had fallen overboard, he jerked his head toward a path that led away from the lake. The weary students trudged after him, legs leaden and stomachs growling. Their last meal had been hours ago, or so it seemed, and the path stretched onward, climbing higher and higher through the mountain. At last they exited onto a grassy lawn at the summit of the cliff, right in the shadow of the castle. They followed Ogg up a flight of weathered stone steps to a massive oak door. He knocked once. Before he could knock a second time the door swung open.

At first, June thought the door had opened of its own volition, but then the tip of a hat appeared over Ogg’s shoulder, and a witch seated on a levitating carpet hovered into view. She was clad in robes of such a bright yellow it almost hurt June’s eyes after the darkness of the cavern. Ogg wordlessly tipped his cap at the witch before stomping off, leaving the first years to shiver with anticipation and the chill of night. 

“I’m Professor Henshall,” the witch said, surveying the nervous first years with a smile as warm as her robes. “Come on, if you don't mind, right this way.” She floated through the open doors and the students, although earthbound, followed. 

There was a collective intake of breath as they took in the cavernous Entrance Hall. Even the children who had grown up in the wizarding world peered about the Entrance Hall with unabashed wonder. Rather than the gas lamps most of the wizarding world used, the hall was lit by hundreds of flickering torches. Doors and corridors lead off in every direction, and for a moment June imagined she was an ant in her colony. She was so absorbed in her fantasy that she didn’t notice the fwump of a small, soft object hitting the floor behind her. It wasn't until she idly reached into her pocket to pat Nugget and her fingers brushed against the fabric of her robe that she noticed: 

Nugget had escaped.

She froze. Slowly, with great trepidation, she scanned the Entrance Hall, turning all the way around until she was looking at the doors they had walked through. Her eyes were drawn to the four massive hourglasses framing the entryway. Spanning from the floor to the ceiling, each was brimming with a different brightly colored jewel — sapphire, ruby, emerald, and diamond. And there, ambling across the floor with eyes firmly fixed on the hourglass full of diamonds, was Nugget.

Carefully June began edging her way to the back of the crowd, praying none of the other first years would question her sudden desire to go backwards, but they were too overwhelmed by their first glimpse of Hogwarts to pay attention to what anyone else was up to. As soon as she was free from the crowd she hastened across the flag-stoned floor, pulling off her hat. She and Nugget reached the hourglasses at the same time. “Gotcha!” she cried triumphantly, sweeping the niffler up with her hat. She thrust it back onto her head before Nugget could do more than utter a squeak of protest. She was just congratulating herself on retrieving Nugget without anyone noticing when a hand closed around her arm. 

“Hurry up,” Elisenda said, tugging at her robes urgently. “We’ll be left behind.” 

June looked toward the other first years, who were already disappearing through a door on the other side of the hall. She shook herself free of the other girl, but raced after her with both hands clutched to the brim of her hat, trying to ignore the way Nugget’s claws dug into her scalp and tangled in her hair. A little discomfort would be worth knowing her pet was safely accounted for. 

They slipped into the chamber behind the other first years. Professor Henshall was already speaking, explaining the four Hogwarts houses and the traits most prized by each. 

Although she knew all of this already, June listened intently, waiting for the speech to segue from the houses into the manner of sorting. Sylvia had only told her that the Sorting Ceremony took place in front of the whole school. But to her consternation, Professor Henshall wasn’t any more forthcoming than Sylvia had been. Although she smiled warmly as she looked over their nervous faces, she merely said, “I’ve got to nip off and get ready for the Sorting Ceremony. I’ll be back in a tick to show you lot the ropes.”

Her flying carpet glided toward the door where Elisenda and June stood. It stopped right in front of them, and the little witch peered down at June, her smile still kind but with a slightly exasperated air now. “Me ducks, didn’t you take your hats off when you came in? Hand 'em over. I’ll get 'em sent up to your digs with the rest of your stuff.”

June and Elisenda both handed their hats to Professor Henshall, who flew straight out of the room. June watched with a hopeless feeling as Nugget was carried away. However nervous she’d been about the Sorting Ceremony before was nothing to how she felt now. Nugget was completely out of reach, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her anxieties were interrupted by an arm draping across her shoulder in unearned familiarity. She tensed, looking up into the face of the boy who had been showing off his toad on the train.

“Do you fancy we’ll be sorted in this joint and then shuttled off to our dormitories?” he asked, looking around the chamber with a sort of lazy interest. 

June shrugged out of his grasp. “No,” she said shortly. “It’s in front of the school.” 

The boy didn’t look deterred by this at all. On the contrary, his expression grew wistful. “Perhaps a good old-fashioned duel is on the cards.” 

A tiny girl with a thick yellow braid gave him a once over. “I’ll duel you any day of the week.” 

“Fausta, hush,” hissed a mirror image of the first girl. 

“They can’t ask us to duel!” June protested indignantly. “None of us have learned any spells yet.”

“I have.” The boy tousled his hair, looking smug. “My dear mother imparted her wisdom to me over the summer, you see.”

A dark-haired boy came up behind him and punched him on the shoulder lightly. "Stop grandstanding, Royston. Not everyone’s got parents as soft as yours." 

Royston ran his fingers through his hair again with an infuriating grin. "Poppycock, Abdul, I’m not grandstanding. Just being as straightforward as a lad can be, if you catch my drift."

“You’re grandstanding,” Abdul retorted, "and enjoying  it."

June privately agreed with Abdul’s assessment, but she had no interest in involving herself with stupid arguments between boys. Whatever the sorting entailed, she was sure they wouldn’t be asked to duel one another in front of the entire school. She cast a frown of worry toward the door, her thoughts wandering back toward Nugget. 

Elisenda nudged her. “Let’s find Becky and Myrtle,” she suggested, pulling June along behind her. This proved easier than expected, for at that very moment Myrtle let out a shriek. June jerked her head in Myrtle’s direction as a cry of “ghosts!” went up from the crowd and a group of silvery, translucent figures emerged from the wall.

One of the ghosts, a boy in a Hogwarts uniform who couldn’t have been older than Sylvia or Eliza, was gesticulating furiously as he spoke. “It’s an outrage, I tell you! How can they bring someone on after all this time, and another MacMillan, to boot!”

A fat little monk interjected in soothing tones. “Now, McCabe, things aren’t what they once were, you know. It’s time to let bygones be bygones.”

McCabe regarded the monk with disgust. “Some bygones can ne’er be bygones. Will forgiveness bring the dead back to life? You’d have us smilin’ all the way to the grave.” 

“To have peace we must at times make peace with the past,” the monk said serenely, while McCabe’s expression grew increasingly murderous. “But let us not discuss such things in front of the first years.”

“That’s the Fat Friar!” June whispered to her friends. “Sylvia told me about him! He’s the Hufflepuff ghost.” 

“Is the friar Mr. Hufflepuff?” Elisenda asked, waving almost as vigorously as the friar himself was. “I rather like him.” 

“I actually don’t know what his name is,” June confessed, feeling foolish; it had never occurred to her to ask. “Sylvia only ever calls him the Fat Friar.” 

“I think I’d like to be in Hufflepuff,” Elisenda said thoughtfully, watching as the ghosts vanished one by one through the opposite wall. 

“Hufflepuff would be all right,” June agreed. “I’m hoping to be sorted into Ravenclaw, of course, but Hufflepuff would be my second choice.”  Her desire to be where Sylvia was wasn’t great enough to overcome her keen sense of affiliation with Ravenclaw. She cut off as the door swung open. 

Professor Henshall floated back into the room, something brown and lumpy tucked under one arm. “Right, then, the Sorting Ceremony is about to kick off,” she announced into the silence. “Get in a line and follow on.”

Becky confidently took her place at the front of the line. She was followed by Elisenda. June reluctantly joined them, hoping that by being at the front of the line she could get the sorting over faster. Maybe she’d be allowed up to her dorms afterwards and she could reassure herself that Nugget had safely made it. 

June slunk into the Great Hall after her friends. Nerves dampened any appreciation she might have had for the wonder of Hogwarts. She kept her eyes downcast, shuffling forward. She didn’t need to look to know the eyes of all the older students were trained on her.

Professor Henshall led the first years to a lone table at the front of the hall. This was, evidently, the staff table, for it was entirely occupied by grown witches and wizards. The first years lined up in front of this table, their backs to the teachers.

“There are so many people!” Myrtle whispered from behind her. 

June risked a glance towards the Hufflepuff table, but from this distance, she couldn’t make out which of the blurry faces turned towards them was Sylvia. She wished she had asked Sylvia for more details about what the Sorting entailed, but it had been five years ago that her sister was sorted, and at the time her own sorting had seemed too far in the future to concern herself with.

Professor Henshall flew down the row of first years on her magic carpet, coming to a stop right in front of the midpoint. With a flourish of her wand, she conjured a wooden stool. It spun in midair before landing with a thunk between the first years and the tables full of older students. Then, reverently, she placed her burden upon the cushioned seat.

Now June could see what the professor had been carrying: It was the most decrepit hat she had ever laid eyes on. It was covered in patches whose original patterns had long since faded, the edges were frayed, and it looked very much as if someone had deliberately rolled it through mud at some point. For the life of her, June couldn’t understand how a hat was supposed to sort them. Perhaps it would ask them riddles. Under ordinary circumstances June loved riddles, but she didn’t think she’d love solving one in front of the entire school.

A rip just above the hat’s brim expanded. June thought of tunnels, and ants, and passing through gates for tests of moral fortitude in old fairy tales. Before she could consider strategies for fitting through the hole, the hat began to sing:

“To know which house to call your own

Put me upon your head

And I will look into your brain

For I’ve never been misled

Are you a clever Ravenclaw

With eager, hungry mind?

Or are the loyal Hufflepuff

Where you will find your kind?

Do you strive for power

Like the cunning Slytherin?

If you take great risks perhaps

It’s Gryffindor you’ll be in.

But whether snake or lion

Steadfast badger or clever bird,

Together you must cooperate

Or the future is not assured.”

There were sighs of relief (and dismay) along the row of first years as they realized they would not be dueling one another, but June’s nerves refused to calm. Even if all they were doing was putting on a hat, the thought of an audience was too much. Sylvia had been right; the sorting was far too public for her liking.

Professor Henshall unrolled a long scroll and cleared her throat. The attention of everyone in the hall shifted from the hat to the tiny yellow-robed witch. “When I shout yer name, just come over to the Sorting Hat and plonk it on yer noggin,” she said. “Albo, Elisenda!”

Elisenda bounced forward, grinning, and placed the hat primly atop her head. She didn’t seem remotely distressed by having an audience.

The rip near the brim opened wide, and the hat shouted, “HUFFLEPUFF!” The Hufflepuff table erupted into cheers as its first new member practically skipped across the Great Hall to join them, and a few of the older girls actually rose to their feet to hug her.

June supposed Elisenda must be pleased to have gotten her wish, but she couldn’t deny a sting of disappointment; she had hoped Elisenda would be in Ravenclaw, but the honor of first to be sorted into Ravenclaw went to a stocky blonde girl named Gillian Bagman. 

“Black, Orion” was sorted into Slytherin, where he joined several older lookalikes. The Black family was notorious for their gaggle of cousins — June’s mother referred to them as ‘less pleasant Weasleys.’

“Bones, Ivan.” 

A pale, blond boy stumbled forward, keeping his eyes firmly averted. He jammed the hat on his head as if he hoped it would hide him from his audience. 

“HUFFLEPUFF!” 

Ivan practically ran towards the Hufflepuff table, where Elisenda greeted him by patting the bench beside her. 

“Brown, Royston.”

The annoying boy from the waiting chamber strode jauntily toward the stool. He swept the hat from the stool and waved it at the watching students before plopping it on his head.

“RAVENCLAW!”

June inwardly groaned in dismay. Royston’s sorting didn’t change her deeply held desire to be a Ravenclaw, but she didn’t look forward to sharing a house with him. She didn’t understand how someone so obnoxious could possibly be a Ravenclaw. Surely someone who thought dueling was an appropriate house-sorting manner would be better off as a risk-taking Gryffindor, or even an ambitious Slytherin. But Ravenclaw? Surely the house known for intellect and wisdom should have members with better sense than that! 

“Burke, Wilfred.” 

A scrawny, bespectacled boy tripped over his robes as he stepped forward. He scrambled onto the stool, staring at the hat in his hands for several long seconds before tentatively lowering it onto his head. 

“SLYTHERIN!” 

Wilfred tripped his way down the aisle to the Slytherin table with a concerning amount of clumsiness. 

“Crickerly, Darren.” 

Another boy with glasses stepped forward, but Darren didn’t seem to share Wilfred’s clumsy nature. His posture was unnaturally rigid as he marched toward the hat, staring it down like it was an enemy with whom he was about to do battle. 

“RAVENCLAW!” 

June saw Royston fling an arm around Darren when the latter sat down; Darren pulled away, looking disgruntled. 

“Diggory, Desdemona.” 

A pretty brunette girl strode forward, looking nervous but determined, and placed the hat on her head, which shouted almost immediately, “HUFFLEPUFF!” and she hurried off, looking relieved. 

“Driscoll, Beckerina.”

Becky winked at June and Myrtle as she strode forward. June was envious; Becky didn’t look nervous at all, despite the innumerable faces turned toward her.

“RAVENCLAW!”

Becky dropped the hat onto the stool without looking at it and strode towards the Ravenclaw table, who had risen to their feet to cheer. At least Becky was a Ravenclaw; that made June feel a little better about sharing a House with Royston.

Because of course she was going to be in Ravenclaw. She had to be.

June’s attention wandered as other students made their way to the stool to be sorted into their respective Houses. She wondered if Nugget had escaped from wherever Professor Henshall had stashed the hats; if Nugget tried to get into the hourglasses in the entrance hall, would anyone hear it? A niffler could cause massive amounts of destruction in a place like Hogwarts; who knew how many shiny items existed here? Not to mention how easy it would be for Nugget to become lost in a place this size.

“Hafeez, Abdul.” 

Royston’s friend approached the stool with more visible trepidation than Royston had. He lowered the hat onto his head. It didn’t immediately speak, and Abdul squeezed his eyes shut. But then the hat shouted, “RAVENCLAW!” and, looking more buoyant than he had before putting it on, Abdul nearly skipped his way over to the Ravenclaw table, where Royston was stamping and hollering. 

June stifled another groan. It had been bad enough to imagine sharing a House with one of them; she didn’t want to think what they’d be like together. 

“Hagrid, Rubeus.” 

The huge boy who had taken a boat alone stepped forward, looking excited but nervous. When he went to sit on the stool he knocked it over, but eventually he was seated. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

“Hornby, Olive.” 

The girl with the victory rolls stepped forward, tossing her hair just like she had done on the train. She set the hat daintily upon her head, looking for all the world as if she was modeling it for Witch Weekly instead of being judged by it. 

 “GRYFFINDOR!” 

“Hyams, Esther.” 

A girl wearing a shawl over her hair approached the stool. The hat had barely touched her head before the hat announced, “RAVENCLAW!” 

As the sorting went on, June’s nerves increased. What if — and this thought was almost too horrible to contemplate — what if she wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw? She supposed being Hufflepuff wouldn’t be so bad; she would enjoy sharing a House with Sylvia and Elisenda. But she didn’t think she’d make a very good Slytherin, and she’d make an even worse Gryffindor. 

“Rookwood, Augustus.” 

A gangly boy with jug-like ears stumbled forward. There was an excruciatingly long pause before the hat finally put Augustus in Gryffindor. Then a long-haired boy named Jack Ross was sorted into Ravenclaw to join Royston, Abdul, and Darren. 

“Scrimgeour, June.” 

In the time between the beginning of the sorting and Professor Henshall calling her name, June had worked herself into a panic. What if she put the hat on and it told her she wasn’t clever enough to be in Ravenclaw? This thought was so horrible it was all she could do to force herself to approach the stool. 

The hat looked so innocuous; hardly the sort of object you’d expect to determine the course of your school career. And yet apparently it could determine what kind of person you were. Could it read minds? That was almost as horrible a thought as being told she was stupid. Because if the hat could read minds, it would know about Nugget. What if it told the whole school? 

It was with increasing trepidation that she lowered the hat onto her head. 

“Another Scrimgeour, eh?” said the hat at once. “Brainy, like your father. A hard worker. Loyal, like your sister. But I think we’ll make it…RAVENCLAW!” The last word was shouted to the Great Hall at large. June slid off the stool, feeling weak with relief. She dropped the hat carelessly behind her and half ran, half flapped towards the Ravenclaw table, where students were clapping and whistling for her. Becky scooted over to make room for her, and she had to tuck her arms against her body to prevent herself from flapping them into her friend.

The two girls returned their attention to the sorting. But June’s mind had soon wandered again, the happiness of joining Ravenclaw house dissipating as she fretted over Nugget. She didn’t even realize Myrtle had been sorted until people burst into applause on either side of her. Myrtle squeezed onto the bench next to Becky, looking almost pleased for once. 

When the applause for Myrtle died away, the last two first years were sorted — the tiny blonde twins Achlys and Fausta Yaxley joined the Slytherin table as Professor Henshall tucked the hat back under her arm and vanished the stool from view.

As soon as she was out of sight, an immensely ancient wizard in richly embroidered robes of royal blue rose from his place in the middle of the staff table. His hair, which reached all the way to his shoulders, was pure white and his expression as he regarded the students was somber. "Good evening and welcome back to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Armando Dippet, Headmaster of this glorious castle. Before we enjoy the wonderful start-of-term feast laid out before us, I must introduce our new professor of Magientomology, Professor Opabinia MacMillan.”

At this announcement, a thin witch at the end of the staff table stood up. Everything from the wand stuck into her untidy bun to the slightly crooked angle of her glasses gave her an air of absentmindedness. She gave a small wave as the students politely applauded. Headmaster Dippet’s speech continued, droning on about the importance of following school rules and the sorts of punishments the caretaker would inflict upon anyone found to be breaking them, all of which sounded immensely painful. June squirmed guiltily in her seat. She considered herself the sort of person who took rules seriously, but she knew she’d be in trouble if anyone found out she’d let a niffler loose in the castle. 

Next to her, Becky muttered under her breath, “Let’s crack on! I’m starving!” 

But he kept going, giving announcements about different activities, such as the magical choir and the gobstones club. June tuned out completely when he started announcing the dates to  Quidditch tryouts. She had never been less interested in anything than she was in trying out for  Quidditch. After what seemed like ages, he sat down again. “Now, let us enjoy the feast!” 

As if conjured out of nowhere, platters of food appeared on the tables: Steak and kidney pie, jellied eels, roast lamb, roasted potatoes, peas, rhubarbs…June’s mouth watered as she took it all in. 

“House-elf magic,” Royston stage-whispered impressively to his friend Abdul. “Hogwarts has a jolly good number of those chaps, don’t you know.”

June did her best not to roll her eyes at his showing off. She hoped she wouldn’t have to spend too much time around him, just because they were in the same house. 

Beside her, Becky sighed wistfully. “I can't remember the last time I laid eyes on this much grub.”

“Me, neither,” Myrtle said. She stared around at the feast as if she didn’t know where to start. “Are wizards not subject to rationing?” 

“We are,” June answered, pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice. “It’s been absolute rubbish.” 

They fell to eating with a vengeance. Most of the students -– witch and Muggle alike — had suffered from the Ministry’s food restrictions, and everyone was eager to eat their fill for the first time in months. At last the feast ended, and the prefects lead the sleepy, satisfied first years to their dorms. The Ravenclaw prefects were a tall girl named Jill Stretton and a curly haired boy named Will Burrow. 

Jill led the way out of the Great Hall and Will Burrow brought up the rear, effectively preventing June from lingering to look for Nugget. They ascended the marble staircase in the entrance hall, then up a spiral staircase lined with paintings of witches and wizards decked out in old-fashioned clothes. They continued making their way up, up, up what felt like endless flights of stairs. Just when June thought she would collapse where she was, they reached a door. And upon the door was affixed a huge bronze door knocker in the shape of an eagle. The eagle’s head twisted to look at the first years as it spoke. “What has a heart that doesn’t beat, a mouth that doesn’t speak, and can run but never walk?”

Jill patted the door knocker proudly. “Allow me to introduce you to our state-of-the-art security system. Nobody is getting into Ravenclaw tower unless they can answer a riddle.” 

A chorus of groans broke out at this announcement. 

Jill gave them a quelling look. “You wouldn’t want rogue Gryffindors to break into our tower, would you?”

June, who had been privy to many of Eliza Beetle's stories about Gryffindors, was glad to know there were riddles between her and the Gryffindors, but most of the other first years looked shocked at the very idea of another House breaking in. 

"Why would they do that?" Abdul asked. 

It was Will who answered this time. “Some blokes will go to any lengths when the  Quidditch Cup is dangling in front of them. Now  go on, get thinking and prove you're proper Ravenclaws." 

June and her friends huddled together, debating the riddle. On the other side of the prefects the first year boys were engaged in the same whispered conference. 

“A nose runs,” June said. “But I’ve never heard of a nose having a heart or a mouth.” 

“What about a clock?” Myrtle suggested. “Or a train?” 

And then there was a shout of triumph from among the first year boys. “I’ve got it!” Royston said, grinning smugly. “A river.” 

June scowled furiously, but her annoyance evaporated when she stepped into the Ravenclaw common room. It was an airy, open room bedecked in bronze and blue. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings and the walls were lined with shelves stuffed full of books, like their own personal library. 

Jill led them across the common room to a spiral staircase on the other end of the tower. “Boys’ dorms are that door on the left,” she said, pointing. “And girls are on the right. You’ll find your luggage is ahead of you.”

June took off through the right door before any of the other first years had moved. It had been a long day and she was exhausted, but it wasn’t the promise of sleep that lent her haste. 

Please let Nugget be here, please let Nugget be here , she prayed as she ran up the stairs to the first year dorms. 

Her trunk was there, just as Jill had promised. And there, sitting atop her trunk, was the hat Professor Henshall had confiscated from her. 

But Nugget was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Text

When June went down to breakfast the next morning, the hourglasses were still standing which was a relief. It was also a relief when Professor Henshall, who was Head of Ravenclaw house, handed the first years their schedule and June saw they only had two classes that day – Transfiguration and Double Potions, both with the Hufflepuffs. That ought to leave her with plenty of time for niffler hunting. 

But it didn’t. 

It wasn’t that the classes themselves took up such a great amount of time (other than Double Potions), but June had never had to navigate a place quite so infuriatingly complicated as Hogwarts castle before. 

Sylvia had warned her about the castle’s shifting architecture, but that didn’t stop her from getting lost. Sometimes, she found herself opening a door expecting a classroom only to find herself facing a solid wall. Other times, she took a flight of stairs that had led to the third floor yesterday only to discover that today they bypassed both the third and fourth floor and headed straight for the fifth floor. A corridor that had connected to the library might send her to the armory the next time she used it, doubling the amount of time it took to get to class. 

And it was no use hoping for landmarks; the suits of armor rearranged themselves during the night, and the people in the portraits were too social to remain in their own frames. 

To make matters worse, Peeves, the castle poltergeist, blocked hallways and wreaked havoc that even the professors couldn’t put a stop to. Apollyon Pringle, the caretaker, could threaten the poltergeist into temporarily behaving, but he was equally prone to threatening lost students, as the first years quickly discovered. It was no use asking him for help. 

The Fat Friar was always willing to help a student in need — even those who weren’t in Hufflepuff — but most of the castle ghosts weren’t much more reliable than Peeves. 

One, the ghost of a dim-witted wizard called Achelates Montague, was more likely to direct students to the classrooms in use a hundred years ago rather than the ones they were actually trying to get to, and June had a nasty suspicion that Fergal McCabe, who haunted the clock tower, deliberately misdirected first years.

On lunch of the first day, June approached Will Burrow and asked if there wasn’t a map of campus she could use. 

“A map?” Will nearly choked on his sausage. “There’s nobody who could map old Hogwarts.” 

June frowned down at her own plate of sausages, feeling quite cross at his reaction, but trying not to show it; after all, it was no good getting on the wrong side of a prefect so early into her career as a Hogwarts student. “Aren’t the professors here supposed to be quite good? Can none of them create a map? What about that Professor Dumbledore, he’s supposed to be clever.” 

“I don’t believe there’s a witch or wizard alive that could do it,” Will answered, wiping bits of sausage off his chin as he spoke. “A huge castle whose layout never stays the same? Can you imagine the kind of skill that would take?” 

June, who had believed that magic could solve any problem short of war, was deeply disappointed. Apparently she would just have to resign herself to being late until she learned her way around. 

Fortunately the professors were all tolerant of tardiness in the first week, while the first years were still learning their way around. Even so, June’s cheeks burned with shame every time she slunk into class after the lecture had begun, all because a stairwell hadn’t led where she’d expected, or Peeves had dropped a wastepaper basket on top of her head.

Tardiness wasn’t her only problem; she also missed her siblings, even Sylvia, whom she had expected to see more of since they were both Hogwarts students. But Sylvia was busy with her prefect duties, and as they were in different houses, they didn’t even have evenings in the common room together. Their paths crossed at mealtimes, but hardly anywhere else.

Then there was the newfound responsibility that came with being a Hogwarts student. 

Her parents had, of course, assigned her chores, but they had always overseen her efforts. Or, at the very least, had prompted her with reminders when she forgot.

Her professors, on the other hand, didn't offer gentle reminders, nor check with students to make sure they were getting their work done outside of class. 

June had always disliked asking for help, but realizing the professors had such a dim view of any student who needed reminding put her off the idea more than ever. 

She didn’t want her professors to think of her as stupid or lazy, so she couldn’t tell them when she was struggling. She simply had to solve her own problems. 

But for all the difficulty she had in finding them, the classes themselves were interesting. 

Her first class, Transfiguration, was taught by a wizard who was, to most of them, more myth than man: Albus Dumbledore. Every child in the wizarding world had heard his name, attached to exploits they only half-understood, gleaned from the whispers of the adults around them.

The first years had all been looking forward to his class, expecting to meet a genius and to be taught the impressive feats of magic they’d all been dreaming of. Instead, they were greeted by a gangly, red-headed wizard in flashy robes who, although his blue eyes twinkled like he was in on a joke, dashed the students’ hopes of performing magic in their first class. Instead, they were subjected to lectures on magical theory. 

Their next class, Potions, was the only class taught in the dungeons. They descended the dungeon steps, voices growing hushed as the light from the torches grew dimmer and the temperature began to drop. By the time they arrived at the Potions classroom the whole class had fallen into a diffident silence. 

The classroom itself was warmer than the corridors that led to it, but the warmth did little to dispel the creepiness that pervaded the room. Bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes lined the shelves along the walls, contents inscrutable from a distance. June longed for a closer look so she could read the labels. 

Professor Slughorn, was nearly as fat as Professor Dumbledore was thin, although he wore robes that matched Dumbledore’s for extravagance. They were a luxurious, plum colored velvet, thoroughly impractical for brewing potions. But there were no stains or burns or suspicious holes anywhere visible, and June wondered if he was very fastidious in his brewing, or if he knew particularly strong spells for undoing the results of any unfortunate accidents.

He began class by calling roll. He passed over Elisenda Albo, Gillian Bagman, and Ivan Bones without comment, but when he reached Darren Crickerly he lowered his scroll, peering keenly at Darren. “Were you related to the late Venusia Crickerly?”

Darren’s already rigid posture became even more unnaturally straight. “She was my great-aunt, sir.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Slughorn boomed. “One of our greatest Ministers of Magic. The wizarding world could do with a sharp mind like hers in today’s climate.”

“Did you know her, sir?” 

“That I did, m’boy. An excellent woman, Venusia.” 

Darren nodded uncertainly in response, and Slughorn continued on with the roll call.

He didn’t stop again until he reached June’s name. “Another Scrimgeour,” He said, winking jovially at her. “Your father works at the Ministry, if I’m not mistaken?” 

“Yessir,” June said in a whisper, sinking down into her seat. She was keenly aware of the eyes of her classmates turned on her; she wished they would look away. 

“A clever man, your father. Your sister says he’s involved in Portkey research.” Although it wasn’t a question, he looked at her expectantly. 

June, who couldn’t fathom what she was supposed to say, dropped her gaze to her desk. Then, to her immense relief, Professor Slughorn resumed roll call, and after confirming the presence of Caleb Shacklebolt and Myrtle Warren the class began their first potions lesson. 

At first, this proved to be quite dull, and June’s mind wandered as she copied down notes about basic cauldron care and safe potioneering practices. She wondered if Nugget would find glowing potions as enticing as glittering metals; she hoped not, for Nugget’s sake. 

“...of course, potioneers only harvest ingredients from animals that have died a natural death or else those parts that will not kill or permanently maim the animal.” 

June’s head jerked up. When had the lecture shifted to the topic of potions ingredients? She glanced toward her potions ingredient kit. So many of the labels were for insect parts – lacewings, dragonfly wings, beetle eyes. But she also knew how many people considered insects as separate from other animals. 

Tentatively she raised her hand. “Does that include insects?” she asked. 

“Why, of course, I include insects, m’girl!” Slughorn sounded quite shocked she had to ask. “Only those deeply ensconced in the Dark Arts sacrifice other living creatures for the sake of magical power.”

“Sacrifice?” Royston scoffed. Beside him, Abdul Hafeez turned red and sank into his seat. “They’re merely insects.” 

“A life is a life, m’boy,” Slughorn admonished gravely. “Any sacrifice of a life for the purpose of performing magic, no matter how seemingly insignificant, corrupts the wielder. Or the brewer, as the case may be.” 

Royston’s mouth tightened. “That’s absurd,” he retorted, apparently unable to resist an argument even against a teacher. “Honestly, chaps, we all inadvertently squish a few bugs in our daily escapades, don’t we?” 

Abdul had now slouched so far down into his seat his chin was touching the top of the table and Darren Crickerly was staring straight ahead, his expression frozen into a grimace. 

Even the Hufflepuffs were eyeing Royston as if he might be dangerous. Desdemona Diggory and Ivan Bones surreptitiously dragged their table further away from him. 

Elisenda raised her hand into the air. “What if the sacrifice of an animal is done to perform magic not for power, but to save the lives of other wizards?” she asked. “Aren’t wizard lives more important?” 

Slughorn was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable now. “Let us not speak any more on this,” he said briskly. “You’re here to learn potions, not Dark Arts.” 

For just a moment, Elisenda looked as if she might argue, but then she sat back down in silence. 

The rest of the lesson continued uninterrupted until the bell rang signaling the end of class. June shot to her feet and was halfway to the door when Slughorn called her name.

“Scrimgeour, Crickerly,” he said, rummaging through his desk drawers. “I’d like a word with the two of you, if you please.”

June halted, reluctant. The dungeon corridors beckoned, dark and unexplored. Nifflers were subterranean animals; it wasn’t impossible that Nugget had chosen a home in the dungeon now that she was free of wizard cages.

Myrtle patted June’s shoulder and whispered, “I’ll wait for you in the corridor.”

June suppressed a sigh of yearning as she turned to face Slughorn. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Darren looking as resigned as she felt.

“I hope the two of you can join me for a little get together Friday night,” Slughorn said, not looking up.

“A get together?” Darren’s voice cracked. 

“That’s right.” Slughorn straightened, holding two tightly rolled parchments tied with ribbon the same plum color as his robes. “Just a little supper club for a few of my best students, eh?”

He handed one to each of them. 

“Thank you, professor,” June said, and she pocketed the invitation. 

True to her word, Myrtle was still in the corridor when June and Darren left the potions classroom. 

Myrtle pushed herself away from the wall and fell into step beside June. “What did Slughorn want with you?” 

“He thinks Crickerly and I are his best students or some such nonsense,” June answered. She peered into the darkness that led away from the main corridor, straining to catch any glimpse of a niffler whisker. “I can’t see how he’d know that. It isn’t like we’ve done anything yet.” 

Myrtle tsked impatiently. “I hope he isn’t always like that,” she began, heading toward the stairwell. Then she stopped, realizing June wasn’t with her. “Aren’t you coming?” 

Darren had already disappeared up the stairs, eager to leave the cold dungeons behind. Slughorn was in his classroom. That meant it was only June and Myrtle. 

June hesitated only a moment before whispering, “It’s Nugget. She escaped. Last night, before the sorting.” 

“Oh, June, no!” Myrtle breathed. “A niffler loose in the castle is bad.” 

The horrified look on Myrtle’s face made June feel worse than ever. “That’s why I’ve got to— ” she broke off abruptly. There were voices coming down the stairs. 

“It isn’t a fairytale,” one of the voices, a girl’s voice, was saying angrily. “If she thinks we can bring him back, then we can bring him back.” 

“But we don’t even know where to bring him back from,” said another girl defensively. 

Around the corner came Fausta and Achlys Yaxley, deep in an argument. 

“You know what your problem is?” Fausta hissed. “You give up too easily.” 

June and Myrtle both drew back, but it was too late. The Yaxley’s fell silent as they noticed the other two girls. 

Fausta was the first to break the stand off. “What are the two of you doing here?” she demanded. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying. 

“We were just leaving potions class,” June said. “What are you doing here? Slytherins don’t have potions today.” 

“No, we don’t,” Achlys agreed. “But old Sluggy is our head of house, so if you don’t mind…”

“Come on,” Myrtle murmured as the Yaxleys disappeared into the potions classroom. “We’d better leave before those two come back.” 

Reluctantly, June followed Myrtle up the stairwell.

When they reached the warmth of the Entrance Hall she asked anxiously, “Do you think they heard us talking about Nugget?” 

Myrtle looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. They sounded preoccupied with their own search. I wonder who they’re trying to bring back?” 

But June couldn’t bring herself to care. All that mattered to her was that once again her search for Nugget had been thwarted. 

And if she’d hoped she’d be able to look for Nugget during the rest of the day, she was sorely mistaken. Apollyon Pringle seemed to pop up all over the castle, scowling at her with so much suspicion she was beginning to suspect he might be a Legilimens. And if not Pringle, it was Peeves or Royston or one of the prefects, including her sister and her sister’s best friend, a Slytherin prefect by the name of Vesta Hawksworth. 

“What on earth are you doing all the way down here?” Sylvia asked in exasperation when she caught June wandering the fifth corridor in her fruitless search. 

Not wanting to admit the truth, June said, “I got lost on the way to the library.” 

Sylvia looked sympathetic. “Old magical buildings are terrible,” she said. “The library is always changing floors. Come on, Vesta and I will show you where it is on Mondays.” 

By the time supper came around, June was beginning to wonder if searching Hogwarts wouldn’t prove to be impossible. 

Evidently something of her mood showed on her face, because as soon as Becky sat down she said, “What’s got you in a twist? You’re lookin’ like Warren.” 

June glanced around to make sure Gillian Bagman and Esther Hyams were occupied before whispering, “That thing from the train. It got loose.” 

“That thing…? Oooh,” Becky said, a look of dawning realization on her face. “That’s no good. When did it happen, then?” 

“Last night,” June said miserably. “When we arrived. She could be anywhere by now!” 

Becky patted June on the hat awkwardly. “Ah, she’ll turn up, y’know. Nifflers can’t keep themselves hid for too long. We just have t’find her before anyone else does. That’s all there is.”

But the week wore on and Nugget did not turn up. The only indication June had that the niffler hadn’t vanished entirely were complaints among the student body that their belongings were going missing. 

This made it quite difficult for June to concentrate during lessons, especially History of Magic. While Sylvia had warned June that Professor Binns was a dreadful bore, June had been politely skeptical of this assertion; Sylvia was better with people than with facts and dates.

Unfortunately, she was right. Some of the students, still unused to ghosts, had been startled when their professor floated through the wall at the beginning of their first class.

That was the first and last time he had any of their attention — even Darren Crickerly’s eyes glazed over during Binns’s lessons, and he was even more neurotic than June. 

June tried to cope with the boredom by reading her textbook, since Professor Binns seemed oblivious to all student activity. She knew wizarding history was a perfectly enthralling subject, but her mind kept returning to Nugget. Where was her niffler? Surely she would find some clue to lead her to her pet soon. 

She even struggled to pay attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms, both of which she had been looking forward to. 

Like Potions, the Ravenclaws had Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs. 

June liked the Hufflepuff students. They were, as a rule, studious workers who took their classwork seriously, which was more than could be said for some of her fellow Ravenclaws. No matter how often the teachers docked points for their behavior, Royston and Abdul were irrepressible. It was irritating, really; June wanted to listen to the lectures, and it was next to impossible with classmates who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. 

She wondered irritably whether they even realized just how much they were inconveniencing everyone else, or if they even cared at all. Maybe being thought of as nuisances didn’t bother them; she couldn’t fathom that. She hated to feel that she was interfering with other people’s work, even when she herself was feeling lazy. And of course, when it came to lessons she wanted to prove she understood the material, which was rather difficult if she didn’t hear what the teacher had to say. 

But cleverness, it turned out, wasn’t a synonym for studiosness and a curious mind didn’t necessitate any effort to put knowledge into practice. This was another thing June couldn’t understand; what was the point of being clever if you never did anything with your cleverness? And how could you continue to prove you were clever if you skived off during class? That seemed the path to being a has-been, and that thought terrified her more than she’d ever have admitted. 

But that terror wasn’t enough to sharpen her concentration when Professor Merrythought told them to get out their books and copy the definitions of Hex, Jinx, and Curse. 

Even with the definitions in front of her, June felt the distinctions were imprecise. And to make matters more confusing, some spells listed as hexes or jinxes in The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection were listed in both Encyclopedia of Enchantments Volume I and Elementary Practical Transfigurations as perfectly acceptable, non-Dark spells.

It only took one look at Professor Merrythought for June to decide against asking for clarification. Professor Merrythought was the head of Hufflepuff and Sylvia claimed she was very nice, but the fact remained that Merrythought looked more like a viking than a teacher. 

The Ravenclaws had charms with the Gryffindors. 

June had mixed feelings about the Gryffindors. Some of them were all right – She quite liked Rubeus Hagrid, an enormous boy bigger than most of the teachers. And Lyall Lupin seemed all right. But Olive Hornby, sensing weakness, had taken to calling Myrtle “four-eyes” when passing the Ravenclaws in the corridor and Augustus Rookwood was constantly egging Royston on to greater and more obnoxious heights. 

It didn’t help that the charms teacher, Professor Goshawk, was head of Gryffindor house. A wiry woman with iron gray curls, Goshawk was even more intimidating than Merrythought. At least Merrythought knew how to smile; Goshawk looked at the students as if she suspected them of nefarious deeds. And in some cases, she was absolutely correct — she docked more points off Royston Brown than all the other teachers combined, which June could appreciate. On the other hand, she was also known to dock points off students for such crimes as ‘asking bloody stupid questions’ and ‘reading ahead in the textbooks’ which seemed less reasonable. This caused particular distress for the Ravenclaws, who all had read ahead. 

Not that it would have done them any good in any case; Goshawk, like Dumbledore, insisted they master the fundamentals of magical theory before they could begin spellcasting. 

Of all the non-spellcasting classes June was looking forward to, Herbology was at the top of the list, as it was the only class first years took that was anywhere near wizarding naturalism. She had also heard quite a lot about Professor Beery from Sylvia, who was a member of the drama club Beery ran. So Wednesday morning while the rest of the class yawned and moaned their way to the entrance hall, June bounded down the stairs with bright eyed enthusiasm. 

There they met the Slytherins, with whom they would be taking their lessons, clad in heavy work robes and dragonhide gloves. They exited the castle onto the misty Hogwarts grounds in the sleepy silence of early morning. The fog made it all but impossible to judge distance, and if it hadn’t been for the professor standing outside the greenhouse with a lantern, June was sure she would have marched straight past the greenhouses until she ended up in the Forbidden Forest. 

The students stumbled to a halt in front of the greenhouse. The lantern light illuminated the figure of a wizard barely older than the seventh years, with high cheekbones and a shock of dark hair. 

“Come in, I don’t bite.” Beery gestured toward a row of wooden tables covered with clay pots, and the students took their places. “Some of the plants do, of course,” he added with a chuckle, “but never mind about them.”

Most of the class drew away from the seemingly innocuous clay pots in front of them, but June brought her face right up to the rim of her pot to peer eagerly into the depths. To her disappointment there was nothing to be seen but dark potting soil. Not even the tip of a green sprout poked through the dirt.

“Welcome to Herbology! I’m Professor Beery.” The professor expanded his arms to take in the entire greenhouse, and almost swept a fanged geranium off the shelf behind him. Its mouth closed around air as he jerked his hand away. “And that’s why we wear gloves!”

There was scattered, nervous laughter that quickly petered out.

Beery cleared his throat, and continued as if a vicious, carnivorous plant hadn’t interrupted him. “Herbology is a class of mystery, intrigue and wonderful, miraculous, devastatingly dangerous plant life.”

June and Becky leaned forward eagerly. Myrtle sighed in resignation.

“But for today,” Professor Beery said, marching over to a lone table at the front of the class, “we’ll be learning how to determine soil quality.”

Becky wilted in transparent disappointment, and only sullenly poked at her pot of soil, but June, to her surprise, found this exercise rather enjoyable. She dug around in her clay pot, observing the color and texture while listening intently to Beery’s lecture. All around the greenhouse other students did the same with varying degrees of enthusiasm — Myrtle looked afraid the pot might bite her and Orion Black was muttering under his breath about the indignity of being expected to play in the dirt. Royston and Abdul were digging almost as vigorously as June, but Darren Crickerly had a similar look on his face to the one Myrtle was wearing. 

“Wizard Naturalists,” he began, “divide soil organisms into five major categories: Protists, microfauna, mesofauna, macrofauna, and megafauna. Protists include things like bacteria and algae, that we can’t see unless we use an engorgement charm on them. Not that you’d want to!”

He chuckled at his own joke; the students exchanged uncomfortable glances. 

“In this class,” he continued cheerfully, “we’re primarily concerned with macrofauna and mesofauna. Mesofauna can be seen with the naked eye if you look hard enough. Think creatures such as springtails or mites. Macrofauna are the usual critters you think of when you think of garden soil–snails, centipedes, earthworms, that sort of thing.” 

“Now, these organisms have a role to play in maintaining soil health. Aerating soil to improve drainage, stimulating soil fertility, breaking down decaying matter… all necessary. And their health can be indicators of soil quality. If you don’t have any springtails or ants in your garden, for instance, it means there’s a problem with your soil.”

June looked up from her pot. She hadn’t expected ants to come up in any of her classes. At least, not until third year, when she’d finally be able to take Magientomology. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Beery continued, wagging a finger at the class. “You’re thinking: that crazy Professor Beery! Everyone knows springtails are crop pests. But I’ll tell you this: A springtail’s jumping ability directly correlates with soil quality. The higher your little springtail can jump, the better quality your soil is and the happier your plants will be.”

Wilfred Burke put his hand in the air.“Professor, what’s a springtail?”

“What’s a springtail?” Beery grasped his chest and staggered backward theatrically. “What’s a springtail? A springtail is a tiny, wingless arthropod. Very round and… jumpy. Springy, if you will.”

Royston and Abdul nearly fell out of their seats with laughter. June managed a giggle, but she sobered up quickly when she realized she was agreeing with Royston. The rest of the class stared at Professor Beery, unblinking and unsmiling – all except Wilfred, whose face was crimson. 

“Tough crowd, eh?” Beery asked and, not seeming deterred in the slightest, continued on with his lecture on springtails. “So, the reason we correlate a springtail’s ability to jump with soil quality is because they give off tiny pulses of ambient magic when they jump. Harmless to us — but very useful to plants! It helps magical roots ‘wake up,’ absorb more nutrients, and tune into the magical currents of the soil. So if your springtails are hopping like mad, it means your soil’s not just healthy — it’s thriving.”

“I was asking a serious question,” Wilfred mumbled sullenly, but Beery didn’t seem to hear. 

Beside Wilfred, Orion Black was eyeing his pot with unconcealed disgust. “This ghastly class is far too early,” he complained. “Must we get up before the sun just to dig in the dirt like overgrown garden pests?” 

Beery laughed heartily, as if Orion had told a joke. “Keep digging, my overgrown garden pests. Can you see any mesofauna or macrofauna?” 

Jack Ross pushed his long hair out of his face, leaving a streak of dirt across his forehead. He didn’t seem to notice; he was staring at Beery, his brow furrowed. “What about megafauna? Didn’t you say there were megafauna?” 

“You won’t be seeing any megafauna in a pot that size,” Beery answered. “Nor will you see them in any of the Hogwarts greenhouses.” 

“Why not?” Jack pressed, rubbing more dirt on his face while Abdul and Royston snickered rudely.

“Megafauna are larger animals that spend much of their life below ground. Badgers, moles, nifflers,” Beery explained. “Those sorts. I hope you can see why we won’t be dealing with any of them in Herbology.” 

“I’d rather see moles than ants,” Myrtle grumbled. She was scowling at her pot with her arms folded; June scowled at Myrtle, offended on behalf of her beloved ants. 

Beery heard her and swept over to the table where she was working with June and Becky. “You’re not alone in those feelings,” he said. “Some witches and wizards try to repel all insects from their gardens, but that’s a mistake. When ants construct their nests, they enrich the surrounding soil. A garden with no ants is a garden that won’t grow.”

June’s face was buried in her pot again, but she was listening raptly all the same. 

“I’d like to see an ant nest up close,” she sighed wistfully. “Wouldn’t it be just grand, exploring it at ant height?” 

And then she thought about the missing Magientomology professors. Could they have shrunk themselves down to ant-sized for their studies and gotten stuck that way? It certainly seemed to fit, especially for the Thorns. As myrmepaths it would have been tempting to spend time living in an ant nest, learning the ways of the colony first hand. 

Then she mentally shook herself out of those thoughts. That’s not my mystery to solve , she reminded herself firmly. There’s only one mystery I need to worry about, and that’s finding Nugget. 

Chapter Text

Friday dawned cold and windy. The trees of the Forbidden Forest swayed ominously in the distance, and the surface of the lake was whipped into frothing waves. Red and orange leaves swirled through the air, blown up from the paths where they had fallen, creating flying obstacles.

June and the other first years shivered as they made their way to the greenhouses, swathed in scarves and winter cloaks despite the fact it was only September. Inside the greenhouses, however, it was downright balmy and the students were soon sweating beneath their heavy work robes while Beery lectured them on proper watering techniques, the differences between monocarpic and polycarpic plants, and how to determine the appropriate amount of sunlight for any given plant. 

Beery paced the front of the class as he lectured, gesticulating wildly and speaking at such a rapid clip the students struggled to keep up. The fanged geranium snapped at him as he passed. He sidestepped without stopping. 

“I hope we get to feed Mudbloods to those,” Orion Black whispered behind June. This earned appreciative giggles from the Yaxley sisters. 

Professor Beery continued pacing the front of the classroom; he didn’t seem to have heard the remark. She ought to say something… she couldn’t allow people to make prejudiced comments like that in her hearing… But Beery was still talking, and she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt a teacher.

Becky, however, had no such compunctions. She swung around to give Orion a cool stare. “Say that again and I’ll knock your lights out.” 

Orion folded his arms, regarding Becky with the same coldness she was giving him. “Temper, temper, Driscoll,” he tutted. “Of course, that is what your kind is known for, isn’t it? Throwing tantrums over every little thing.” 

Becky clenched a fist and stepped closer until she was looming over him. “You swotty little — ” 

“Here, now, what’s all this?” asked Beery, pausing mid-lecture as he finally noticed the row that had broken out in the back of the greenhouse. 

“Driscoll is threatening me, professor,” Orion said innocently. This assertion was met with vigorous nods of support from his fellow Slytherins. 

“Professor,” Becky said quickly. “Black said— ” 

“There’s no call for violence, young lady,” Beery interrupted, wagging a gloved finger under her nose. “I’m afraid that’s going to be five points from Ravenclaw.”

Becky sputtered indignantly. Then, with a murderous look at Orion, she turned back to her pot, muttering furiously under her breath. 

When the class ended, she shoved her things back into her bag aggressively. Orion and the Yaxley’s lingered under the pretense of helpfully stacking watering cans. 

“You’d better watch out, Driscoll,” Orion taunted as he passed with a tower of watering cans in his arms. “That temper of yours will get you in trouble one day.” 

“Shut your fat gob,” Becky snapped, slinging her bag over her shoulder with such force she nearly hit him in the face. 

She strode out of the greenhouse with her head held high. June and the others followed her out into the wind. 

“What was he going on about?” Myrtle panted, struggling to keep up with Becky’s longer legs. “All that your kind business. Does he think you’re Muggle-born?” 

“No,” Becky said grimly. “He’s callin’ me Irish.” 

Neither June nor Myrtle quite knew what to say to that. They exchanged looks as she stomped back up to the castle. 

As they made their way after her a voice carried over the wind. 

“Oi, Scrimgeour! Wait up!” 

June turned to see Darren Crickerly puffing up the lawn behind them. She paused, waving her friends on. They didn’t need telling twice, but hastened up to the castle to escape the wind. 

“Are you planning to go to the Slug Club tonight?” Darren asked once he’d caught up. 

Malacology was almost as interesting as entomology, so it was a perfectly reasonable guess that she’d attend. Only, Darren ought to know better than anyone she already had plans. “But tonight is that shindig Professor Slughorn invited us to.” 

“That is the Slug Club,” Darren answered. 

June hadn’t realized that the Potions’ master ran a malacology club. As a matter of fact, she had suspected his invitation to tonight’s get-together had more to do with her father than herself, but he must have asked because of the concern she’d shown to insects during class.

The realization that Slughorn’s invitation was to a Slug Club filled her with such exuberance she let go of her hat to wave her arms in cheerful abandon.

Almost at once the wind dragged June’s hat from her head, tossing it across the leaf-strewn grounds. She chased it halfway to the forest before Ogg appeared, his cap pulled low over his face, and a bag full of leaves in one hand. He wordlessly flicked his wand at the runaway hat, which came zooming towards them almost faster than it had traveled by wind.

She jammed it back onto her head with a hurried thanks. Ogg merely grunted and resumed his leaf clearing duties.

June sprinted up the lawn, holding onto her hat with one hand. 

Nothing could dampen her mood. Not losing her hat, not the tedium of History of Magic, not the continued absence of Nugget.

Her good cheer continued all the way until Charms.

At first, it promised to be an excellent lesson. Now that all the students had read the first chapter of Magical Theory , Professor Goshawk was finally teaching them their first real spell. 

Goshawk had demonstrated a simple levitation charm to the class, then set them to practicing on their own. They were now bent over their desks, attempting to lift feathers into the air. 

It was, to June’s consternation, quite difficult for such a simple spell. She flicked her wand at the feather in front of her, muttering the incantation under her breath. The feather lay quite still on top of her desk. 

With a sigh she glanced surreptitiously around the room. Nobody, it seemed, was having much luck. Augustus Rookwood was concentrating so hard he seemed to have forgotten to breathe, and Becky looked as if she might stab the feather with her wand instead of levitating it. Rubeus had knocked his feather off his desk, and Olive Hornby looked ready to burst into tears.

Myrtle wasn’t even attempting to perform the spell, but instead was heaving great, gloomy sighs while staring morosely at her feather. 

June turned back to her own feather. This was only a beginner spell; if she wasn’t capable of performing it, she wouldn’t have been invited to attend Hogwarts in the first place. She took a deep breath and flicked her wand at the feather again, forcing herself to speak the incantation louder this time. 

“Wingardium Leviosa.” 

That seemed to do the trick. Her feather lifted off the desk and hovered in front of her face.

Behind her, Gillian Bagman squealed, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “June! You did it!” 

June felt decidedly smug at that moment. She lowered her wand, and as she did so her feather drifted lazily down to the desk.

Professor Goshawk, who had made her way to Olive Hornby’s desk and was correcting her wand grip, glanced up with a severe frown. “Bagman. Scrimgeour. A little less talking or I’ll have to deduct points from Ravenclaw.”

She turned back to Olive with an encouraging nod. “Go on, Hornby, try it now.” 

Olive screwed up her face in concentration, flicking her wand at her feather as she spoke the incantation. Her feather rose into the air for a fraction of a second before it fell again. 

Goshawk’s mouth twitched into something that could almost have been called a smile if one stretched the definition. “Very good, Hornby,” she said in a pleased sort of voice. “I knew you could do it. Ten points for Gryffindor for being the first in the class to perform a spell.” 

"Er, beg your pardon, Professor?" piped up Royston from behind June. "Scrimgeour had her feather hovering before anyone else, didn’t she?"

June was so surprised by his support that she turned to gape at him just in time to get a feather in the face. She shrieked in alarm and swatted it away from her. 

“Scrimgeour! Brown! What in Merlin’s beard are you doing?” Professor Goshawk snapped, whirling on the pair of them. 

Royston bent down to retrieve the feather from the ground. “I was giving that levitation spell a go, as you requested,” he answered, sounding aggrieved. 

“I didn’t ask you to launch it at your fellow students,” Goshawk said testily. “That’s ten points from Ravenclaw from both of you.” 

Royston sputtered indignantly, swelling up to protest, but Abdul quickly elbowed him. 

“Not worth it, mate.” 

Royston sank back down into his seat sullenly. 

When the bell rang for dismissal, Olive pushed past Myrtle on the way to the door. “You’re so pathetic, Warren,” she whispered into Myrtle’s ear with a sneer. “What kind of witch can’t even perform a basic levitation spell?” 

This was the final straw for June. She rounded on Olive. “Leave Myrtle alone!” She shouted, too angry to care that people were stopping to stare. “You’re always picking on her. What’d she ever do to you?” 

Myrtle lowered her head so that her hair hid her face, but June heard the distinct sound of sniffling, like Myrtle was holding back tears. 

“Picking on her?” Olive scoffed, giving Myrtle a disdainful once over. “I’m only telling the truth. If she’s got an ounce of magic in her I’m a ghost.” 

Becky placed herself in front of Myrtle protectively. “Warren’s obviously got magic or she wouldn’t be here, now would she?” 

“Hogwarts made a mistake,” Olive said carelessly. “Maybe there was a different Warren who was supposed to come. Or maybe,” and here she lowered her voice, casting a malicious look at Myrtle, “she’s a Squib.” 

This pronouncement earned a bark of incredulous laughter from Royston, who had left the classroom behind Olive. “Oh, do pipe down, Hornby. Muggle-borns simply can’t be Squibs. That’s a rather wizard-y dilemma, if you catch my drift.” 

There was a clatter of falling books as a group of Hufflepuff first years, led by Elisenda Albo, rounded the corner just in time to hear. Elisenda had drawn her wand, which she was holding level with Royston’s chest in a menacing sort of way. 

“Being a Squib isn’t a dilemma ,” she snarled with such venom Royston took a step backward, though his indulgent smile remained in place. 

"Steady on, Albo!" Royston lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "I merely meant to suggest that Warren could not possibly fit the bill."

Elisenda didn’t lower her wand. She continued glaring at Royston, breathing heavily. 

Royston’s smile finally faltered and he gave a weak, “I say — ” 

“If I ever hear you speak in such a disrespectful manner again….” Elisenda began. 

Whatever it was she might do to Royston they never found out, because at that moment Professor Goshawk loomed from the doorway of the Charms’ classroom. 

“What’s all this racket?” she demanded. Her eyes fell upon Royston, traveling from him to the wand Elisenda was pointing in his direction. “Ah. Brown. I should have known. What have you done this time?” 

“Nothing at all, Professor!” Royston said at once, arranging his face into a most unconvincing approximation of innocence. 

Professor Goshawk glared at him suspiciously. “You’d best stop loitering,” she said at last. “Or I’ll dock more points from Ravenclaw. Don’t think I won’t.” 

Royston hesitated. He glanced toward the Hufflepuffs. Elisenda was lowering her wand, still scowling at him, but clearly unwilling to continue her tirade in front of a teacher. Olive Hornby and the other Gryffindors had slipped away, unnoticed, during the confrontation. 

He must have realized this wasn’t an argument he was going to win, because he muttered, “Yes, Professor” and retreated down the corridor. 

The rest of the first years followed, retreating to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Royston’s insouciant manner had been much diminished for the moment. He slunk into class and sat between Abdul Hafeez and Jack Ross while Elisenda glared at him from across the room. 

Abdul clapped Royston on the shoulder. “She’ll forget about it eventually, mate,” he promised. 

Abdul’s reassurances proved to be premature, for as soon as Merrythought allowed the students to form pairs, Elisenda marched straight over to him and Royston. 

The look of disdain she cast upon them both would have made the Black cousins proud, but her voice was deceptively sweet as she said, “Pardon me, Hafeez, but I’d like the honor of dueling Brown today.” 

Abdul gave Royston a guilty look before ducking beneath his desk. Elisenda drew her wand as she took his place. 

“Dash it all, Albo!” Royston exclaimed, backing into a poster of jeering redcaps on the wall. 

“What’s the matter, Brown?” Elisenda asked coldly. “I heard you enjoyed dueling. Are you telling me I heard wrong?” 

Royston sputtered indignantly. “Well, quite, yes, but…but…I can’t duel a girl !” 

The rest of the students abandoned any pretense of practicing; all eyes were on the continuation of the earlier drama between their classmates. Even June, who ordinarily would have preferred classwork, was perfectly happy to defer dueling to watch Elisenda corner Royston. 

But just as Professor Beery had noticed the spat between Orion Black and Becky, so too did Merrythought notice trouble was brewing. She strode across the room, the class parting in her wake, her expression impassive. 

“What seems to be the problem?” she demanded, looking between Royston – who was cowering – and Elisenda – who had her wand trained on him for the second time that day. 

Royston pointed an accusing finger at Elisenda. “Albo is attacking me, professor!” he said, apparently giving up on his pretense to chivalry. 

If he had expected sympathy, he was disappointed. Merrythought regarded him with exasperation. “Yes, Brown,” she agreed. “That’s part of the lesson.” 

“That’s not it, professor,” Jack Ross broke in. “It’s only, Albo is upset at Brown here for saying Muggles can’t be Squibs.” 

Abdul had just enough loyalty to nod at Jack’s assertion, but he ducked back under his desk when Merrythought caught his eye. 

“That’s not it at all, Ross, and you know it isn’t,” Elisenda retorted hotly. “If he’d only said Muggles can’t be Squibs, I would agree with him, because of course they can’t. But he called being a Squib an affliction .” 

Royston’s face turned the same shade of red as the little hats the redcaps wore in the poster behind him. “Come off it, Albo, you know what I meant,” he said. 

“My mother was a Squib,” Merrythought said in an offhand sort of voice. “Quite a lot of trouble for her, it was, too, but I don’t suppose it was being a Squib that was nearly as much trouble as how people treated her.” 

Elisenda was looking at Professor Merrythought with something akin to awe, but Royston was trying to merge into the redcap poster, apparently preferring to take his chances with child-eating creatures – not that June blamed him; having not one but two Hufflepuffs mad at you had to be some kind of achievement. 

“Perhaps you should be a bit more careful with your words, Brown,” Merrythought suggested, “But Albo, perhaps it’s best if you practice with someone you’re not angry with. Driscoll, over here, if you please.” 

Elisenda cast a dour look at Royston before slinking away. The rest of the class returned to their spellwork with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Abdul emerged from beneath his desk with an expression of transparent relief, but Darren looked downright disappointed that Elisenda’s attempted murder had been interrupted for the second time that day. 

As June watched Becky and Elisenda fling tripping jinxes at one another she had to admit she was glad not to be paired with either of them; apparently Orion and Royston had gotten under their respective skins so much they were taking it out on one another. 

Myrtle, however, wasn’t much more enthusiastic about hexing people than June was, and the two of them cast spells with such timidity that by the end of the class neither one had succeeded in tripping the other, although June had succeeded in knocking Myrtle’s glasses askew. 

They spent the rest of the evening in the common room, trying to concentrate on their homework while Royston and a couple of older boys held a toad race. June kept checking the clock, afraid she’d miss the Slug Club. 

“Must they do that in here?” June asked, casting a baleful look over her shoulder as Royston let out a triumphant cheer. “Can’t they see the rest of us are trying to work?” 

Clearly they did not, because Royston marched around the room with his toad in hand, proudly proclaiming, "Kneel, you plebs, before the magnificent Hopscotch, sovereign of the amphibian realm!" without any apparent realization that he was earning glares from June, Darren Crickerly, and Jill Stretton, who kept fingering her prefect badge. 

All the good will he’d accrued from defending her and Myrtle earlier evaporated. 

“My Dad didn't want me to come to Hogwarts,” Becky said darkly as she slammed her copy of Beginner Transfigurations shut. “And I’m startin’ to see why.” 

June followed suit. “Brown is highly vexing,” she agreed, shrinking in on herself as he came zipping around the room again. 

“Brown?” Becky shot him a contemptuous look. “He’s grand. It’s that bleedin’ Black what really gets my goat. An’ Hornby, too.” 

“You’re not going to listen to a prat like Black, are you?” June asked reprovingly. “He’s not worth the time.” 

Becky’s scowl deepened. “You don’t get it, Scrimgeour. I could’ve gone to school in Ireland like Mam and Dad. Instead, I had to listen to some know-it-all Brit callin’ me a savage.” 

They were interrupted by a loud crash from the vicinity behind them — Royston had crashed head first into one of the bookshelves. Jill launched herself out of her chair, berating him with so much vigor that further conversation was made impossible. 

At five minutes to six June excused herself from her friends and headed out of the tower. Darren Crickerly followed stiffly. 

“So,” he said at last. 

June waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, so after a moment of awkward silence she said, “I can’t believe my sister never told me Slughorn was a club advisor.” 

“It’s invite only,” said an older Ravenclaw, who had caught up with them in the stairwell. “I’m Rosemary Chen, by the way.” 

June and Darren mumbled their introductions, both looking desperately anxious. 

“Old Sluggy’s shindigs are worth going to,” Rosemary promised. “He can get hold of things even the Hogwarts house-elves can’t.”

June had a hard time believing this after the Start-of-Term feast. 

As they made their way into the Entrance Hall they were joined by several Gryffindors including, to June’s disgust, Olive Hornby. 

Olive ignored her. 

Together the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws descended into the dungeons. They passed the Potions classroom, heading instead to the small out-of-the-way office listed on their invitations.

There were a handful of other students already present when they arrived, mostly Slytherins. One was a pale-haired Sixth-Year boy who was introduced as Abraxas Malfoy. There were also a couple of third year boys introduced as Grover Avery, Roland Nott, and Tom Riddle. And, of course, there were numerous dark-haired Black cousins. 

Despite June’s doubts, Rosemary had been entirely correct. June had never been served a more delectable dinner. But the food couldn’t distract her from the fact that the discussion had yet to come around to slugs. She had expected slugs to be more prominent in a club literally named the Slug Club. But Slughorn had thus far made no remarks that indicated when they might get to the point.

“When are we going to talk about slugs?” she whispered to Darren, feeling distinctly disgruntled. 

Darren paused with his fork lifted to his lips. “Slugs?” He echoed, seemingly utterly nonplussed. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He cleared his throat and said with deliberation, “Slug. Club. Slug. Horn.” 

Olive Hornby, who had been conversing in low tones with Roland Nott, turned to regard June with delight. “You thought the Slug Club was about slugs? I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever.” 

Several of the older students around her tittered. 

Heat crept into June’s face. She should have made that connection, but her interest in bugs (and related animals) had addled her wits. She stuffed her mouth full of steak so that she wouldn’t have to talk, and spent the rest of the night in humiliated silence and trying to avoid looking at Olive, who snickered whenever she caught June’s eye. 

She was relieved when dinner ended and they were released back to their dormitories — or, in the case of June and Darren, to Astronomy class. 

She was the first one out the door and had already reached the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall when Rosemary called out behind her, “Scrimgeour, wait up!” 

Although internally she was dying to escape the humiliation of the Slug Club, June waited, fidgeting all the while. 

“You really like slugs, then?” Rosemary asked once she’d caught up. 

June couldn’t believe Rosemary had asked her to wait up just to tease her. Maybe Becky was right; maybe Hogwarts wasn’t worth attending. “I know. I’m too stupid to be in Ravenclaw. You don’t have to tell me,” she snapped, blinking back tears. She stalked up the marble staircase, forcing Rosemary to run after her. 

“No, no, that's not what I was trying to say,” Rosemary said quickly. “I wanted to ask if it’s only slugs you like, or if you like other creepy-crawlies, too?” 

This question was so unexpected that June almost forgot to jump over a trick step. She caught herself just in time, yanking up her foot before it could fully sink through the stairs. 

“Oh, I love them all,” she answered earnestly, her humiliation abating now that she realized Rosemary wasn’t making fun of her at all. “Ants, bees, spiders…” she trailed off with a dreamy sigh. Several of the portraits along the wall grimaced in revulsion at her litany of arthropods; she ignored them. 

Rosemary reached into the pockets of her robes, from which she withdrew a remarkably pristine flier. This she handed to June. “Then you’ll be interested in this,” she said, grinning. “Courtesy of the new Magientomology professor.” 

June took it and went to stand beneath a wall sconce. She held the flier under the torchlight. It read:

L.A.R.V.A.

The Hogwarts branch of L.A.R.V.A. invites all students interested in magiarthropodology to join us Saturday September 28th at 6pm in room 3-26 on the Third Floor. Please come to Professor MacMillan if you have any questions.

June turned to thank Rosemary, but she was alone: the other girl had evidently gone up to Ravenclaw Tower without her. She stood there a moment in the dim light, clutching the flier to her chest with blossoming excitement. The Slug Club may have been a wash, but that didn’t matter. There was a club for students like her after all. 

Later that night June and the other Ravenclaw first years followed Professor Henshall up to the Astronomy Tower, telescopes in tow. It was nearly midnight. 

“Who on earth schedules classes for Midnight?” Myrtle complained with a yawn. “We ought to be in bed.” 

June, however, was pleased to be out of the dormitories past what was normally curfew. Now that the castle wasn’t swarming with other students, maybe she could lure Nugget out of hiding. To that end she had taken her telescope out of her school bag, hoping it would prove tempting. The torchlight glinted off the brass as she swung it to and fro. 

If Nugget was nearby, her niffler wasn’t taking the bait. June was disappointed, but not entirely surprised. Maybe she’d have time to look around after Astronomy, when the rest of the Ravenclaws had gone up to their dormitories. 

But then they reached the top of the Astronomy Tower and June’s attention shifted from thoughts of her niffler to her first Astronomy lesson. 

Professor Henshall taught seated from her flying carpet, hovering mystically above the heads of the class so that they had to look up to see her. She promised that by fifth year they would know how to navigate by stars so they would never be lost outside again, but in their first year they weren’t learning anything nearly as interesting as star navigation. Instead, she taught them the names of the Autumn constellations and how to recognize them. 

June had to elbow Myrtle continuously to prevent her from falling asleep. 

By the end of the lesson June, too, could barely keep her eyes open. She had always considered herself a night owl, but this was far later than she’d ever been allowed to stay up before, and she would have liked nothing better than to collapse into her bed in the Ravenclaw Tower. She had to remind herself that she’d likely never get a better chance to search the castle unimpeded as she would tonight.

That, at any rate, was the idea. 

Unfortunately, June’s plans were thwarted by Professor Henshall, who insisted on escorting the class back to Ravenclaw Tower. Perhaps she had foreseen the opportunity for mischief, or perhaps this was simply a matter of convenience, since, as the head of Ravenclaw house, her rooms were in the same vicinity. 

Either way it irked June, who was beginning to despair of ever finding an opportunity to search for Nugget unimpeded. 

She dragged her feet; perhaps if she was simply very slow she’d be able to break away from everyone unnoticed. 

But this, too, turned out to be futile. 

She supposed she didn’t mind too much that Becky, and Myrtle hung back with her; they knew about Nugget, after all. But Royston Brown and Abdul Hafeez were also walking at a glacial pace. For once, June wished they’d show a little more of their usual energy and move faster. 

“All those stars look the same!” Abdul complained as they reentered the castle, shutting out the constellations they’d been studying. “How are we supposed to know which constellation is which?”

“You need your eyes checked, Hafeez,” Becky said. He turned around to glare at her; she grinned at him. 

June secretly agreed with Abdul, but she was annoyed with him for ruining her chance to sneak off. She whispered to Becky, “Maybe there’s a remedial Astronomy class he can take if this one is too difficult.” 

Becky burst into laughter that was so loud that several of the students in front of them turned around, hissing, “Shhh!” 

Royston didn’t share Becky’s amusement. “Oh, come off it! Abdul is perfectly capable, thank you very much! Remedial classes are only for Muggle-borns who can’t keep up.”

Myrtle lowered her head at this remark, glowering sullenly at the floor. She was so preoccupied with her misery that she failed to look where she was going and walked straight into a suit of armor with a clang that could have woken the dead. 

Becky was at her side in an instant. “Warren, are you all right?” she asked, extending a hand to help Myrtle up. Myrtle’s answer was drowned out by another chorus of “shhhs!” from the front of the line. 

Professor Henshall floated up the stairs on her carpet, coming to a stop beside Becky and Myrtle. "Mind where you're treading, Warren,"she sighed as the suit of armor picked itself back up and brushed itself off. 

“Brown was givin' out about them Muggle-borns, Professor,” Becky said earnestly. 

"Oh, dash it all,” Royston interjected, "Scrimgeour had a pop at poor Hafeez first. She had the audacity to suggest he was in need of remedial Astronomy lessons!"

Professor Henshall turned her gaze upon June, who shrank back. "No need to be on about remedial Astronomy for anyone, specially not a fellow Ravenclaw," she said reprovingly.

“Yes, Professor,” June mumbled. 

After that, there was no more hope of sneaking off to search for Nugget. Professor Henshall, evidently deciding she didn’t trust her sleepy first years not to pick fights on the stairwells, brought up the rear and it wasn’t until she’d seen them safely in their dormitories that she departed. 

Chapter Text

September continued cold and dreary. June would have preferred to spend all her time indoors searching for Nugget, but Quidditch tryouts were coming up, and Becky was desperate to join the team. So she loyally joined her friends outside, slowing down her search for Becky’s sake. 

The first years hadn’t even had their first flying class yet, but Becky told anyone who would listen about her broom exploits back in Ireland. 

Unfortunately for Becky’s ambitions, first years weren’t allowed brooms of their own, and Madam Hooch refused to allow them to borrow any school brooms before they’d demonstrated an understanding of basic flying safety.

“I’ll show you!” Becky wheedled the flying instructor, but she was roundly rebuffed.

“Absolutely not! You’ll wait until you’ve had proper flying instructions like everyone else, Driscoll.”

So they were relegated to practicing on the ground. This wasn’t entirely without benefit, for Becky wanted to be a Beater. June, Myrtle, and sometimes Elisenda, tossed pine cones at her -– Becky’s plea for access to real bludgers had been rejected with even more vigor than her plea for a broom — and she swung at them with a shillelagh, hitting them out of the air, and running through the damp grass.

She was quick, June had to give her that, but whether she was equally quick on a broom was yet to be seen.

The way she talked, it was as if she’d spent more time on a broom than walking. And she wasn’t the only one; Hufflepuff Ivan Bones, ordinarily as shy as June was, puffed up with uncharacteristic confidence whenever Quidditch or flying came up, and Orion Black and Royston Brown spent an inordinate amount of time arguing over who was the most likely future Quidditch professional. 

Only Rubeus Hagrid and Myrtle seemed to have misgivings about flying. Privately, June thought Rubeus was quite right to worry; she wasn’t sure there was any broom large enough to hold him. 

She never found out if she was right, however, as when flying lessons were announced, it turned out the Ravenclaws would be joining the Hufflepuffs, not the Gryffindors. This cheered Myrtle up slightly; she’d been existing in a state of dread at the thought of learning to fly in front of Olive Hornby. 

Flying, it transpired, wasn’t nearly as much fun as broom sports players made it appear. It only took one lesson for June to decide she much preferred her feet to remain on the ground. 

“I don’t know how you stand it!” she told Becky as they put away the old school brooms they’d been riding during class. “I felt like I was going to be thrown off.” 

“That’s only 'cause the school brooms are shite,” Becky told her confidently. “If you ever get a chance to ride a proper broom, then you’d get it.” 

The addition of flying lessons wasn’t the only change to their coursework: Now that they had finally learned enough magical theory to be allowed to perform real spells, their other lessons were much more interesting. 

In Transfigurations, they began transfiguring Inanimate to Inanimate objects, which Myrtle proved to be so adept at that while the rest of the class was still struggling to turn matchboxes into needles Professor Dumbledore advanced her to cauldrons and sieves. Meanwhile poor Desdemona Diggory could barely handle the normal transfiguration coursework; Dumbledore was constantly at her desk, patiently explaining no matter how many times he had to repeat himself. 

He even showed a patient tolerance for Royston Brown’s antics, which June couldn’t understand. Then again, she’d heard that Dumbledore had been a Gryffindor in his school days; perhaps that was his problem. 

In Potions they brewed minor burn creams, which came in handy for a class where cauldrons sometimes boiled over or exploded, and decongestant draughts, which were unfortunately seasonally appropriate. Becky was easily the best of the students in their class, impressing Slughorn so much he invited her to his collection of favorite students, although June advised her not to attend. 

And in Defense Against the Dark Arts the Ravenclaws quickly discovered that Elisenda Albo could jinx circles around all of them, to the consternation of Royston Brown, who had reason to fear her. 

June had been partnered against Elisenda during their first lesson on blocking jinxes, and it hadn’t gone well at all; She had forgotten the incantation for the Yawning Jinx–Oscitati–and had instead said “Oscilati”, causing Elisenda’s wand to swing about her head in wild circles before Merrythought had rushed over to dispel the jinx. And then when they had swapped places and it was June’s turn to practice blocking, Elisenda’s knock-back jinx had flung her halfway across the room. 

Astronomy was punctuated by Royston dropping things over the side of the tower to see if he could levitate them before they hit the ground. 

The fifth time he launched his telescope over the side of the Astronomy Tower, Professor Henshall lost her temper and gave him detention for a week. 

And in Herbology they had begun harvesting chicory, which was known for aiding invisibility and unlocking spells. Professor Beery had added that they were not to be eaten by silkworm mothers or silk production would suffer. And he demonstrated to them, with the help of Professor MacMillan, how ants could change the colors of the flower from the familiar blue to a brilliant pink color. 

Royston, however, couldn’t seem to help but be a pest — he spent the morning prodding at the venomous tentacula, then leaping back when it swiped at him, until the thing grabbed him around the neck. 

Beery sighed as he severed the tentacle gripping Royston. “You ought to consider joining the drama club,” he said. “You need an outlet for your more….ah…theatrical tendencies. Not to worry, I understand completely. But you can’t go around goofing off in class or you’ll get hurt.” 

“Oh, quite,” Royston gasped, massaging his neck. “Wouldn’t want that.” 

“He wouldn’t get hurt if he left the plants alone,” Darren Crickerly muttered. And June couldn’t have agreed more. 

Meanwhile, June’s hunt for Nugget was made all the more urgent as more and more students complained of their belongings mysteriously going missing. At first people blamed Peeves, but soon it became apparent that the poltergeist couldn’t be to blame, because items went missing from the dungeons when Peeves was seen wreaking havoc on the seventh floor or else vanished from the divination tower when Peeves was busily harassing the house-elves in the kitchens. 

And so, although it was quite difficult to find the time now that she had homework to worry about–not to mention Becky’s Quidditch mania–she made a point of using at least some of her free time wandering the castle in search of her wayward niffler. 

She was gradually becoming familiar with the layout of the castle, at least enough so that she could go to and from lessons without getting lost, but Hogwarts remained a vast and convoluted maze and she often found herself worrying that she’d become as lost as Nugget. 

But she always found her way back to a familiar landmark in the end, albeit often with help from a prefect or Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to be everywhere she went, sometimes even when she could have sworn there were Transfiguration classes in session.

It was a blustery day, the kind that kept even Becky indoors. While her friends holed up in the Ravenclaw common room, working on homework, June decided to search for Nugget. She wandered from corridor to corridor, taking the helmets off suits of armor and poking about empty classrooms, but there was no sign of her niffler anywhere. 

June was rummaging through a broom closet on the sixth floor when the bell rang for lunch. Disappointed that her search had once again proved unfruitful, she shut the closet door and made her way in the direction she had come from. Or rather, she thought she was going back the way she’d come, but the corridor must have changed directions during her search, because it soon became apparent that she was quite lost. 

Each new turn brought her into yet another unfamiliar corridor, another passage she couldn’t remember exploring, until she finally found herself in front of a door she recognized. There must have been some kind of trick to getting through it, however, because at the moment it was refusing to open. 

Her gaze swept over the peeling turquoise paint and the brass doorknob. She couldn’t recall ever needing a trick to get this particular door to open before, but there were several that only opened if you tickled them. 

It seemed worth a shot. 

Tentatively, she tickled the doorknob. 

Jet black liquid squirted out of the keyhole. June jumped back, spluttering. Ink dripped down her face and pooled on the floor at her feet. 

“Why, you…!” Shaking a fist at the recalcitrant door, she retreated in the opposite direction, leaving inky footprints in her wake. She hoped she wouldn’t run into Pringle; he was already in a fouler mood than usual due to the enormous piles of dirt that kept appearing near the walls in every corridor. The culprits hadn’t yet been caught, and he was taking it out on any student who so much as breathed wrong. Dripping ink all over the floor would definitely attract his ire. 

As she was scowling and wishing she knew one of the Cleaning spells her parents used, a silver figure swooped through the wall. It continued straight through her before she could react, and she gasped in shock as she was suddenly plunged into a cold as fierce as the gale howling outside. 

The ghost who had floated through her was stocky and bearded, with a hoof-shaped indentation in his head from where a horse had kicked him to death — Achelates Montague. Achelates was an earnest ghost with a desire to be helpful that was matched only by his penchant for disaster. June had already learned the hard way that accepting Achelate’s help was the equivalent of asking Peeves for help, except that Peeves intended to create havoc, and Achelate always seemed shocked when his help resulted in chaos. 

She sped up, hoping to pass him before he could offer her any assistance, but then he stopped and she had to step backwards to avoid giving herself another freezing shock. 

Achelates looked her up and down with a disapproving shake of his head. “You’ve crossed Peeves, ‘ave you?” he asked. His eyes lingered on the black footprints behind her. “Bloody hell, Pringle’s gonna be fumin’ about this.” 

“I got on the wrong side of a door,” June answered, squirming guiltily as she, too, glanced over her shoulder at her inky trail. 

“Lost?” Achelates asked, and his expression became more sympathetic. “I can help you find your way.”

June keenly recalled the last time Achelates had tried to help her ‘get where she was going', when he’d led her all the way to the opposite side of the castle from the classroom she’d been looking for. By the time she’d found her way back to the right classroom, the lesson was halfway over. She’d been lucky Professor Merrythought understood about first years and the Hogwarts campus, but she was in no hurry to repeat that experience. 

“Err,” she began, casting about for a polite way to reject his offer. 

“I’ll see you right this time, I promise,” he said, and he looked so hopeful she couldn’t bring herself to say no. 

“All right,” she agreed, despite her misgivings. “How do I get back to the main corridor, please?”

Achelates led her through the maze-like corridors, past portraits of medieval witches and dragons, past a large tapestry of a beehive that buzzed as if the bees were alive, all the way to a door June was sure she’d never seen before.

“This way,” Achelates said gallantly, sweeping a transparent hand toward the door.

June had a sudden vision of herself trapped down some deserted corridor, wandering forgotten until she, too, passed on and became a Hogwarts ghost. The smile she turned on Achelates was tense as she asked, “And you’re sure this door leads to the main corridor?” 

“Wey aye!” Achelates puffed himself up in wounded dignity. “I said I’d gan you a hand, didn’t I?”

Feeling that wanting to help and actually helping were a great deal different, June pushed open the door. It swung forward soundlessly. 

Beyond the doorway wasn’t the main corridor. It wasn’t a corridor at all.

It was a cavernous room. 

Dust motes danced in the pale sunlight that spilled through the large windows. And all around the room, lining the walls and forming glittering rows out on the floor, were hundreds of cabinets and display cases, each filled with silver and gold objects. June had never seen anywhere more perfectly designed to attract nifflers. 

“Thank you, Achelates!” she called over her shoulder. He may not have gotten her where she’d asked to go, but he’d certainly helped her, nonetheless. 

“Well, I’ll let you be,” Achelates said, floating away on whatever ghostly errand he’d initially been on.

June shut the door behind her before scanning the rows of trophies, uncertain where to even begin. After a moment of hesitation she headed toward the right; she wouldn’t find Nugget by standing around. 

She crept toward the nearest cabinet. Inside, a row of Quidditch trophies gleamed proudly. They looked recently polished, which made her uneasy. After a moment’s tense silence, straining for any sound to indicate Pringle’s unwelcome presence, she continued on, past a glittering silver trophy from some long-ago potions competition, past a statuette of a Granian rearing up with wings that folded and unfolded in perpetual anticipation of flight, past a collection of plaques awarded for excellence in Ghost Studies. 

“Nugget?” she whispered. There was no answer. 

As she explored aisle after aisle with no sign of Nugget, her hopes of finding her pet here in the trophy room dwindled. 

June had never imagined there could be awards for so many different activities. She passed more  Quidditch trophies, Broom Racing awards, and awards for other broom sports; she passed awards for gobstone competitions and alchemy competitions and potions competitions; she passed trophies for magic carpet races and for most enchanting enchantment,; she passed plaques dedicated to the achievements of professors and framed newspaper clippings that showcased the proud members of past Hogwarts clubs. 

There were even a few awards for the Frog Choir. One, a statuette of a toad, looked so realistic she thought it might leap from the plinth it was on.

What she did not see was Nugget. 

The ink from the trick door had now dried, making her robes stiff and uncomfortable. June was beginning to think it would be a better use of time to go up to the dormitory and take a bath; the trophy room had obviously been a waste of time. 

Then an award caught her eye. A swarm of butterflies seemed to burst forth from a carved wooden block, their wings fluttering as if they might take flight at any moment. There was a plaque affixed to the base, which read:

Maria Sibylla Merian Research Award 

Myrmosina MacMillan and Lasius Thorn for outstanding research in Magimyrmecology (1848)

“Outstanding research in Magimyrmecology,” June whispered. She brushed her fingers against the display glass. To her shock, her hand went right through–and disappeared. There was only air where the statue ought to be. Frowning, she waved her hand and struck something hard. She felt along its edges, but it was too smooth and spherical to be the trophy. Her hands closed around it, dragging it out of the display case and holding it up for inspection.

It looked like some kind of locket. Etched into the metal was a crude ant – not even anatomically correct, June noted with contempt – and, below the ant, the name Myrmosina MacMillan. 

So this locket had belonged to the missing magientomology professor. 

She ran her hand along the hinges until she found the clasp, which popped open without resistance. 

It wasn’t a locket at all. It was a compass. 

“What sort of enchantments are on you?” June muttered to herself as she tapped the cover. 

Of course, she hadn’t had enough classes to answer that question. But there was no harm in bringing it with her, so she pocketed it and continued toward the door, thinking to herself. This compass had been hidden in an enchanted display case–Could Nugget have made a nest in some place enchanted to prevent spying eyes? 

She was pondering this possibility when something cold and slimy slid down the back of her robe. She gave a startled shriek. The slimy something slithered past her legs and fell to the floor. She stepped backwards. It hopped toward her with a friendly croak. 

It was a toad. She swiveled around to find the toad statuette, but it remained erect in marble stillness.

The live toad in front of her jumped forward again. She stifled a desire to step back a second time.

Muffled laughter drifted from somewhere nearby. 

June flushed angrily. “Who’s there?” she demanded, looking around for the source of the laughter. 

From behind the statue of a cauldron where he’d been hiding rose the familiar and entirely vexatious form of Royston Brown. 

"Oh, come now, you’re not quaking in your boots over sweet little Hopscotch, are you?" he chortled, but his laughter faded as he took in her ink-stained appearance. “What in the blazes happened to you?”

June glanced at the toad, then back at Royston, her annoyance growing. “I’m not afraid of them,” she said, choosing to ignore his second question. “But do you like it when people stick toads down the back of your robes? And does your toad like being stuck down the back of robes?”

Royston leaned against the display case June had been looking at and rolled his eyes ostentatiously. "Ever had the notion tossed your way that perhaps you’re a tad stiff? It's merely a toad."

June felt a strong kinship with Circe at that moment; if she could have transfigured Royston into a pig, she would have done it without regret. “Merely a toad! Merely insects! You don’t have any respect for any living creature, do you?”

She bent down to scoop up Hopscotch the toad and cradled it to her. She debated keeping it, but her sense of obedience won out over her desire to protect his familiar from being stuck down the back of someone else’s robe. “If I hear you’re mistreating Hopscotch, I’ll tell Professor Henshall,” she warned as she handed the toad back to him.

Royston goggled at her as he took the toad, which hopped onto his shoulder, apparently unbothered by its treatment. 

She cast a suspicious look over her shoulder before walking away. She was halfway down the aisle, congratulating herself on getting away without further mishap, when he spoke. 

 “Wingardium Leviosa!” 

June’s heart stopped. Looking up, she saw a bucket wobbling in midair, sudsy water sloshing over the sides. “What–” she began. Then the bucket tipped over, drenching her. 

“Merlin’s beard, Brown!” she spluttered, pushing her damp hair away from her face so that she could scowl at him properly. “What’d you do that for?” 

Royston regarded her with wide eyed incredulity. "I say, you weren't intending to sashay out of here all inked up, were you? Pringle would have your head for that!"

June looked down at her sopping wet shoes and robes. “He’ll have my head now!” she wailed, feeling quite certain that Pringle wouldn’t appreciate her dripping grayish water all over the castle any more than he would like the ink trails. She nudged the empty bucket with her toe. It rolled across the wet floor and stopped at Royston’s feet. “What are you even doing with a bucket of water in the first place?!” 

Royston’s triumphant grin faded. “Detention,” he muttered, staring moodily at the mess he’d just made. "I’m, uh, polishing trophies.” He stooped to pick up the now empty bucket. "I daresay finishing this will be a tad tricky now, won’t it?"

“Ugh!” June complained, shaking herself and sending water droplets flying. “If Pringle does stop me, I’m going to tell him exactly why I’m soaked.” 

She squelched her way to Ravenclaw Tower, fingering the compass. It couldn’t be an ordinary compass if it was important enough to hide. Was it related to Myrmosina’s disappearance? She had heard of compasses enchanted to find lost objects. Could she use it to find Nugget? 

She paused beside an alcove that held a marble statue of a crow and pulled the compass out of her pocket. “Please, show me where to find Nugget,” she whispered. The compass remained still and silent in the palm of her hand. 

Sighing in disappointment, she slipped it back into her robes. What had she expected? If it had any enchantments upon it, they were beyond her meager skills to uncover. It would probably take a wizard of Professor Dumbledore’s talent to reveal any hidden powers. 

She was just about to start walking again when she heard footsteps and the low murmur of voices. As the voices drew nearer, she could make out snippets of conversation. June drew back into the alcove, standing very still. 

“...can find anything. Didn’t you know?” 

June recognized that voice. It was Elisenda Albo. She was whispering, as if she didn’t want to be overheard. 

“Achlys doesn’t want to ask for help. She’s afraid we’ll get into trouble.” And that was Fausta Yaxley. 

The footsteps slowed to a halt. 

“Eugh. Why is it so wet?” Fausta asked. Her voice dripped with disgust, and June fingered her wet robes nervously, afraid they’d investigate. 

“We’d better keep moving,” Elisenda replied. “We don’t want Pringle to catch us anywhere near here.” 

The footsteps resumed, receding into the distance without further conversation. June remained in her alcove for a moment longer, listening for any sounds of their return. Once she was satisfied that the corridor was deserted she snuck out again. 

June remembered the conversation she’d overheard between Achlys and Fausta on the first day of school, arguing over where to look and whether they both missed the mysterious ‘him’ equally. Apparently, he hadn’t turned up yet, whoever he was. Had they, too, lost a pet in the dark recesses of Hogwarts castle? 

Elisenda must have offered her help the moment she’d found out. Typical Hufflepuff. June certainly understood Achlys’s reluctance to accept, but perhaps asking a Hufflepuff wouldn’t be such a bad idea. If only she was sure that Sylvia wouldn’t snitch to their parents, she could ask her sister…

Or maybe she could ask for Elisenda’s help, too; Elisenda knew about Nugget, after all. But then, that wouldn’t have been fair to Elisenda, expecting her to help find everyone’s lost pets. No, she was going to have to find Nugget on her own. 

June didn’t encounter anyone else on her way back to Ravenclaw Tower except for Achelates Montague, who took one look at her and said, “Gan on the wrong side o’ another door?” 

She shook her head mutely and continued on her way. 

The girls’ dormitories were largely empty when June returned, for which she was grateful; it meant she didn’t have to fight anyone for the showers. As she rinsed the ink from her hair, she mentally ran through everything she knew about Lasius Thorn and Myrmosina MacMillan. It wasn’t much–Thorn was from the American Confederation and had been a healer, they had disappeared, and they had potentially practiced the Dark Arts. That article in the Magientomological Review had given a bit more information, but she couldn’t remember everything it had said. She was apparently going to have to re-read that article; maybe it mentioned their award or — even better — the compass. 

She returned to the first year’s dorms feeling much better now that she was warm and dry, and full of determination to find out more about this compass. 

Myrtle sat on her bed with her copy of Elementary Practical Transfigurations open on her lap, but she looked up when June came in. “Have you finished that homework for Professor Merrythought yet? I don’t understand all that stuff about categorizing magical beasts.” 

“What’s there to understand?” June asked, flipping through one issue after another. “The less dangerous they are to humans, the fewer Xes in their classification.” 

“But that’s just it. How do wizards determine what’s dangerous?” Myrtle persisted. 

June, who had finally found the issue she was looking for, didn’t answer. She slid off her bed, dancing over to Myrtle’s bed and waving her magazine in triumph. “I found him!” 

Myrtle leaned forward, squinting despite her glasses. Then she sighed. “I thought you were going to show me something about Beast classifications,” she muttered sullenly. 

June clambered onto the fourposter next to Myrtle. “The Thorns won an award,” she announced impressively. “It’s here, in the trophy room.” 

“Oh.” Myrtle turned back to her textbook. June waited, but nothing else was forthcoming.

June was undeterred. “What if I told you that this was hidden inside of it?” she asked, producing the compass from the folds of her robes. 

Myrtle’s hum was noncommittal. 

This was too much for June. She slid off Myrtle’s fourposter, marching back over to her own. “Well, I think it’s interesting, anyway,” she grumbled, flinging herself onto the soft blue covers. 

“What’s interestin’?” 

Becky stood in the doorway, rosy cheeked and windswept. She unwound her scarf as she made her way over to where June was sulking. 

June sat up at once. “Look!” she exclaimed, holding up the compass. She explained where and how she’d found it; Becky proved a much more satisfactory audience than Myrtle, who still had her nose resolutely buried in her textbook. 

“I’m wonderin’ why the compass was hid,” Becky mused as she took the compass from June. “D’ye reckon it does anythin’ special?”

June looked back down at Lasius’s card, wishing she knew more about him and his wife. They had been myrmepaths, they won an award, and then Myrmosina had vanished without a trace, like her husband, Lasius, would do only a few short years later. Whether that was the result of foul play or Dark Arts or research gone wrong was the matter of speculation but no definitive answer had ever been given. 

“It must,” June said finally, watching as Becky examined her find. “But the question is what?” 

Chapter Text

T he morning of the first L.A.R.V.A. meeting June was so jittery she had difficulty concentrating on studying. She was huddled in the Ravenclaw Common Room with Becky and Myrtle while they scratched out essays on the origins of the Ministry of Magic for Professor Binns. Becky’s essay was already three scrolls of parchment long, but June had barely begun hers. She was thinking about Nugget and the compass and the missing professors. 

And, of course, the fact that tonight she’d be attending her first ever magientomology club meeting. 

Myrtle, too, was gazing into the distance, her expression even glummer than usual. Finally she heaved a great sigh and slammed her textbook shut. “I miss my parents.”

June realized with a guilty jolt that she’d been so preoccupied she’d barely thought about her parents or Peter in weeks. “ Why don’t we write letters home?” she suggested, pulling a fresh roll of parchment out of her bag. 

“ But how will I send a letter?” Myrtle demanded. “I don’t have an owl, you know.” 

June felt this was a very silly excuse given that Hogwarts had an owlery, but she forced herself to be patient; Myrtle was a Muggle-born. She didn’t know better. “You can borrow school owls. My sister does, because she has a cat.”

“ Borrow Macha,” Becky said. “I won’t need her for a spell.” 

June and Myrtle were just passing the Charms classroom on the way to the Owlery when they heard two most unpleasant voices drifting out of the open door–Professor Goshawk and Fausta Yaxley. June and Myrtle froze. 

“--your work doesn’t improve, you'll be in remedial charms next term.” 

“My parents won’t like that,” came Fausta’s sulky reply. 

“Your parents don’t control your class schedule. If you expect to pass your exams in the spring I suggest you work a little harder.” 

“Yes, Professor Goshawk,” Fausta mumbled. And before June and Myrtle could flee Fausta had stepped out into the corridor, running smack into Myrtle. Fausta stumbled backward, but her shock quickly transformed into anger. “You — !” she sputtered, her face turning a nasty shade of puce. “You little sneaks!” 

June and Myrtle both scuttled backwards into the wall. 

Professor Goshawk appeared at Fausta’s shoulder. “May I help you, Scrimgeour? Warren?” she asked coldly. 

“No,” June muttered, edging away from the intimidating Charms professor. “We were going to the Owlery, that’s all. C’mon, Myrtle.” 

She could feel the twin gazes of Fausta and Goshawk on them all the way down the corridor. It wasn’t until they entered the stairwell that she relaxed. 

But Fausta and her troubles with Charms were wiped from June’s mind as they stepped into the Owlery itself. She hadn’t, until now, considered just how many predators existed in Hogwarts, nor the meal plan of the owls who made their home in the West Tower, but now, confronted with a floor littered with tiny bones, she had a horrible vision of Nugget trapped in an owl’s talons. The thought made her sick. 

Myrtle sniffed miserably. “Do you think they’ll come after us?” 

June was painfully aware of the crunching the floor made as she picked her way across. “No, we’re too big,” she said, gazing up distractedly at the owls. Many of them had already begun stirring for the evening. “But I admit I’m worried about Nugget. What if one of them ate her?” 

There was an intake of breath beside her. “They would do that?” Myrtle asked in a horrified whisper. 

“They have to eat, don’t they?,” June said morosely. “They go out and hunt at night. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? Can you imagine feeding this many of them? I’m sure they outnumber the students.” 

“Oh!” Myrtle exclaimed with a startled laugh. “You meant the owls.” 

This brought June up short and she paused her examination of said owls to turn toward Myrtle in astonishment. “Of course I meant the owls,” she said. “Which ‘they’ did you mean?” 

“The Yaxleys,” Myrtle answered, glancing over her shoulder as if she expected to see one of them stepping into the Owlery after them. “Fausta didn’t seem too pleased we heard her and Goshawk. Although,” she added with a fiendish grin, “it’s too perfect, isn’t it? I can’t believe she’s rubbish at charms. She’s always going on and on about how many spells she learned before coming to Hogwarts.” 

“Her and Brown both,” June grumbled. If only she could overhear a teacher telling him he was rubbish at spellwork; that would be far more satisfying than anything she might learn about Fausta. 

Myrtle ducked her head, looking suddenly quite shy. “Oh, Brown isn’t so bad, really,” she demurred. 

“Not that bad?” June repeated incredulously. “ Not that bad ? He’s the worst ! He’s the reason I was soaked when I came into the dormitories yesterday evening! He’s had detention every week since term started!” 

“Well,” Myrtle said, twisting her robes in her hands, her cheeks pink. “He’s rather good-looking, isn’t he? And,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “he writes poetry.” 

June shook her head in disgust and turned her attention back to the owls. 

“Who wants to deliver a letter?” She waved her scroll into the air and a screech owl launched itself from its perch. It landed in front of her, hooting and flexing its wings. 

June tied her letter to its leg with a murmur of thanks. 

Myrtle peered uncertainly around the Owlery. “Macha! Macha, I’ve got a letter for you to deliver!” she said, but none of the owls responded. 

June looked from the screech owl to Myrtle and back again. “Maybe he’s already out hunting for the night,” she said. She gazed speculatively at the screech owl. “I don’t suppose you can deliver two letters?” 

In answer the owl stuck its free talon out, holding perfectly still. 

Before Myrtle could give the owl her letter, someone had snatched it out of her hands. June whirled, expecting to see red hair and Slytherin robes. 

But it wasn’t Fausta who had stolen Myrtle’s letter. It wasn’t even Achlys. It was someone much, much worse. 

Olive Hornby. 

Olive held up the letter with malevolent glee. “What’s this?” she asked, unfolding it and beginning to read aloud. “Dear mum and dad, I wish I could go home. Girls who grew up in non-magic households haven’t a hope of fitting in here. Everything about me is wrong, from my hair and clothes to how much I don’t know about the wizarding world.” 

Olive looked up from the letter with an unpleasant laugh. “Homesick already, Warren? We’ve only been here a month and you already want to run back to the nice, safe Muggle world?” 

June felt this was entirely unfair, given that Olive had to know the Muggle world wasn’t anything like safe at the moment. She stepped forward with a loud crunch. “Go boil your head, Hornby,” she said hotly. 

Olive turned her attention to June at last. “Hullo, Scrimgeour,” she said, smirking. “You must really love babies, seeing as you’re always looking after one.” 

“Myrtle isn’t a baby,” June said through gritted teeth. She clenched and unclenched her fists, wishing for once that she had the nerve to physically fight another person. She’d never in her life wanted to hit someone as badly as she wanted to hit Olive at that moment. 

Olive laughed derisively. “I forgot. She’s not a baby. She’s a Muggle. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.” 

There was a sound like a muffled sob from Myrtle’s direction. 

“Myrtle is just as much a witch as you or me,” June retorted. 

Olive laughed again. “If she’s a witch, let’s see her use her magic for once.” And she wadded Myrtle’s letter into a ball and tossed it out a window. 

June lunged forward, grabbing ineffectually at the letter. It drifted out of reach, down, down, down toward the ground far below. In an act born of desperation, June whipped her wand from her pocket. “Wingardium Leviosa!” 

On the one hand, her spell worked – the letter halted halfway to the ground instead of continuing its descent. On the other hand, it had fallen too far for her to simply lean out of the window and grab it. 

Behind her, Olive was snickering. “Levitation spells don’t summon things, Scrimgeour, they levitate them. It’s in the name.” 

June kept her concentration trained on the letter. “Mobilis,” She said, and the letter shot upward. She snatched it out of the air and turned to face Olive. “What were you saying, Hornby?” She asked coolly. 

The expression on Olive’s face was murderous. “Warren won’t always have real witches to cover for her, you know,” she spat resentfully. 

Before June could muster a reply there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then Elisenda Albo appeared in the doorway. “What’s all this!” she exclaimed, looking from June and Olive, who were glaring daggers at one another, to Myrtle, who had slid to the bone covered floor and was sobbing into her knees. 

Olive gave Myrtle one last scathing look before pushing past Elisenda without speaking. 

“Hornby is teasing Myrtle again,” June confided to Elisenda. She sighed and attempted to smooth out the now crumpled letter. “Come on, Myrtle, let’s get this sent,” she said, looking around for the owl she’d given her own letter, but it was gone. 

Myrtle remained huddled on the floor with her face buried in her knees. “I don’t want to send it anymore.” 

June closed her eyes, praying for patience. If Myrtle refused to send this letter after she had gone through all that trouble rescuing it from being thrown over the side of the tower — ! “Hornby was just trying to get to you,” she said. “Nobody really believes that missing home is babyish. Otherwise, all of us are babies.” 

Elisenda offered Myrtle a reassuring smile of her own as she called down one of the school owls. “It isn’t babyish at all. I miss my family, too. As a matter of fact, this letter is to my brother.” 

Myrtle finally looked up at June and Elisenda, scrubbing the tears from her face. “I always wanted siblings,” she said, and although she sounded quite envious, at least she wasn’t crying anymore. 

June was grateful to Elisenda for helping distract Myrtle from her misery. “I wrote to my brother, too. He’s not old enough for Hogwarts yet, and he’s terribly jealous.” 

“My brother is enlisted.” Elisenda tied her letter to the school owl, not looking at June. “The war, you know.” 

“Oh,” June said. She tried to imagine how she would feel if Peter was old enough to be enlisted, but the thought of her bright eyed younger brother fighting against Grindelwald was too horrible to contemplate. “I’m sorry,” she whispered at last. 

“Me, too,” Elisenda answered. 

June tied Myrtle’s letter to another owl, who took off at once. Myrtle pushed herself to her feet, shaking owl droppings from her robes, and followed June down the Owlery stairs. But Elisenda stayed leaning on the windowsill, watching the sky where the owls had vanished.

By the evening, June and Myrtle had recovered from the day’s earlier dramas, and June, at least, was quite eager for her first ever L.A.R.V.A. meeting. Myrtle was less keen, but then Becky told her Royston was attending, and she forgot all her objections. 

This news had the opposite effect on June, who didn’t believe anyone with Royston’s attitude towards insects should be allowed to join an arthropod club. 

“Look on the bright side,” Becky reasoned when June put this complaint to her. “Perhaps he’ll pick up a thing or two.” 

June wasn’t convinced, but nor would she let his presence deter her, so after dinner she, Myrtle, and Becky headed toward the third floor, looking for the room listed on the flier Rosemary had given June – room 3-26. 

They found it without much trouble, but when June tried the door, it opened up into a supply closet full of jewel-encrusted ink-pots. The glittering pots reminded her of Nugget; poked her head further in, but of course there was no sign of the missing niffler anywhere. 

“What did you say the room number was, again?” Becky demanded, snatching the flier out of June’s hands. She looked from the flier to the plaque affixed to the storage room door and back again. Both said, quite clearly, 3-26. “Must be wrong,” she said at last. “Let’s split up and try different doors til we find it.” 

June and Myrtle both turned to stare down the length of the corridor and June’s heart sank. How could they possibly hope to find the right door by guesswork? What if she missed the first L.A.R.V.A. meeting all because the flier didn’t have the right room number?

Myrtle seemed to be thinking along the same lines as June, because she frowned up at Becky. “Oh, splendid. And what do you propose we do if it turns out the right room isn’t even on this floor?” 

Becky shrugged. “So, come the morn at brekkie, we’ll be askin' Professor MacMillan why she printed the wrong bloomin' room number on her flyer.”

Disappointment was already taking hold of June, worming its way through her body like a slow acting venom. She was sure, now, that they weren’t going to make the meeting. But as neither she nor Myrtle had any better ideas, she resignedly agreed. 

Becky headed back the way they’d come, toward the stairs, to try rooms 27, 28, and 29, while June and Myrtle continued down the corridor they were on, with Myrtle trying the odd numbers and June trying the even. By the time they had circled back to 3-26 there was still no sign of any magiarthropodology club anywhere. 

June crumpled the useless flier in her fist as they made their way back down the hall. “I can’t believe I’m going to miss the first L.A.R.V.A. meeting because someone else made a mistake,” she said despondently. 

“Did ye say there's a muck-up?” asked a hopeful voice, and the girls looked up to see Achelates Montague beaming down at them. “I can give you a hand, all. Where are you lookin’ to gan?” 

“We don’t be needin’ your help. Cheers,” said Becky, turning her back on the ghost, but he refused to be ignored. 

He floated after them as they trooped down the hall, pleading his case. “Dinnae be like that. I helped Scrimgeour get to the right place last time.” 

June didn’t have the heart to tell him that he hadn’t at all led her to where she’d wanted to go, but she also wasn’t willing to risk a detour this time. Not when it was so important to her to get to the right classroom. “Yes, but it’s all right, Achelates. It isn’t that we didn’t find where we were looking for, but that someone told us the wrong location.” 

“I can still lend a hand,” he insisted. “I know how to gan anywhere in this castle.” 

It wasn’t until they heard a distant crash followed by a loud “Dash it all!” that Achelates left, gliding through the nearest wall towards a more likely victim. 

Becky jerked her head toward two other students who had just appeared around the corner. “ As if we needed more bother. Here come our favorite Slytherins.” 

June and Myrtle turned. There, heading directly toward them, were Fausta and Achlys Yaxley.

Fausta regarded the Ravenclaws with intense dislike. “ When you said you wanted to study bugs, I didn’t know you meant mudbloods,” she said loudly to Achlys. 

One of the paintings on the wall, a portrait of a warlock with excessive sideburns and wearing a top hat gasped. “Language, young lady!” he scolded. 

The Yaxleys ignored him; both of them were staring down the Ravenclaws, Fausta with significantly more hostility than Achlys. 

June wished there was a prefect or a teacher present, but the corridor was empty of anyone but the five of them. She forced herself to confront Fausta, despite the knot in her stomach. “Bugs aren’t an insult! And neither is being Muggle-born.” 

Fausta drew her wand and pointed it directly at June. “Are you requesting a duel, little bug?”

June closed her fingers around her wand, but didn’t withdraw it from her pocket. “That’s against the rules,” she protested, taking a step away from Fausta. She distinctly recalled the murderous expression on Fausta’s face this morning, when she had noticed June and Myrtle outside the Charms’ classroom. 

“You’re right to be afraid,” Fausta whispered. She took a step closer, her wand still pointing at June’s chest. “Either of us could fight all three of you and win.” 

Myrtle, normally more timid even than June, looked positively beside herself with glee. “That’s not what Professor Goshawk told you this morning, is it?” 

Fausta turned crimson. “You’d better watch yourself, Warren. Most people don’t like sneaky little snitches like you.” 

That was enough for Becky. “You think you’re so tough, do you? Go on, then. Give it a lash,” she said, whipping out her wand and pointing it at Fausta. 

It was at this moment that Professor MacMillan rounded the corner. She sized up the situation at once. “Lower your wands, ladies,” she ordered, stepping briskly between the two girls and forcing them to part. 

Grudgingly, Becky shoved her wand back into her pocket. Fausta made a great show of taking her time. 

MacMillan continued to eye the girls in a way that made June want to shrink. “I suppose you all are looking for the L.A.R.V.A. meeting room?” she asked. 

They nodded. 

“There was a mistake on the flier,” June said in a tiny voice as they followed MacMillan back the way they had come. “3-26 is a storage closet, not a classroom.” 

“Au contraire,” MacMillan replied. 

The girls followed in silence, embarrassed at being caught fighting by a teacher. Then they heard loud bangs up ahead. MacMillan sped up. The students hurried after her. Colorful jets of light flashed through the smoky torchlight at the end of the corridor. 

As they drew nearer they could see the source of both sound and lights: Royston Brown and Abdul Hafeez were casting spells at the door. Ink-pots had been blasted apart, covering the floor in gleaming fragments and sticky, colorful ink. 

A moment of shocked silence ensued, and then Royston said in a small voice, “We were merely trying to persuade the door to reveal the proper chamber, Professor.”

Professor MacMillan closed her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “First years,” before she raised her own wand. With one swish she vanished the mess Royston and Abdul had made. Then she tapped her wand against the door. 

“Aperi et ostende mihi insectorum!”

The door swung open. Gone were the ink pots. In their place was a large classroom. 

“Blimey!” whispered Abdul, looking impressed. “A secret password.” 

He and Royston hurried through the doorway eagerly, peering all around as if they’d never seen a classroom before. 

“Don’t you use a secret password to get into your dorms?” Achlys asked, following the two boys into the room, Fausta at her side. 

“Absolutely not. We have the pleasure of tackling riddles instead.” Royston flung himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the desk, looking smug. "Infinitely more entertaining than that tiresome rote learning, I daresay!"

“Feet off the desk, sir,” Professor MacMillan said, walking around the students to stand at the blackboard at the front of the class. 

Royston grumbled to himself as he lowered his feet to the floor. 

The Yaxleys seated themselves near the door, so June and her friends made their way to the other side of the room, next to an open window. Myrtle eyed the desk beside Royston longingly, but her friends kept moving, so she did, too. 

Soon, other students began arriving: Rubeus Hagrid, Rosemary Chen, and Elisenda Albo. Elisenda stopped beside the Yaxleys, offering both of them excited hugs, then bounded across the room to do the same to June, Myrtle, and Becky. 

“I’m so glad you came!” she squealed, sitting behind June. “This is going to be so much fun. 

Professor MacMillan glanced at the clock above the blackboard. “Well, I expect that’s going to be the lot for today,” she said, facing the assembled students. “My name is Opabinia MacMillan. I’m the new reader for the Magientomology class, which some of you are already taking. She inclined her head towards Rosemary Chen, who sat up a little straighter at the acknowledgment. “I’d like to welcome you to the Hogwarts chapter of the Legendary Arthropodological Research and Visions Association! Now.” She flicked her wand toward the blackboard. rose into the air to write in large, looping letters:

The four branches of Arthropods:

Insects

Arachnids

Crustaceans

Myriapods

“ And we’ll study a bit of Malacology,‌” MacMillan added as the chalk dropped back onto the ledge of the chalkboard. “That’s the study of slugs, octopuses and squids.”

The students turned to one another in excitement. Perhaps they would study the giant squid! That would be something!

MacMillan cleared her throat and their attention swung back to her. She looked expectantly over the top of her pince-nez. “Who can tell me,” she asked, “what characteristics all arthropods share?”

June and Rubeus raised their hands at the same time, but of course it was Rubeus that MacMillan noticed first; it was nearly impossible not to, as big as he was. 

MacMillan gestured toward him, and June wilted in disappointment. 

“Your name is?” the professor asked. 

Rubeus stood, looking both pleased and slightly embarrassed by the attention. “ Rubeus Hagrid, Professor.”

“ Mr. Hagrid.” MacMillan inclined her head at him. “ If you could enlighten us, please.”

“ Arthropods have got exoskeletons, they have,” Rubeus answered in a West Country accent quite as thick as Granny Beetle’s. 

“ Excellent,” MacMillan said. “Very excellent. Take five points for Gryffindor. Who can name another feature of arthropods?” 

June’s hand shot into the air again, but she was once again passed over. MacMillan was looking on the other side of the room, to where Royston was lazily raising his hand into the air. 

June smoldered with indignation as MacMillan called upon Royston to answer instead of her. She was a far more reliable source of insect knowledge. 

Royston stood and clasped his hands behind his back, looking for all the world as if he was about to begin spouting the poetry Myrtle claimed he composed. But no verses spilled from his lips. “They’re invertebrates,” he said. "And they possess segmented bodies, you see."

Professor MacMillan nodded approvingly. “Five points to Ravenclaw. Anyone else?” 

“Arthropods have jointed limbs and their exoskeletons are made of chitin,” June said quickly, afraid yet another student would swoop in before she could prove herself. 

“ Another five points to Ravenclaw,” MacMillan said, beaming at June. “May I have your name, miss…?” 

Now that the topic wasn’t arthropods but herself, June found herself unable to speak. She stared down at the desktop, fidgeting in her seat. 

Becky came to her rescue. “Scrimgeour’s a wee bit shy, Professor.”

“As Miss Scrimgeour told us, arthropods have exoskeletons made out of chitin,” MacMillan said, resuming the club’s first lesson. “Incidentally, Chitin is also the name of L.A.R.V.A. 's quarterly periodical. Once you’ve all filed the junior membership paperwork, you’ll begin receiving Chitin by owl post. And of course, if anyone wishes to read back issues, you can send an owl requesting them by issue number.”

The rest of the meeting was spent going over the basics of insect life cycles, from larvae to adulthood. And, to the delight of everyone but Myrtle, Professor MacMillan promised they would begin studying magical insects next week. “Nothing too dangerous, as not all of you have had a chance for any beginner Magizoology courses yet.” 

The club members stood, recognizing the club advisor’s dismissal for what it was. A few of the quicker students had already headed for the door when Fausta said, “You still haven’t answered one important question.”

Professor MacMillan regarded Fausta severely over her pince-nez. “And that would be…?”

“Are you descended from the late Professor MacMillan?” Fausta asked. “Is that why you took up the Magientomology readership? You think you’ll find their treasure?” She dropped her voice to a whisper on the last word, glancing around at the other students ominously. 

“What treasure is she talking about?” Rubeus asked, hesitating in the doorway. He seemed unaware that his large frame blocked anyone else from exiting the classroom. Most of the other students were too interested in listening to MacMillan’s explanation to complain.

“I’m from another branch of the family,” MacMillan said dryly. “And there’s no evidence to suggest there’s any merit whatsoever to those rumors about treasure.” 

“ I heard that the Department of Magientomology was involved in Dark magic,” June whispered to Becky and Myrtle. “And that was why the L.A.R.V.A. club’s records burned down. And Myrmosina MacMillan burned down with it. Witches don’t burn to death by accident.”

“The only treasure any of the previous magientomology professors had was their vast knowledge of their subject,” Professor MacMillan said, staring down the students. “And none of the magientomology professors were involved in the Dark Arts. If any of you knew the history of L.A.R.V.A., you’d understand that.”

“ What is the history of L.A.R.V.A.?” several students asked at once.

MacMillan heaved a sigh of resignation before explaining, “L.A.R.V.A. was born from the ashes of the Plinian Society. In the 1840s, the Plinian Society splintered into several groups with disparate aims. One of those groups became known as L.A.R.V.A. Myrmosina MacMillan and Lasius Thorn were two of the founding members. One of the principles all members have had to pledge from the beginning of L.A.R.V.A. is eschewing the Dark Arts.”

“ That doesn’t mean they couldn’t–” Fausta began.

MacMillan cut her off. “If you wish to learn more about arthropods, come again next Saturday. If you’re here because of absurd rumors, then you’re wasting your time.”

The students finally dispersed, muttering discontentedly among themselves. Royston and Abdul whispered furtively the whole way back to Ravenclaw Tower, to June’s great annoyance. 

“Of course those two would be more interested in treasure than arthropods,” she muttered disparagingly, casting dark glances at the boys’ backs as they wound their way up the staircase. She just hoped they wouldn’t try to rope anyone else into their nonsense. It would be just her luck if they convinced more people to show up next week to turn the club into a treasure hunting society. 

“Shouldn’t you be keen on treasure, too?” Becky asked, nudging June with her elbow. “After all, isn’t that where you’re niffler likely be hidin’?” 

“Well, yes,” June conceded, annoyed at Becky now, too. “But that’s different.” 

As soon as they were in their dormitory she took Myrmosina’s compass out of her trunk and turned it over in her hands. A treasure hidden at Hogwarts by Myrmosina MacMillan…the compass certainly fit that description.

Becky dropped onto the bed next to her. “Reckon that leads to the treasure?” she asked. 

“I don’t know what it leads to,” June said, opening it up and staring at the dial and the compass rose inside. “But it must have been hidden for a reason.” 

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Becky asked, and when June didn’t answer she leaned forward, her eyes shining. “Tomorrow we should find out.” 

Chapter Text

Sunday after breakfast June took the mysterious compass out of her trunk at Becky’s urging. Her gaze kept darting toward the door, expecting their other roommates to burst in on them at any moment, but so far the coast was clear. 

Myrtle, who had been diligently poring over her notes for History of Magic, looked up. “I think we ought to turn it in,” she said, frowning at Becky in disapproval. 

“Turn it in?” Becky repeated, looking aghast at the very thought. “Not a chance. If we hand it in, who knows what'll come of it? The Yaxleys might nick it, or maybe that Hornby.” 

Myrtle was right; the responsible thing to do would be to hand it in. For one thing, just because she had found it didn’t mean she had any right to it. For another, what if the rumors about MacMillan and Thorn were true? Practicing the Dark Arts wasn’t the sort of thing that was encouraged at Hogwarts, even if it was common knowledge that many pureblood families taught it at home, and if June was caught with a Dark Object in her possession she was sure to be expelled. On the other hand, where there was treasure, there were sure to be nifflers, and June wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity that might lead her to Nugget. 

“We’ll follow it,” she decided at last. “Maybe it can lead us to Nugget.” 

June, Becky, and a highly reluctant Myrtle followed the compass out of the common room, all the way to the fifth floor, where they met Sylvia and her Slytherin friend, Vesta Hawksworth, who were emerging from the choir room. 

“Hullo, Junebug,” Sylvia said, before her gaze dropped to the object in June’s hands. “Is that a compass? That won’t help you navigate this castle! You’d need a map for that.”

June frowned at her sister. “We just thought we’d try it out.” Then she asked, more keenly, “ Are there maps of the castle?” 

“There aren’t, but there ought to be.” Sylvia reached out to take the compass from her sister, examining it. “Are you sure it’s pointing in the right direction? It looks broken.”

“How do you know that?” June asked, snatching it back and shoving it in her pocket.

Sylvia clicked her tongue in irritation. “Just because you’re my sister doesn’t mean I can’t dock points from Ravenclaw if you’re rude.”

“Sorry,” June said, peering in the direction the compass had pointed. “But how do you know it’s broken?”

“Because Professor Merrythought is sadistic,” Vesta said, looping an arm through Sylvia’s. “We’re supposed to navigate our way out of the Forbidden Forest for our O.W.L.s. Which we’d better practice, come on.”

The Ravenclaws waited until the prefects were out of sight before they headed across a stone bridge to the Divination corridor, and from there down a side corridor none of them had ever been down until they found themselves facing a tapestry which depicted a beehive surrounded by bees too large to be entirely believable. A faint buzz emanated from the tapestry, as if the bees might fly off the tapestry at any moment in search of pollen. 

“Something must be back there,” June said, pushing aside the tapestry to peek behind it. The corridor beyond was dark. “Lumos,” she whispered, holding her wand out in front of her. The dim, blueish light revealed a corridor covered in dust and cobwebs; it evidently hadn’t been in use for some time. She ducked behind the tapestry. Becky and Myrtle followed. 

“Where are we?” Myrtle whispered. 

“I’m not sure,” June admitted, pausing beside a vase as large as she was. She didn’t recognize any of the statues or paintings along this wall. Like the rest of the hallways of Hogwarts, the walls were covered with paintings, but she didn’t see a single portrait among them, which was unusual. She frowned up at the nearest painting, and then gasped in awe. Glowing fireflies blinked in and out of the painting, bathing the floor beneath them in a soft, golden light. The other girls turned in unison to look at the painting June was admiring. 

“They look so real!” Myrtle whispered.

They walked slowly through the dusty corridor, gazing with wide eyes at the splendid, life-like paintings. Each one featured a different insect or arachnid: In one a crowd of huge black spiders was facing a lone wizard, whose knees trembled as the spiders advanced; In another a little cricket played the violin while tremulous music softly floated out of the frame. There was a painting of a swarm of bees buzzing amid a field of wildflowers, the fragrant scent of nectar just detectable as they passed. There were paintings of butterflies flitting through the air and of dragonflies skimming ponds and scorpions in flight. There was even a painting of what looked like a group of ticks dancing the maypole around a hair follicle. 

As they drew further and further away from the entrance, the corridor grew dustier and darker, and the paintings gave way to pairs of giant arthropod statues taller than they were. They passed towering praying mantises, massive bees, and looming spiders before finally coming to a stop at the feet of two worker ants. The compass needle pointed directly at the wall between the two ants. Simple arthropod glyphs, including the crude ant on the compass, were etched below the crown molding.

Myrtle glowered at the solid wall in front of them. “Oh, splendid! This certainly looks like treasure to me.” 

“Maybe it isn’t as solid as it looks,” June said hopefully, remembering how she’d found the compass in the first place. She placed a palm against the cool stone and pushed, but it held firm. 

Becky squinted up at the glyphs. “I reckon those spell out an incantation to get past the wall,” she said. “Like what MacMillan used to get into room 26.” 

“Too bad we can’t read them,” June said, frustrated at being foiled when they were this close to finding out where the compass led to — and, more importantly, to Nugget. She put all her strength into pushing against the wall and then banged against it with a fist. “Nugget?” she called. “Nugget!” 

But it was no use. The wall remained as solid as ever, and the corridor remained empty of even the whisper of a niffler. June turned her back on the wall, disappointment welling up within her. What had she expected? Of course some stupid compass wasn’t going to get her niffler back. But as they made their way back to Ravenclaw Tower she couldn’t help but feel let down. 

Despite the excitement of the initial L.A.R.V.A. meeting, subsequent meetings proved much more mundane. June didn’t mind; as curious as she was about the mystery surrounding the missing magientomologists she had joined for arthropods, not sleuthing. There was no more talk of treasure. Instead, they learned about insect life cycles, from eggs to pupa to larva to imago. They observed the Gledwyrm Professor MacMillan brought in, memorized the differences between a Common House Acromantula and a Cellar Acromantula, learned that some magizoologists classified Bowtruckles as arthropods, and that the five Bowtruckle species native to Great Britain were the Common European Bowtruckle, the Great Horned Bowtruckle, the Short Horned Bowtruckle, the Common Dogwood Bowtruckle, and the Silver Bark Bowtruckle.

There was only one tiny little flaw with L.A.R.V.A., one blot on an otherwise perfect club, and that was the presence of the Yaxleys. The Yaxley sisters had, on the whole, stopped bothering June and her friends during Herbology, perhaps because they were worried word would get back to Professor MacMillan. This was a perfectly reasonable fear to have, as Professor MacMillan was frequently seen going in and out of the Greenhouses in the company of Professor Beery, and she seemed to be on quite decent terms with Slughorn, as well. Or maybe they were afraid that Elisenda Albo would stop helping them with their search — June often saw the three of them together out on the lawns, their heads together, deep in conversation; apparently Achlys had conceded the need for help, after all. But Fausta hadn’t forgiven June and Myrtle for overhearing Goshawk criticising her poor spellwork; the glares she gave the two Ravenclaws whenever they passed in the corridor were full of such venom that June knew it was only a matter of time before Fausta Yaxley attempted revenge. 

Mid-October, June had another confrontation with Fausta. It was a blustery Saturday and June was crossing the lawn when she spied Orion Black and the Yaxleys crouched in the grass around something she couldn’t see. She had nearly passed them when she noticed the object of their attention: An anthill. Distraught worker ants were scrabbling around the entrance to the nest and June’s heart lurched in sympathy.

Gripping her wand tightly in one hand, June marched over to the Slytherins. “What are you doing?” 

Fausta Yaxley held a vial filled with something crumbly and red. Something that looked suspiciously like dirt from an ant mound.

“Gathering ingredients Not that it’s any of your business, Scrimgeour,” Orion replied as he plucked up one of the ants. He dropped the ant into the vial in Fausta’s hands. Fausta stoppered it.

The ant scurried frantically about the tiny, enclosed space, antennae waving as it searched for an escape. 

Blood pounded in June's ears. The ant was going to suffocate if she didn't step in.  “Release the ant," she demanded. "Now." 

Fausta held up the vial, taunting June. “What are you going to do about it, little bug?” 

June looked from the trapped ant to the nest below and all the terrified workers milling about and she knew she couldn’t let this stand. She couldn’t wait for a teacher to come by, or a prefect. She had to act, now, before the ant suffocated. She flicked her wand toward the vial with a cry of, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The vial shot out of Fausta’s hands, hovering in the air above her head. Then June released the spell, allowing the vial to fall to the earth, where it smashed at the feet of the stunned Slytherins. 

Fausta’s face contorted with fury. “You think you’re so special, don’t you, little miss bug? But you can’t stop us. We need those ants.” 

June returned Fausta’s glare with one of her own. “Don’t you recall what Professor MacMillan said? You can’t be in L.A.R.V.A. if you practice the Dark Arts. And killing for spells is Dark.” 

Slughorn had taught them that on their first day, and he was the Slytherin head of house. Surely he wouldn’t be pleased to hear that any of his students had been planning to practice Dark Arts on campus. 

“There are some things more important than club membership. Things like family.” Orion gave June a contemptuous once over. “Not that you’d know anything about that. I notice you and your sister never spend time together.” 

Orion’s words found their mark. “She’s a prefect! And she’s in her O.W.L. year!” June protested, trying to ignore the guilt that was now coiling in her gut. “And in any case, tormenting insects isn’t the same thing as spending time with family.” 

“Sometimes, you have to use the Dark Arts if you want to see your family again,” Fausta said in a low voice. 

Of course. The fight between Fausta and Achlys over what lines they’d be willing to cross in their search, Fausta’s insistence that family was important enough to cross lines for…the pieces clicked into place, and before June could stop herself she blurted out, “This is about the pet Elisenda is helping you look for, isn’t it?” 

“Eumolpos isn’t a pet,” Fausta snapped. Her eyes were popping with rage. “And how many of my conversations have you Ravenclaws been spying on?”

June decided it was safer not to answer that question. “Does Elisenda know you’re willing to use the Dark Arts in your search?” she asked. She was betting the answer was ‘no.’ Elisenda was, after all, a master of the anti-Dark Arts, not to mention a Hufflepuff. June believed quite sincerely in the innate goodness of that particular house; If there was one person who would never willingly practice the Dark Arts, it was Sylvia, and Sylvia defined Hufflepuff as far as June was concerned. 

“What Albo knows is none of your business.” Fausta beckoned for Orion to follow her before she cast one last malevolent look over her shoulder at June. “I’m warning you now, Scrimgeour. Nothing is going to stop me from finding Eumolpos. Not you, not the teacher — no one. So mind your own business or I’ll make sure you regret it.” 

June watched them leave. The threat that they’d be back to bother the ants again disturbed her so much she wanted to stand guard, but she didn’t want to be caught near a pile of glass when Ogg came around to tend the lawn. Besides, Orion had made one good point — she really ought to spend more time with Sylvia. 

At lunchtime, June joined the Hufflepuff table, shoving herself between Ivan Bones and Desdemona Diggory. 

“Hullo, June!” Elisenda said, leaning over Desdemona to beam at her. “What are you doing here? Decide to change houses?” 

June gave Elisenda a tense smile in return. “Waiting for my sister,” she said. She thought about telling her about Fausta and the ant, but that would mean she’d have to admit she’d overheard Elisenda and Fausta talking. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted Elisenda to know about that–it was one thing for Fausta to know, since Fausta already disliked June. But June wasn’t sure she could face disappointing a Hufflepuff. 

“She’s with Vesta,” said a fourth year Hufflepuff, nodding toward the Slytherin table. 

June looked in the direction the fourth year was pointing. There, across the Great Hall, was Sylvia’s blonde head bent in conversation with Vesta Hawksworth’s dark one. Vesta’s classmates, Lucretia and Walburga Black, sat across from them. And next to Walburga was none other than Orion. She didn’t want Orion to know his remarks had gotten to her, but there was nothing else for it–it was that or continue not to talk to her sister and endure greater and greater feelings of guilt. So she crossed the Great Hall until she arrived at the Slytherin table. She stopped behind Sylvia and Vesta, studiously avoiding looking at Orion and fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. 

“Sylvia, do you have a moment?” she mumbled. 

“Oh! Junebug!” Sylvia said, looking up with a delighted smile and scooting closer to Vesta. “Yes, of course. Please, join us.” 

June uncomfortably seated herself between Sylvia and Roland Nott, one of the third years from the Slug Club. Nott gave her a silent nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the conversation he was having with Lucretia and Walburga — apparently some of Lucretia’s jewelry had gone missing. For one horrible moment, June thought one of the Slytherins would bring up the possibility of nifflers, but then Walburga suggested that Nott’s friend, Avery, had stolen it to get back at Lucretia for turning him down. 

“It’s lovely of you to join us,” Sylvia said. She thrust a goblet of pumpkin juice into June’s hand. “How are you finding Hogwarts so far?” 

“It’s really grand,” June answered, focusing all her attention on Sylvia so as to distract herself from the conversation on the other side of her. “All my classes are so fascinating! Herbology is my favorite–” 

“Mine, too!” Sylvia exclaimed. “Professor Beery is such a dear.” 

“–But I wish you had warned me about Professor Slughorn’s Slug Club,” June added in a disgruntled voice. 

“Oh,” Sylvia said in a quiet voice. Her cheeks had taken on a distinct crimson hue now. “I didn’t even think about that. He tried to recruit you into his collection, then?” 

Orion leaned across Walburga to eye June with his trademark contempt. “She only came the one time, so he must not have thought much of her.” 

Vesta gave Orion a sharp look. “Careful, Orion,” she warned. “I’d think very hard about how many more house points I want to lose, if I were you.” 

Orion turned his back haughtily on them and only spoke to Lucretia and Walburga for the rest of the meal. 

After lunch, June followed Sylvia and Vesta into the courtyard, where they sat beneath the shadow of a towering elm. June felt very grown up, spending time with two fifth years, even if one of them was her sister. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier,” she began, before launching into her complaint about Orion, the Yaxleys, and the ant nest. Vesta and Sylvia listened somberly. 

“I’ll talk to them about it,” Vesta promised when June had finished telling her story. “If Orion thinks he’s lost loads of points already, that’s nothing to how many he’ll lose if I catch him near any ant nests.” 

“Does he have a reputation for losing house points, then, Black?” June asked. She recalled how quickly Vesta had brought him to heel by the mere threat of losing more points, and had to admit to a certain amount of smugness at this thought. 

Her question elicited peels of laughter from Sylvia and Vesta. They leaned on one another for support, gasping for breath while June wondered irritably what was so funny. When they had both recovered Vesta straightened her hat and said, “He’s lost more house points for Slytherin than all the other students combined.” 

“That’s only because Eumolpos isn’t around for him to compete with,” Sylvia said, and the two prefects dissolved into fits of giggles again. 

Eumolpos! June hadn’t expected that name to come up again, certainly not in conversation with her sister. 

“Who is Eumolpos?” she asked. 

“Eumolpos Yaxley,” Sylvia said, which answered none of June’s questions. “Don’t you remember me telling you about him? Slytherin boy, always causing mischief?” 

June had to admit that she couldn’t recall any specifics beyond understanding that boys were increasingly more annoying the older you got. “So why isn’t he around this year?” she asked. 

Vesta shrugged. “No idea. Some people say he ran off to support Grindelwald, but that’s utter rubbish. Eumolpos was always getting into fights with Grindelwald’s supporters.” She cracked another smile, and June was afraid she was going to start giggling again. “He even accused Professor Dumbledore of being a secret Grindelwald supporter. Can you believe it?” 

Vesta and Sylvia exchanged another glance, grinning widely at one another, but to June’s relief there were no more giggles. 

Sylvia quickly composed herself, turning her attention back to her little sister. “I honestly don’t know what happened. I’m not sure anyone does, except maybe Achlys and Fausta.” 

“They don’t,” June said at once, recalling the conversation she had overheard between the sisters. We don’t even know where to begin looking , Achlys had said. But they must know he hadn’t returned to Hogwarts, which begged the question — why were they searching for him here? 

But June had more important things to worry about than a runaway Yaxley, especially now that she knew the prefects would be ensuring the safety of the local ant colonies. 

Important things like finding Nugget. 

Perhaps she ought to have turned the compass in — she certainly had no actual claim to it — but she was still convinced that it would lead her to her niffler, if only she could figure out the incantation above the ant statues. It was with this thought in mind that she returned to the Hall of Insects with parchment, quill, and ink–she would never decipher the glyphs if she couldn’t peruse it at her leisure, which meant she needed to copy it down. It was clear to her now that the Hall of Insects must be the old Magientomology Department corridor, though why it should be in such a dusty, disused state she didn’t understand. She had thought Pringle and the house-elves cleaned every last inch of the castle–it seemed most unlike any house-elf she’d ever met to leave dust to accumulate even in a room that wasn’t used–but apparently she’d been wrong. 

This time, before she slipped behind the beehive tapestry she took a torch from the wall. The corridor beyond was still dark and dusty, the only light the smoky torchlight and the occasional luminescent glow of fireflies emanating from a painting but even so she was tempted to linger in the corridors admiring the paintings, but that would get her nowhere; she forced herself to keep walking, even when she passed one full of enormous ants that begged to be admired more closely. Before she knew it, she was once again standing in the shadow of the ant statues. She thrust the torch into an empty sconce on the wall opposite, then peered up at the crown molding, carefully copying down the message there. When she finished copying down the script, she tucked her parchment back into her pocket, removed the torch from the wall, and headed back the way she’d come. 

Chapter Text

By the end of October, the blustery wind gave way to thunderstorms that rattled Ravenclaw Tower during the nights. The Post Owls showered water on the students’ heads when they flew into the Great Hall at breakfast, bringing with them reminders of the wars that raged within the world beyond the confines of Hogwarts. There were rarely many letters, of course, especially from the Muggle households; the paper shortage continued to hold fast. But Myrtle received a letter from her parents that, although she wouldn’t let her friends read it, she kept tucked in her pocket like a keepsake, and June received a letter from Peter demanding to know everything about Hogwarts and bemoaning the fact that he was still a few years off from attending. And every morning Elisenda watched the owls, but June never saw one deliver a single letter to her. 

It was the day before Halloween when a post owl flew into the Great Hall and dropped a soggy periodical in June’s lap. It was her copy of October’s Magientomological Review . Delicately, she picked it up by one corner and shook it, spraying droplets of water everywhere. Darren Crickerly, who was sitting across from her, shielded his toast with his body, glaring at her over the top of his spectacles. 

June caught his eye and decided that perhaps shaking wasn’t the most effective way to dry a magazine after all. After mumbling a quick apology, she pressed her napkin on top of the magazine, soaking up the excess water. Then she spread it open. Through some miracle, it remained legible. 

She perused the table of contents, then exclaimed, “There’s an interview with Professor MacMillan!” 

She began reading aloud while Becky listened intently. (Myrtle was making eyes at Royston, apparently quite uninterested in interviews.) 

MR: What brought you out of the field and into the classroom?

MacMillan: I saw a memo from L.A.R.V.A. mentioning that Hogwarts was looking to add a Magientomological Professorship to their Magizoological Department, and I applied. I'm honored to be here, and I hope to teach my students about the fascinating world of Magientomology.

MR: You were the 1937 recipient of the Magientomological Society of Britain’s Doryphora Cybelle Nettles Recognition Award in Insect Magitoxicology. Can you tell us a bit about that?

MacMillan: I was out in the Territory of Alta California researching Shutihil ants. They are widely known to be used in divination by some of the native cultures, and I wanted to understand how this was being done. It's fascinating, really. It turns out they produce neurotoxins that can help even non-Seers open their inner eye.

“Magitoxicology sounds interesting,” Darren said, inviting himself into their conversation. “I wonder how you get into a field like that.” 

“Isn’t that what O.W.L.s are for? We’re only first years, we don’t have to know yet,” Becky reasoned. She was scooping her third helping of eggs onto her plate; she always ate as if she was afraid the food would run out. 

June folded her soggy magazine and dropped it into her pocket. She could feel it soak through the fabric despite her best attempts at drying it off. “I want to be a Magimyrmecologist,” she said wistfully. 

“Like the Thorns,” said Becky from around a mouthful of eggs. “Hope you don’t up an’ vanish, too, Scrimgeour.” 

“What sort of careers can you have when you’re not any good at Charms?” Myrtle asked glumly, returning her attention to her friends rather than Royston, who had left the Great Hall. 

“You’re not bad at charms,” June protested loyally, albeit untruthfully. “And you're fantastic at transfigurations. Maybe you could be an alchemist.” 

It was quite unfortunate that Olive Hornby was passing the Ravenclaw table at that moment, for she stopped right behind Myrtle and sneered. “Alchemist? You mean that job for weird old men who don’t know how to interact with normal people? That would be the only job Warren is fit for.” 

Becky stabbed her eggs with her fork. “It’s a job for the smart folk, Hornby. Not that you’d have a clue about that.”

“I’m intelligent enough to know that you don’t get anywhere by being a swotty little four-eyes,” Olive said haughtily and she strode off. 

Myrtle’s lower lip quivered and began sniffling loudly and, in June’s mind, dangerously. 

“Don’t listen to Hornby,” she assured Myrtle hastily, hoping to prevent her friend from bawling in public, “she’s just saying that because she knows you’re smarter than she is.” 

“But she’s right,” Myrtle said, raising her voice so loudly she was now drawing attention from the other three house tables. “Nobody takes ugly girls seriously.” 

“What absolute rubbish!” June whispered, as if by decreasing her own volume she could forcibly silence Myrtle, too. “I’d much rather be smart than pretty, personally, and I’d expect any self-respecting Ravenclaw to feel the same.” 

Myrtle took a huge, gulping breath as her tears began to fall in earnest. “That’s easy for you to say! You’re not ugly.” 

“Don’t be spoutin’ nonsense, Warren,” Becky said, reaching across the table to pat Myrtle on the shoulder. Myrtle drew away from her, and Becky sat back down with an exasperated sigh. “Honestly now, do ye see any lovely lasses struttin' about Hogwarts while everyone’s fawnin' over 'em?” 

“Walburga Black,” Myrtle answered at once in a hoarse voice. 

The other two Ravenclaws all swiveled to look towards the Slytherin table, where Walburga and her cousin Lucretia were holding court. June had to admit that Myrtle had a point; the Blacks were all quite beautiful and other witches and wizards tripped over themselves to earn their favor. 

“Rich and can hex folk in her sleep,” Becky said dismissively, turning back to her eggs. “If you learned to curse everyone, Hornby’d be leavin’ you alone, too.” 

Myrtle glared at her. “You’re making fun of me.” 

“None of us would make fun of you,” June said, torn between concern and exasperation. “We’re your friends, Myrtle. And isn’t having friends more important than what you look like?” 

Myrtle stood up abruptly. “No, it isn’t,” She said angrily and she stalked out of the Great Hall. 

The other three girls watched her leave in stunned silence and then Becky asked, “Why does she care so much about what Hornby thinks?” 

But June didn’t have an answer.

By Potions class, Myrtle had forgiven them. This was, in part, due  to Slughorn’s lesson on sleeping draughts, which were proving to be so tricky it was impossible to concentrate on anything but work. 

As the class feverishly stirred lavender, valerian sprigs, and flobberworm mucus, Professor Slughorn made his way up and down the aisles, observing their work with occasional exclamations of “Not so much lavender, Diggory” or “Now, now, Hafeez, Brown. You’re supposed to be adding your flobberworm mucus to your concoction, not flinging it at one another.” 

When he came to the table where June and her friends were working he gave Becky an appreciative smile. “Very good, Driscoll. That deep plum color is exactly what you want out of a sleeping draught.” 

Becky positively glowed at this praise, ducking her head modestly while Slughorn moved away from her to tsk over Myrtle’s potion, which was a more vivid shade of purple than Becky’s. 

“Not quite, Ms. Warren, not quite. Take a look at Ms. Driscoll’s brew, here. That’s the color you should be aiming for, not this ectoplasmic hue.” 

As Slughorn continued down the aisle, Myrtle leaned over to whisper to Becky. “Help me! I don’t understand what I did wrong.” 

Becky peered at the violently purple liquid currently bubbling inside Myrtle’s cauldron. “How many valerian sprigs did you add?” she asked at last. 

Myrtle’s face paled. “I forgot to add the valerian sprigs!” 

By the end of class, only Becky and Elisenda had successfully brewed a sleeping draught, although June and Abdul had both come close. Slughorn didn’t seem surprised by this; he praised Becky and Elisenda as the most gifted potions students he’d ever had, although he seemed to only give praise in such extravagant terms that June wondered just how many students he’d referred to as ‘most gifted’ in his teaching career. 

As they were packing up their things to leave, Slughorn added, “I’d like an essay on the properties of lavender and valerian, to be turned in next lesson. We’ll try our hand at sleeping draughts again, see if understanding your ingredients better helps improve your potions work.” 

As they exited the class, Royston turned to Abdul, groaning. "Blimey, a ruddy essay on the ins and outs of lavender and valerian! Have you looked at the lavender bit in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi ? It’s practically a novel on its own! How on earth are we meant to condense it into a manageable essay?” 

“Maybe Slughorn will accept it on sonnet form,” said Abdul, who was wiping flobberworm slime off his face. 

Royston perked up at that. “Oh, I say, what a splendid idea.” 

Abdul’s suggestion had the unfortunate effect of resulting in Royston drafting his poem about lavender aloud in the common room, which Myrtle found endearing, but made June wish she knew a silencing spell. 

“Let’s see, lavender repels pests and helps you relax….no, not relax, it helps you get rest. That’s more like it,” Royston said, scribbling furiously on his parchment. 

“Come on,” June muttered, shoving her own essay into her bag and scowling at Royston. “Let’s go explore that corridor.” 

Becky jumped to her feet at once, but Myrtle cast a sigh of longing in Royston’s direction before heading out of the room with her friends. 

June didn’t need the compass this time; she remembered exactly how to get to the corridor. The girls ducked through it into the hallway which, to their consternation, was lit by torch light for the first time since they’d discovered it. 

“You don’t reckon Pringle’s down here?” June asked, peering nervously around the corridor. Gone were the dust and the cobwebs, which boded poorly for them. 

“If he is, we’ll say we got lost,” Becky said with an optimism June didn’t share. But she would never find Nugget if she lived in fear of Pringle’s lashings, so she moved down the corridor, pressing her ear against the first door they came across. 

After what felt like ages they came to a room labeled 54-B. Etched into the door, as if someone had scratched it there with a penknife, was the familiar ant glyph. 

“Looks like we’ve found the right place,” June whispered and she pushed open the door. 

Room 54-B appeared to be an office rather than a classroom. Arched windows along the far wall let in what little sunlight there was. There was only one desk, covered with yellowed scrolls. On the wall above the desk hung a clock in the shape of a ladybird, with spots all along the outer edge of the ladybird’s wings to indicate the time. There were several cabinets on either side of the desk, none of which seemed to be built upright but which tilted at strange angles that made June’s head hurt if she looked at them for too long. 

June and her friends began their investigation at once. It was clear, from the ant glyph on the door, that this must have been Myrmosina’s office when she’d been a professor. June couldn’t believe it was still fully furnished — It didn’t look as if anyone had touched the place since Myrmosina had gone missing. 

“I still don’t think we’ll find anything,” Myrtle said as she opened one of the cabinet drawers. “It’s been decades. Surely if there’s anything to be found, someone’s already found it.” 

“Found what?” asked a voice from the doorway. 

June whirled around so fast she almost tripped on the hem of her robe. “Who — ” she began, but who was now approaching with her wand lit. 

It was Elisenda Albo. 

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Elisenda said as she drew near, gazing around with avid curiosity. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was coming to ask Professor Merrythought if doxy venom could be used as a substitute ingredient in sleeping draughts when I saw the four of you disappear behind a tapestry. I hadn’t realized there was anything back here.” 

Although June wasn’t keen on anyone else knowing about Nugget’s escape, the thought of leaving when they’d just got here was too painful to bear. Besides, June reminded herself, Elisenda was helping the Yaxleys with their brother, and he wasn’t even lost at Hogwarts. Surely she would understand about a pet. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. 

“Do you remember my niffler?” June asked. “From the train? She escaped. We thought we saw her come this way.” 

That was only a half-truth, of course, but June wasn’t prepared to explain about the compass or the glyphs. She was sure Elisenda would have all sorts of questions, questions she wasn’t at all ready to answer. And then, what if Elisenda told one of the teachers about the compass? They might take it away before June had properly reassured herself about Nugget. 

“You lost your niffler?” Elisenda whispered. “Oh, Scrimgeour, d’you think that’s what’s been stealing things from people’s dormitories all term? Don’t you think you ought to tell a teacher?” 

“Well…” June knew Elisenda was right, but the thought of just how upset the teachers would be when she admitted she’d smuggled a niffler into school cowed her. “I’ll tell them if we don’t find her today,” she said. 

Elisenda didn’t look entirely convinced, but she followed the Ravenclaws into room 54-B. 

“I’ll help you look, anyway,” she said as they dispersed around the room. 

June was too short to see onto the highest shelves, and they hadn’t yet learned any revealing spells so he pushed a chair towards the shelves along the far end of the room and balanced precariously on top. 

All she could see were a couple of old textbooks. She swept them aside, revealing what looked like a mousehole. Just as June was pushing the books back into place, Elisenda hissed from across the room, “There’s something over here!” 

June turned in Elisenda’s direction, but this was a mistake; her already precarious balance was destroyed, and she tumbled from the desk with a yelp. 

“Are you all right?” Myrtle asked, rushing over. 

“I’m fine,” June said, scrambling to her feet and approaching Elisenda, who was standing in front of a curious looking cabinet, which leaned to one side, seeming to stand only on two clawed feet while the other two dangled in midair. Faded paintings on the door panels depicted a variety of different arthropods, some June had never seen before. Two fearsome, carved mantises along the top of the frame faced the same ant symbol from the compass. June reached out to trace the ant with one finger.

The cabinet rattled, and June jumped back. 

“D’you think it’s a boggart?” Myrtle whimpered. 

All at once June began to laugh. It was as if all the worries she’d carried with her had been washed clean, leaving only joy and relief. She could remember facing this very situation over the summer, only with Peter and Sylvia instead of school friends. 

“It’s Nugget,” she said and, feeling more confident than she had in weeks, she stepped forward to pry the cabinet open. The doors stuck fast, and instead of opening the cabinet, she nearly yanked it off the wall. 

The door to the cabinet was shoved open from the inside and out stepped a small, shriveled house-elf wearing a brightly patterned scarf tied about her waist like a dress. “You is disturbing my work,” she said, wagging a finger under June’s nose. 

June’s excitement drained away into disappointment. “You’re not Nugget,” she said in a wooden voice. 

“Of course me name isn’t Nugget!” The house-elf squeaked indignantly, staring up at her with wide gray eyes. “I is Bunkey, Miss. I works here at Hogwarts and you is interrupting, you is.”

June hesitated. She knew first hand just how much cleaning up after nifflers required; surely the house-elves would have noticed Nugget’s presence, even if the teachers hadn’t. “Have you seen a niffler anywhere while, you know…working?” she asked. 

Bunkey placed her hands on her hips and scowled up at June in disapproval. “If I has seen a niffler, why should I tell Miss? Students is not supposed to be in here while I is cleaning.”

Becky, who had crossed the room when Bunkey emerged, snorted. “I thought house-elves were meant to be helpful.” 

“I is helpful to students that does what they is ought,” Bunkey said loftily. “But students is not Bunkey’s owner, so Bunkey does not have to answer students if Bunkey doesn’t want.” 

June rocked back and forth on her heels, tears stinging her eyes. The hope that had blossomed when Elisenda pointed out the occupied cabinet had withered, leaving behind nothing but the dull certainty she had lost her pet forever. 

Elisenda laid an arm on her shoulder. “Why don’t we look around some more? Maybe we’ll find her.”

June stared hopelessly around. They had already scoured the entire room, and they weren’t old enough to know any useful spells for revealing hidden enchantments or finding lost objects. Where else was left to search? 

“It’s no use. I’ve lost her for good, all because I didn’t want to be separated for a few measly months.” Tears splashed down her face. Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever and wise, but she’d been so unbelievably stupid and foolish. 

“Serves miss right for breaking the rules,” Bunkey said loftily. She punctuated this with a sniff that seemed to echo squeakily. Or — no, something was squeaking somewhere above them. 

June’s attention immediately shifted to the ceiling, but of course there was nothing there; she must have been imagining it. 

Then Bunkey uttered an outraged squeak of her own, “That dratted niffler!” The elf was staring at the highest shelves, where June had seen the mousehole. And there, her snout poking out of the hole, was Nugget. 

June could only stare dazedly up at the shelf where her niffler was squeezing her fat, orange little body out of the mousehole, half wondering if grief had caused her to hallucinate. But then the niffler leaped from the shelf at June, slamming into her like a furry missile. The impact bowled her over. She landed flat on her back, whacking her head against the floor. She blinked away stars as Nugget climbed into her chest, rubbing against her face in joyous greeting.

“Oh, Nugget!” June exclaimed, grateful and relieved and inexplicably sad all at once. Her head throbbed from her earlier crying and from being knocked down, but she was too pleased to be reunited with Nugget to care. 

Nugget reached into her stomach pouch, rummaging through the items she had no doubt stolen from around the castle, retrieving a ring, which she held out to June. 

“Who’d you steal this from?” June asked in fond exasperation as she examined it. She found her answer at once — etched into the silver was the same crude ant that seemed to represent all of Myrmosina MacMillan’s belongings. Thank Merlin it wasn’t another student; she didn’t want to explain to someone why she had their jewelry. 

“Is this payment for making me worry for two months?” June teased, slipping it into her pocket. She kissed her niffler tenderly before rising to her feet. “But I really did miss you, you ghastly little beast.” 

She placed Nugget in her pocket, too. Remarkably, the niffler stayed put. Bunkey glowered at the girls as they left the room, but made no move to stop them. 

“Thank goodness,” Myrtle said as they exited the magientomology corridor. “Now we don’t have to run all over the castle sleuthing anymore.” 

“No, I suppose we don’t,” June agreed, laughing with delight. She could turn the compass in to Professor MacMillan, now; she had found what she was looking for and had no more need of it. And as for the insect glyphs and the treasure that must be hidden behind the wall — she was curious, yes, but not curious enough to court more trouble over it. The former magientomology professors had been missing for generations; who was June to solve a mystery that grown witches and wizards had never solved? 

The bell rang, signalling that it was time to head to their classes, which, as the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had Transfiguration together, meant there was no reason for June and her friends to part ways with Elisenda. 

Together they took the steps to the third floor and were just passing room 3-26 when who should they run into but Fausta and Achlys Yaxley coming the other direction. 

“‘Llo, Fausta, Achlys,” Elisenda said in a cheery sort of voice. 

“Hullo, Albo,” Fausta said, giving Elisenda a more genuine smile than June had ever seen on her face, but when she turned her attention to the Ravenclaws her smile disappeared. 

June forced her face into an approximation of a friendly smile. “Oh, Hullo, Yaxley.” 

Fausta didn’t respond; Her eyes had narrowed at the breast pocket of June’s robes. “So,” she said, and with a thrill of horror June realized that Nugget was peeking out of her pocket, “that’s the little thief that’s been pilfering Slughorn’s cufflinks all term.” 

“Nugget isn’t a thief,” June said, placing a protective hand over her pocket. This was a ridiculous statement, and she knew it, but she didn’t like the way Fausta was looking at the niffler. 

“Everyone knows nifflers will steal anything that doesn’t have a permanent sticking charm applied to it,” Fausta said dismissively. “But they’re also good little finders, and Achlys and I are in need of a good finder. So unless you want us to tell the professors about your little thief there, you’re going to let us borrow it.” 

Elisenda gave Fausta a reproving look. “You can’t go around demanding other people’s pets. And anyway, you already have help with finding, don’t you?” 

“And look how well that’s been going!” Fausta stamped her foot impatiently. “I thought you understood, Albo. We’ll do whatever it takes to find him. We’ll give Scrimgeour her niffler back after we’re done with it.” 

Myrtle backed away, looking nervously from Fausta to June. 

“You can’t have Nugget,” June said obstinately. “And she wouldn’t be any use, anyway. Nifflers find treasure, not people.” 

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way,” Fausta said. She drew her wand. “Flipendo!”

There was a flash of white light, but it missed her opponent and hit the painting of the warlock in the top hat, who shrieked in outrage as his frame hit the floor. 

Elisenda had her wand out in an instant. “Cadite!” she shouted, and a jet of red light shot toward Fausta. 

“Impedimenta!” Fausta cried, but her aim was off; her spell hit Achlys, Elisenda’s hit Fausta, and both the Yaxleys went down. 

“Stay out of the way,” Achlys snarled, and Achlys drew back, her cheeks pink. As she struggled to stand, Achlys waved her wand again. “Silencio!” 

At once, Elisenda went quiet, opening and closing her mouth in a futile attempt to cast another spell. 

Achlys turned her wand casually upon June and Becky. Having seen Achlys in action, June had no desire to be on the other end of her wand. She darted into the nearest classroom, Becky behind her; Myrtle had taken refuge behind a suit of armor in the hallway. 

June just had time to notice the packs of old playing cards and boards covered in runestones when Achlys flung herself into the room after them.

Becky turned to face Achlys, drawing her wand. “Mo — ” 

Before she could finish casting her spell, Achlys slashed her wand through the air. “Ventus!” 

A jet of wind blew through the room, toppling over books, trinkets, and rune boards. June crouched low, but the strength of the wind pushed her inexorably backward until she hit a desk. Beside her, Becky’s wand had flown out of her hand and rolled across the room.

She advanced upon June, her eyes glittering with triumph. “Time to hand over the niffler, Scrimgeour.” 

June shielded Nugget with both hands, not even trying to draw her wand. “You can’t — ” 

“Melofors!”

The rest of June’s sentence was cut off as she suddenly lost the ability to speak or even see. With shaking hands she reached up to feel her face. It felt rough and unfamiliar, not at all the texture of human skin. She felt Nugget burrowing deeper in her pocket, heard Fausta striding toward her to steal her pet, and placed both hands over her pocket again. 

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble now!” the painting of the warlock admonished from somewhere in the room; he must have changed frames to see what was going on. 

This was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, and then the shocked voice of Professor Henshall. “What in the name o' Merlin’s all that about! Lasius says you lot’ve been having a right good scrap?”

“Indeed they have been, Professor,” said the painting sanctimoniously. 

There was silence for a long, excruciating moment. Then Henshall said, “Who’s gone and chucked a Silencing Charm on Albo, then?”

“ They were trying to jinx us,” Fausta said in a haughty voice. “You can hardly expect us to let them do it.”

“I don’t give a monkey who kicked it off. If there’s a bother, you ought to tell a teacher, not throw a hex back.”

June sank to her knees, holding her misshapen head. This was not the triumphant reunion with her pet she had imagined.

“ Can you change June’s head back?” Becky’s voice asked with palpable anxiety. 

There was another beat of silence before Professor Henshall answered. “She'll have to pop off to hospital wing, but Madam Kittridge'll sort her out right as rain.” S he sighed heavily before continuing, “That’ll be ten points off each of you. Ten points gone from Hufflepuff, thirty from Ravenclaw–”

“It was only me, professor,” Elisenda interjected hastily. “None of your Ravenclaws did anything except be with me.” 

“ Thirty points from Ravenclaw,” Professor Henshall repeated firmly. "Ten points off Hufflepuff and twenty off Slytherin. An' all of you’re gettin’ detention. Now, I need to trundle Scrimgeour to t' hospital wing. The rest of you can leg it to class."

There were mumbles of “Yes, ma’am,” followed by the sound of footsteps receding down the corridor.

June felt Professor Henshall take her by the arm, which was a good thing, as she couldn’t see where she was going. Even with assistance she stumbled the whole way to the infirmary, tripping over the hem of her robe, and once knocking into something solid she thought was a suit of armor. 

Eventually, there was the sound of a door creaking open, and June knew they must have reached the hospital wing. She continued walking until Henshall stopped her.

"Spin round. That’s it. Now have a seat."

June lowered herself onto what felt like one of the infirmary beds. There was a sensation of pressure lifting from her arm as Professor Henshall released her. She didn’t dare move; she sat with her hands in her lap, listening to Madame Kittridge and Professor Henshall, feeling quite helpless. 

Madam Kittridge, the school matron, clucked her tongue despairingly. “What is this! Students playing Halloween tricks already?”

It was an odd sensation. June could feel the pressure from the matron’s hand, but she couldn’t feel the temperature, or the texture. Her shoulders sagged in abject misery. What had the Yaxleys done to her?

“ They always do round this time of year,” Henshall said wearily. "And Albus is off. Reckon you can get her noggin sorted?"

“ Not as fast as Albus.” The sound of drawers being opened and shut accompanied Madam Kittridge’s statement. “but she’ll be back to herself by morning. She’s certainly not the first pumpkin head I’ve had to tend to, nor will she be the last.” 

It was fortunate June couldn’t feel more than a funny prickly sensation as Madam Kittridge tended her; She had a feeling whatever the matron was doing would have hurt much worse with a normal human head.

She still didn’t have a working mouth by dinnertime, and so she went to bed hungry. Madam Kittridge helped her into a hospital gown, and settled her into bed, then went into her office–or so June assumed from the sound of a door shutting at the end of the ward. She struggled to fall asleep; her stomach kept growling, and her mind kept replaying the duel with the Yaxleys and their threat to kidnap Nugget. But as they’d been the ones to turn her head into a pumpkin in the first place, she was sure they wouldn’t be allowed into the infirmary to visit her, so as long as her niffler stayed put she was safe. 

That also worried her; Nugget wasn’t exactly known for staying put. But apparently Nugget had missed June as much as June had missed Nugget, because, although the niffler emerged from her pocket, she didn’t use the opportunity to escape but curled up beside June. June sleepily stroked Nugget’s fur and witch and niffler drifted off into a dreamless sleep, glad to be reunited.

Chapter Text

When June woke up the next morning she was relieved to find that her head, while sore, was no longer a pumpkin: Sylvia had regaled her with mouthwatering descriptions of the lavish Halloween feast, and June would have never forgiven the Yaxleys if she’d missed it because they’d transfigured her head. 

Her mood was much improved by the return of Nugget, and, as if the weather understood this, the storms had dissipated overnight. She had not forgotten the loss of House Points, nor the detention hanging over her head, but it was difficult to be too dejected with Nugget safely nearby and her head back to its proper form.

As soon as Madam Kittridge released her from the infirmary, June slipped away to Ravenclaw Tower. She kept slipping her hand into her pocket to feel Nugget, afraid that the niffler might disappear if she didn’t keep contact. She was ravenously hungry, having skipped supper last night, but she wouldn’t rest easy until Nugget was safely in her cage. 

So preoccupied was she by her own concerns, that she didn’t immediately register the increase in ghostly activity until the fifth time an unfamiliar ghost glided straight through her. She’d thought she was familiar with all the phantoms haunting Hogwarts by now, but evidently she wasn’t. There were all manner of ghosts she’d never seen before flitting through the walls and congregating in the corridors where students had to walk straight through them–always an uncomfortable situation. 

But it wasn’t only unfamiliar ghosts who had gathered at Hogwarts; as June reached the grand staircase, the ghost of a short, scrawny witch in rags floated into view, deep in conversation with a very familiar but thoroughly unexpected translucent figure. 

“Eliza!” June exclaimed in surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?” 

At June’s greeting, the ghost of Eliza Beetle turned from her companion, who drifted up through the ceiling away from them.  “All right, June. ‘Ave ye seen the old Bloody Baron about?”

“No,” June said, “I haven’t. But there are so many ghosts about, perhaps he simply blended in.”

Eliza snorted. “I reckon not. Most o’ us spirits keep our distance. But ‘e’s me old house ghost, and I do hold a soft spot for ‘im, in a manner.” 

June couldn’t imagine anyone being fond of the creepy Slytherin ghost, but then people often said the same thing about her love of arthropods, so she supposed she ought not to judge. 

Then, realizing that Eliza’s presence at Hogwarts was the perfect opportunity to get some questions answered, June asked, “You were at Hogwarts when the late Professor MacMillan taught here, weren’t you? Did you ever hear anything about a magic compass? Because I found one with her mark on it, but it seems to lead straight to a wall.” 

Eliza narrowed her eyes at June. “That old thing! Aye, I knew o’ it. Professor MacMillan said it was mighty important to her research.”

“So her research had something to do with the wall?” June asked. “The one with the insect glyphs and the statues? The compass led me straight there.” 

Research compass or not, June was certain whatever was back there wasn’t the giant ants MacMillan and the Thorns had been studying; That wasn’t the kind of infestation that would go unnoticed, even in a place like Hogwarts. Which left the mysterious rumored treasure. 

Eliza scowled darkly, as if June had just suggested she wanted to practice the Dark Arts. “That wall! Don’t you be touchin’ it, Juney. The last soul who tried to sneak 'ind that wall met their end.”

“Someone died?” June gasped. No wonder rumors had persisted that the magientomology department was involved in the Dark Arts. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe. Oh, to be sure, magic could result in all sorts of accidents, many quite uncomfortable, but death on campus? That wasn’t the sort of thing that happened even in classes like Herbology, where they dealt with plants that could and did kill many fully qualified witches and wizards, or potions, where they literally brewed poisons. 

Then, accusingly, she added, “I thought you said MacMillan and Thorn weren’t the type of professors to endanger students!” 

“Aye, he died, but it weren’t no fault of the profs he went sneakin’ ‘round where he didn’t belong,” Eliza said, scowling in the direction of the clock tower. “And you’d best stay where you belong, too, unless you fancy joinin’ us as spirits.” 

June continued on her way to the dormitories, pondering this new information. What kind of research would require a wall? Advanced magic was so inexplicable, sometimes. 

She had a brief moment of panic when she rounded a corner and found herself facing a group of Slytherins, but there were neither Blacks nor Yaxleys present – it was just Tom Riddle and his friends. Now there was someone the rest of the student body could stand to emulate, June thought; she didn’t have classes with Tom, but she had seen enough of him around school to know he was unfailingly polite and helpful and not at all the sort of boy to play ridiculous pranks on other students. 

This feeling was solidified when she entered the Ravenclaw Common Room to find Royston had placed his toad upon a sheaf of parchment, which he was currently levitating over Darren Crickerly, who was too engrossed in a book to notice. 

June thought about warning Darren, but at that moment Nugget began wriggling more wildly than ever, so she hurried to her dormitory without speaking to anyone, where she quickly shut the door before locking Nugget in her cage. 

“Now,” she said sternly. “You’d better show me everything you’ve got in your pouch.” 

The look Nugget gave her was full of reproach. 

“Don’t give me that,” June scolded. “If you’ve been taking things that don’t belong to you, I need to know so I can give it back.” 

It was with an air of great reluctance that Nugget began pulling things from her pouch. First a shiny silver sickle, then a bracelet June recognized as belonging to Granny Beetle. Soon there was a small glittering mound in the bedding that lined the cage. 

As June watched Nugget reveal object after object the door to the dormitory opened and in stepped Becky and Myrtle. 

“What is all that?” Myrtle asked, coming up beside June and pointing at the items in Nugget’s cage. 

“It’s Nugget’s hoard,” June said, her eyes still glued to her niffler. “I was checking to see if she’d stolen anything since people keep complaining of missing items, but I recognize everything here. It’s all either mine or Granny Beetle’s.” 

Myrtle frowned and bent closer, adjusting her glasses. “Then who do you suppose has been stealing things?” 

“I don’t know…” June admitted, dropping onto her bed now that Nugget had revealed the last of her precious shinies. “It seems so unlikely it could be a student, doesn’t it? People complain about items going missing from their dormitories, across all the houses, and nobody could get into another house’s dormitories. But Peeves has been cleared and now so has Nugget and I just don’t know what other creatures could get from dormitory to dormitory like that except the ghosts, and they can’t interact with our belongings to move them.” 

“Does it matter?” Becky argued. “As long as you know it ain’t your niffler.” 

“Of course it matters,” June said indignantly. “Stealing is wrong and whoever it is needs to be stopped. You wouldn’t want them stealing any of your things, would you?” 

“It could be someone else’s pet,” Myrtle said. “Some of those cats and rats are very clever.” 

June thought that over. It was possible, she supposed, but that still begged the question of whose pet…and was the pet doing this on the orders of their master? 

“I’ll wager it was Walburga Black,” said Becky. “She lets her cat roam all o’er the grounds. I heard Chen moanin’ about it. Black’s cat was chasin’ after her toad.” 

“Walburga Black?” June repeated, skeptical. “She could buy anything she wanted, why would she steal anything? And anyway, some of her belongings have gone missing, too.” 

“Ye don’t keep yer riches by splurgin' on stuff,” Becky said darkly. “An’ she's a clever one, she is. Knows if she starts blubberin' 'bout missin' somethin', it'll throw the folks off her trail.”

This seemed highly unlikely to June, and she said so. 

Becky, however, wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Ah, she’s the most likely lass for the job, she is. She’d be thinkin' everyone’s below her, so she wouldn’t bat an eye how upset they’d be ’bout their lost things. She’s got a cat that’d swipe for her in a heartbeat if she wanted, and she’s sharp enough to be plannin’ a whole plot, and sure no one’d ever catch on.” 

“I suppose,” June said, not wanting to argue. “But I’m terribly hungry. I missed dinner yesterday, remember?” 

Becky and Myrtle had already had breakfast, so June headed to the Great Hall alone. It was already decorated for tonight’s Halloween feast, with bats swooping through the hall and carved Jack-o-lanterns floating in midair in place of the usual candles and pushed against the walls and… really, they seemed to be everywhere, much to June’s distress. Usually she quite liked Jack-o-lanterns, but as a girl who had recently spent the night with a pumpkin for a head she found she could have done without the reminder.   

After breakfast, June set off to Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wasn’t thinking about ghosts or the Irish or anything other than Nugget’s return. She was grateful to have her niffler back at last, but last night’s embarrassing failure of a duel had made her determined to throw herself into practicing hexes, even if she was partnered with Elisenda again. 

But when the class had all settled into their desks, Professor Merrythought said, “Due to a few students getting a little too enthusiastic with their Defense practice—” and here Merrythought’s gaze slid from Elisenda over to the Ravenclaw girls “—we won’t be practicing jinxes today.” 

June slunk down in her seat, cheeks burning. She saw Myrtle do the same out of the corner of her eye. Elisenda, however, sat forward, not looking remotely abashed even though it had been her and the Yaxleys who had done all the actual jinxing. 

Royston groaned and flung a dramatic hand across his face. "Seriously, you're going to penalise the entire class for the antics of a few? What of us splendidly well-behaved eggs?"

A few disbelieving snickers broke out at this proclamation; Royston may not have been one of yesterday evening’s duelers, but ‘behaved’ was the last word anyone would use to describe him. 

The corner of Merrythought’s lips twitched. “It isn’t a punishment, Brown. It’s simply a change in lesson plans. Today we’re going to talk about ghosts. And as it’s Halloween, it’s the perfect time to set aside spell practice to discuss them in any event.” 

This seemed to cheer Royston up. He uncovered his eyes and sat up straighter. “Splendid! Dark Creatures!” he exclaimed. 

“As a matter of fact, ghosts aren’t considered Dark themselves,” Merrythought said. “Although they are associated with some Dark things.” 

But what those Dark things were, Merrythought didn’t immediately tell them. Instead she began by lecturing the class on ghost lore around the world. 

“There are persistent beliefs across wizarding and Muggle cultures alike about other realms,” Merrythought began, “not only our own and not only the deathly ones said to be below us. Some are thought to be above us, and are associated with celestial beings often thought of as gods, or creators of the universe. Some are parallel to our own, and discovered by accident. By traveling across the sea, or scaling a particular mountain, entering a cave, or falling down a well. Or by entering mounds. That’s another one that’s almost universal across cultures. They’re often associated with fairies or elves, though why that is I couldn’t tell you, as they’re not built by either. Fairies are too vapid to build anything and elves choose to inhabit buildings erected by other species.” 

Elisenda leaned forward, her expression more intent than June had ever seen it, even when she’d been dueling with Achlys yesterday. “Then what kind of mounds are they, if they’re not truly built by the fairies?” 

“Sometimes,” Merrythought answered, “the mounds are barrows. Other times the mounds are nothing more than ant or termite hills. Because of this, ants and termites are often considered guardians between our mortal world and the Otherworlds.” 

“I say, who on earth opts for a guard ant?” Royston asked in disgust. "I mean, aren’t the usual choices rather more canine, like guard dogs?"

“Dogs are also strongly associated with guarding and guiding within the Otherworlds,” Merrythought said, failing to reprimand Royston for his dire insult to ants. “It certainly isn’t limited to ants and termites. Snakes, spiders, hares, swans, praying mantises, bees, and pigs are all animals that have been associated with travel between our world and the Otherworlds, particularly the lower world, or the land of no return. Most cultures refer to it in similar terms. The world beneath. The concealed place. The inner world. Earth prison. The world of darkness. The unseen realm.”

“Even here in Scotland, witches and wizards believed in the underworld for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Some of these stories about travel between the mortal world and the Otherworlds were originally Muggle myths used to explain puzzling encounters with wizarding locations. But those about the world beneath us arose as a means of coping with grief. It is quite difficult to be parted forever from our loved ones, and it is comforting to believe that they reside somewhere still, requiring us to leave them gifts such as food or drink, treasure that they can use to bargain with the denizens of the afterlife, and particular flowers believed to help the deceased along their journey.”

June was painfully curious about how flowers were supposed to help aid dead people travel to the afterlife. Professor Beery had mentioned Herbology death lore, but only in the briefest of overviews when discussing the varied properties of different plants growing in the greenhouses. 

That was probably a N.E.W.T. level course which, June reflected, was for the best. Who knew what mischief wizarding first years might get into if they thought they could use plants to travel between hypothetical, possibly fictional realms? 

As everyone else filed out of class, June lingered behind, shooing her friends ahead of her. She had so many questions about today’s lesson, but one question in particular gnawed at her. She eyed Merrythought, recalling once again just how Viking-esque the Defense teacher was, but she forced herself to approach the teacher’s desk rather than abandoning her quest and fleeing out the door. 

“Professor Merrythought?” June said haltingly, “I was wondering if you believe all that, about ants guarding other realms?” 

Merrythought straightened her lecture notes against her desk. “I’m not sure,” she said at last, turning fully to face June. “Nearly every culture on Earth has myths about realms above or below our own, and many of them mention ants or anthills as gateways. It’s hard to say what’s true and what’s only a story.”

“But,” June persisted, “Surely the ghosts know if there’s an underworld they can live in and… and… and have families and things. Wouldn’t they simply tell us ‘yes, that’s true’ or ‘no, that’s rubbish’?” 

“Death is one of the Great Mysteries, and if it were as easily solved as asking ghosts…” 

June left the class dissatisfied. How was it possible that nobody actually knew if Otherworlds existed despite all the lore that surrounded them? If so many different seemingly mundane plants and animals could lead you to an entirely other world, wouldn’t more people have traveled to one?

Then she thought back to the statues in the magientomology corridor — the ants, of course, but also the bees, the spiders, the praying mantises — all arthropods associated with gateways to the underworld. She thought about what Eliza had told her just that morning about the section of wall between the ant statues: “The last soul who tried to sneak ‘hind that wall met their end.”

She thought about the rumor that the former magientomology had hidden a treasure within Hogwarts: Death lore stated that treasure was necessary to treat with the denizens of the underworld. Would they have been foolish enough to try and enter Death itself, bringing treasures with them? If such a mission had gone wrong, who would have known about it? They would have as good as vanished. 

And Myrmosina’s compass–which had been hidden away as if it were dangerous–pointed straight toward that wall. 

As autumn wound down, the L.A.R.V.A. students were kept busy ridding Hogwarts Castle of unwanted residents. These included ladybirds, spiders, confused wasp queens, and newly hatched carpet beetle larvae. Sometimes, the students were sent around the castle with spray bottles full of pest-repelling potions to treat doors, windows, and fireplaces. Other times, they were sent to rooms where various faculty members had complained about six or eight-legged invaders. Whenever the students captured their quarry, they would then sketch them in their field journals and take notes on appearance and behavior. 

These quests had turned into something of a game for the members of L.A.R.V.A., with students keeping track of how many and what kinds of arthropods they caught each week and tallying them up at the end of the evening. 

June took this competition more seriously than anyone else, but she would never admit it. The fervor with which she rescued arthropods from around the castle wasn’t only out of love for them–although she had plenty of that–but also because she could never seem to get her tally higher than Royston Brown’s. 

Somehow, no matter what the assignment was, Royston kept pace with her. It was infuriating. She was the one with the passion for arthropods. She was the one who took her education seriously. He was always goofing off, and he still performed at the top of the class. It was as if effort didn’t even matter, and she simply refused to believe this could be the case. 

It was a cold November afternoon. The L.A.R.V.A. students sat at their desks, shivering, while they awaited their assignments. At the front of the class, Professor MacMillan pored over the arthropod-related complaints the rest of the staff had lodged. 

“Mr. Brown and Mr. Hafeez,” she called, and the two boys stepped forward. “There’s a swarm of ladybirds in the Charms classroom. If the two of you could attend to those, please.” 

They dutifully took two glass jars off the table and exited the library while June silently raged against; Ladybirds never seemed to infiltrate buildings in ones or twos, but in swarms that would surely bring Royston’s arthropod tally well above her own. 

Next, MacMillan called Rosemary Chen and Rubeus Hagrid up. “There’s a six-foot centipede terrorizing the Elves in the kitchen. I want the two of you to capture it.” Rosemary and the enormous Gryffindor gave their solemn agreement and swept out of the library. 

June was relieved to skip that assignment; she liked centipedes, but she wasn’t sure she had the skills yet to tackle one that was six feet long. 

“Ms. Warren, Ms. Driscoll. Professor Tuft has been complaining of a wasp buzzing in the Divination tower. She claims it is disrupting the vibrations of the future. Can the two of you go take care of that?” 

June waved to her friends as they left the classroom. Becky waved back with a grin. Myrtle marched out the door with a look of resignation, staring at her feet.

“Ms. Scrimgeour. Ms. Albo. Carpet beetles have gotten into Mr. Pringles' records. I know the two of you can take care of them without damaging any of his files.” 

As June left the classroom with Elisenda, she said crossly, “I don’t see why it matters if his records get eaten.” 

“Maybe we’re not rescuing his records at all. Maybe we’re rescuing the beetles,” Elisenda suggested. 

It was with considerably more cheer that June made her way to the entrance hall with Elisenda. Mr. Pringle was already waiting, glaring mistrustfully across the hall at the approaching Ravenclaws. 

“Took you long enough,” Pringle said, opening the door. A cloud of dust enveloped them, throwing June and Elisenda into immediate coughing fits. 

The office smelled like mothballs and sweat and there were gleaming instruments of torture hanging on the walls. June averted her eyes from these, hoping that if she didn’t see them she could forget about their existence. The carpet beetles wouldn’t bother trying to eat whips or chains, which was a pity; She’d be all too happy to let them. 

Pringle hovered in the doorway, watching in silence, which made June nervous, but she knew better than to tell him this. She tried her best to ignore him just as hard as she was ignoring his torture devices and knelt down on the floor, setting her jar beside her. 

“Lumos,” she whispered, and a brilliant blue light illuminated the exposed crevices between carpet and floorboards. She peered along the edge of the carpets, searching for the telltale fuzzy cylinders that were carpet beetle larvae. They weren’t difficult to spot; whenever their hiding place was exposed they curled in upon themselves, and June would gently levitate them into her jar, which was rapidly filling up. 

And all the while Pringle watched June and Elisenda in nerve wracking silence. It was impossible not to be aware of his stare upon their backs, critical and suspicious, so June was greatly relieved when Sylvia poked her head into the musty office looking for the caretaker. 

“Mr. Pringle?” 

Pringle looked up from his watchful silence. “What?”

“Professor Beery sent me, sir,” Sylvia said, her tone admirably calm in the face of Pringle’s irritation. “Someone broke into the seed bank. There're seeds scattered all over the north courtyard and he needs help cleaning it up, please.”

Pringle banged his fist against the wall with so much force that June jumped, knocking over her jar. The larvae, sensing opportunity, began squirming toward freedom and several made their escape before she could right it again. 

“Miscreants!” Pringle barked once he’d recovered from his incoherent rage. “I’ll have to put Thieves' Curses on everything in the whole bloody castle at this rate.” 

He stormed into the corridor, grumbling loudly about law and order. 

Sylvia waited until Pringle was out of sight, then leaned into his office and waved at June and Elisenda. “Having fun?” 

June looked up from beneath Pringle’s desk and held her jar aloft. “Look at the adorable little larvae! Doesn’t it make you regret not joining L.A.R.V.A. with me?” 

“Bugs are your thing, Junebug, not mine,” Sylvia reminded her sister with a laugh. “But even if I wanted to, I don't have the time.” 

“Does Beery really have you running messages for him?” Elisenda asked. “Doesn’t he know you’re overworked?” 

“He trusts the prefects more than some of the others,” Sylvia said with a shrug. “And there really has been someone in the seed bank. It’s a mess. But I’ve got to get back, I don’t want to miss too much rehearsal. Have fun!” 

And she shut the door behind her, leaving June and Elisenda unsupervised. 

They had nearly finished de-infesting the carpets, so it wasn’t long before June and Elisenda turned their attention to the rows upon rows of scrolls and decrepit books that made up the disciplinary archives. June peeled yellowing pages apart, occasionally prying a carpet beetle away from its meal, not paying much attention to the contents of the records, which seemed to mostly consist of students disciplined for such crimes as ‘insolence’ and ‘persistent disobedience’. She was nearing the end of one of the leather-bound registers when she caught sight of the name “Mesembrius Driscoll” halfway down the page. 

Curiosity getting the better of her, June lifted the register closer, reading: 

It went on for several more pages, listing the names of the rioters and their punishments. 

“Elisenda! You’ve got to read this,” June said urgently. She shoved the register toward Elisenda, who squinted down at it. 

“He didn’t only start a riot,” Elisenda said slowly as she read the charges against him. “He was interfering with those insect statues on the same day. But Eliza said the last person to try and get behind the wall died, and Mesembrius didn’t die, he got expelled.” 

“Keep reading,” June said, pointing to the remarks column. “It says right here that Fergal McCabe died and they couldn’t find his body.” 

Elisenda stared at the register, open-mouthed. “McCabe?” she repeated. “Why, we know him.” 

“I think we have a ghost to interrogate,” June said grimly, shutting the register with a snap. 

“He won’t talk to you,” Elisenda predicted. “He hates everyone. It’s a wonder he stays at Hogwarts at all, really.” She picked up her jar and returned her attention to the remaining few archival shelves. “C’mon, let’s get these carpet beetle larvae rounded up. I don’t want to be here all night.” 

By the time Pringle returned, June and Elisenda had done a thorough job of larvae removal. He didn’t thank them, but they didn’t mind; they were eager to leave. They hurried up the central staircase and through the corridors until they reached the classroom, where the rest of the club were already bent over their field journals–or, in the case of Elisenda, Rosemary, and Rubeus crouched around an immobilized centipede that was stretched out on the floor in front of the chalkboard. 

Fausta Yaxley looked up from the house spider she was studying. “How long does it take to clear out a carpet beetle infestation?” she sneered. “Achlys and I finished ages ago.” 

June marched straight past Fausta without speaking and placed her jar of larvae on her desk with a thump. She sketched giant larvae in her field book while she watched the real things wriggling in her jar. But as adorable as larvae were, her mind kept drifting back to Mesembrius Driscoll and the riots and his tampering with the insect statues, the death of McCabe, and the fact that not long after, the professors had disappeared… 

Usually a ghost’s cause of death was obvious by looking at them, but McCabe was one of the only young ghosts June had ever met where whatever had happened hadn’t left any marks, and his mortal body had never been found. What had killed him? Had it really been, as Granny Beetle said, an experiment gone wrong? Had he tried to interfere with MacMillan’s research, thinking it would help his rioting friends? Maybe he'd thought there was something behind the wall that would help-one of the treasures? Or had he intended to strike a bargain with whatever lived there? 

Chapter Text

Sunday morning Professor Henshall swooped down upon the Ravenclaw table to inform her wayward students that their detentions would be that afternoon with Professor MacMillan. 

Myrtle sighed morosely. “I was hoping she’d forget we had detention.” 

June mirrored Myrtle’s sigh, pushing her half-eaten breakfast away – her looming detention had robbed her of her appetite. “At least after tonight it’ll be over,” she said, trying to cheer herself up as much as her friends. “Then we won’t have to worry about detentions anymore.” 

The morning was windy but blessedly free of rain, so after breakfast they borrowed some school brooms and headed to the quidditch pitch, taking advantage of the weather. They weren’t the only ones; there were quite a few future quidditch hopefuls already in the air when they arrived, not to mention Professor Dumbledore deep in conversation with some of the Gryffindor quidditch team. 

As soon as they were on the field Becky shot off into the sky, her eyes closed in exhilaration. June pushed off from the ground with more reluctance — it was only for Becky’s sake she was willing to do this outside of class. 

Although Myrtle had been the one to point out they had the time, she stayed safely down in the stands. June envied her; her broom turned with such jerky movements she was having difficulty hanging on. 

“This—can’t—possibly—be—helpful—!” she said as she flung an apple with such poor aim that it went flying over the stands. 

Becky followed the progress of the apple, her gaze mournful. “You could use a bit more practice, your–” She cut off abruptly and leaned forward. 

“Please, don’t fall off,” June pleaded. 

“What’s that? Down in the stands?” 

June tore her gaze from Becky and looked below them. A sleek, furry figure was winding its way through the stands toward Myrtle.

“Isn’t that—” 

“Walburga’s cat,” Becky finished, rocketing downward. She took off running as soon as her feet hit the ground. 

“Wait! You’re not still blaming Walburga for the missing items, are you?” June panted, dashing up the steps after Becky. 

"I reckon we’ve a grand chance to suss it out," Becky answered. 

This, June thought, was her punishment for dragging her friends on mystery solving escapades. They’d now made a habit of it, and she was never going to escape. 

By the time they reached Myrtle, Walburga’s cat was curled up in her lap, purring. 

“What a nice kitty,” Myrtle murmured, stroking its fur. 

Becky was beside herself. “Warren, are you daft? That’s Walburga’s cat, that is! You can’t trust it. It’s probably secretly relaying messages back to her as we speak.” 

“I don’t need my cat to relay messages to me,” said a voice from somewhere below. There, standing on the quidditch pitch, was Walburga Black herself.

“What are you doing here?” Becky demanded. 

“Aren’t you just the epitome of politeness,” Walburga said, eyeing Becky with distaste. “I’m allowed on the grounds, same as anyone.” 

She crooked a finger, chirruping softly. The cat stretched languidly, then leaped from Myrtle’s lap, trotting down the stands to its mistress. 

June couldn’t argue with that logic, but apparently Becky could, because she jabbed a finger at the older girl, declaring dramatically, “You might think you’re clever, but we know what you’re at.” 

Walburga lifted the cat into her arms, unruffled by the implications. “It must have been so challenging to deduce I’m at the quidditch pitch to practice quidditch,” she said scathingly before turning her attention to her cat. “Poor baby, were they bothering you?” 

“...what?” Becky asked. She looked appalled. “You play quidditch?” 

This was also a surprise to June, but more surprising was the fact Walburga hadn’t called them any rude names. Perhaps that had something to do with Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to have come nearer during their argument. 

June caught his eye only to immediately avert her gaze. As good-natured as Dumbledore was, she was feeling particularly anxious, what with detention for fighting different Slytherins; she didn’t want Dumbledore to think she and her friends had something against Slytherins. She liked most of them, but the Yaxleys and the Blacks had a particular talent for antagonism. 

“Surprised?” Walburga asked. “As it turns out, you don’t have to be uncivilized in order to play broom sports.” 

“You…!” Becky spluttered, turning an alarming shade of red. “You…you can’t be playing quidditch! You’re having a laugh!” 

“She’s the reserve beater for our team, Driscoll. Didn’t you know?” said the unwelcome voice of Orion, who had strolled up just in time for Becky’s question, broom in hand – apparently he intended to join his cousin for quidditch practice. 

Becky stared at Walburga, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Apparently, the news that Walburga Black, of all people, not only played quidditch but played the very position she hoped to play, had been too much for her. 

Orion’s gaze swept over the Ravenclaws, his lips curling when he saw Myrtle. He opened his mouth to say something, probably scathing. 

June, panicking, blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which was, “Does Professor Dumbledore play quidditch, too?” 

That drew Orion’s attention to Dumbledore, and he scowled. “Quidditch? Him? Please. He may know how to use dragon’s blood, but he wouldn’t know a quality broom if it bit him.” 

“Speaking of quality brooms,” Walburga said, eyeing the broom Orion was carrying, “it’s too bad old Dippet wouldn’t make an exception to the rules,” she said at last. “Those old Silver Mists are dreadful. Maybe we can take turns on my Comet 180.” 

June, who didn’t give a fig about broom flying, took no notice of this statement, but Becky most certainly did. As the Ravenclaws made their way across the field she said, in a strangled voice, “Black has a Comet 180?” 

“Is that a very good broom…species?” June asked, knowing perfectly well that wasn’t the right word but unable to conjure the correct one at the moment. 

“Species?” Myrtle repeated, giggling. 

“It’s a grand make o’ broom,” Becky answered, saving June from further embarrassment. “I can’t believe Walburga Black has the best broom in the country.” 

“I can,” June said. “She has the best of everything. It shouldn’t be a surprise she’d have the best broom, as well.” 

“I’m not surprised, Scrimgeour,” Becky said in a strained voice. “It’s just unfair, that’s all.” 

That was inarguable, and there was nothing to be said that could make it fair, so the girls lapsed into silence that lasted all the way until they reached their dormitory, where Gillian Bagman was already lost in homework. 

She looked up when they entered. “Will said the three of you have detention today,” she said. 

Myrtle sighed gloomily as she sank onto her bed. “And we didn’t even do anything.” 

June glanced toward Nugget, who was curled up in her cage, asleep. She’d been excessively sluggish and ravenous lately, perhaps because the weather was growing so cold—this was the time of year when lots of creatures began entering hibernation or diapause, after all.

June wouldn’t complain; it kept Nugget out of trouble. 

She didn’t relish the thought of detention, and she certainly didn’t love that she was the cause of their lost house points, but she also couldn’t be too miserable about it, either—finding Nugget again was worth every punishment the professors could throw at her. 

June and her friends joined Gillian in diligently working on homework until the appointed time arrived. Then they descended the tower together. 

Fausta and Achlys were already waiting in the entrance hall, wearing identical scowls. The Ravenclaws came to a halt, reluctant to get any closer to the sisters lest they attack, but the Yaxley’s pointedly didn’t look at them. 

Elisenda arrived shortly after the Ravenclaws. She looked from them to the Yaxleys, biting her lip. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Becky hissed, gesturing for Elisenda to join them. “Get over here, Albo.” 

“Are you going to keep siding with them?” Achlys demanded, stamping her foot impatiently. “You’re supposed to be helping me and Fausta!” 

“I am your friend,” Elisenda agreed. “But I’m their friend, too. Oh, don’t make me choose between you, Achlys.” 

Achlys and Becky made identical noises of disgust, but Elisenda remained unmoved and was still hovering indecisively when Professor MacMillan trudged up from the dungeons, Pringle at her heels. 

“Thank you, Professor,” he was saying. “You’re sure it’s not students? They love makin’ a right mess of things.” 

“It’s most assuredly an ant infestation. Dirt piled along the walls like that is one of the signs, didn’t you know? Although I can’t imagine how they’ve escaped notice, they must be quite large to make such big mounds. But yes, the smell of lavender will repel them.” Then her eyes landed on the group of first year witches, who were all shuffling their feet and refusing to meet her eye. “Excuse me, Apollyon. It seems my cleaning party has arrived.”

June felt a jolt of discomfort at MacMillan’s words—an infestation of large ants? In Hogwarts? She wanted to believe it was a coincidence and wasn’t related to the wall at all, but she had a feeling that it was. 

Not that she was going to tell the Magientomology professor that. 

The students followed Professor MacMillan as they ascended five flights of stairs, stony faced and resolutely avoiding one another’s eyes, until they halted outside room 54-B. There MacMillan turned to them with a grim expression. “As the six of you saw fit to make a terrible mess of this classroom, it’s only fitting that the six of you should be the ones to set it right again.”

A collective groan went up from the girls as they took in the state of the room–desks toppled, assorted magical items scattered across the floor, some in pieces. June shrank in on herself, already envisioning just how tedious this task was going to be. 

“I don’t believe Professor Goshawk has begun cleaning spells yet in your Charms classes?” MacMillan asked, cutting through June’s thoughts.

They shook their heads.

“Alas. Manual labor it is, then,” MacMillan said. She shooed them through the door, where a trolley full of cleaning supplies was already awaiting them, manned by none other than Bunkey, who glowered at them ferociously as they approached.

“House-elves is better cleaners,” she sniffed as the witches grabbed spray bottles and dust rags off the trolley. 

“This ain’t even where we had the duel,” Becky complained as she straightened books. 

MacMillan overheard her. “I didn’t say you did,” she said, pushing her pince-nez up her nose. “I said you made a mess in here. I heard from Bunkey that you’ve all been sneaking around in here.” 

Myrtle turned from where she was spritzing a window with cleaning solution to goggle at Achlys and Fausta. “You’ve been in this room before?” she demanded. 

“What of it?” Fausta snapped in a low voice. “We’re looking for clues to lead us to Eumolpos.” 

“I still don’t understand why you’re looking around Hogwarts,” June whispered back, “if he left home over the summer.” 

Fausta stuck her nose in the air. “That just shows how much you know.” 

“Less bickering, more cleaning, ladies,” MacMillan said sharply, and June and Fausta turned their backs on one another. 

June marched over to the shelves near Myrmosina’s desk and began clearing away clutter. Soon there were several small piles on the floor at her feet: papers, writing utensils, and other odds and ends each in their own separate pile. As she cleared away an empty ink bottle she saw something sticking up between the desk and the wall. As she tugged it gently free, she realized it was a piece of parchment. It was old, crumpled and yellow, but the ink used was as dark and crisp as if it had been copied down that morning.

All down the paper were the same insect glyphs that were inscribed above the gateway. She tried to tease out some sort of pattern, but none was immediately obvious to her. 

All at once three ants materialized inside the room almost as if they had apparated. And these weren’t tiny, mundane garden ants. Oh, no. These were as tall as June, with mandibles that looked as though they could snap a witch in half. And yet, June couldn’t help but find them remarkable—even adorable. 

The ants turned in tandem, their heads facing June. She couldn’t precisely describe this as looking at her, not when their eyes were on the sides of their head rather than the front, but their waving antennae were certainly sensing her presence. 

There were shouts from the other witches, but June took a step nearer, reaching a hand out to the ants almost like one would hold out a hand for a dog or cat to sniff. “Where did you come from?” she whispered in awe. 

She hadn’t expected an answer, but one came all the same. The words weren’t spoken aloud. Instead, an intoxicating blend of scents washed over her, creating a vivid impression of thoughts that she instinctively translated into words: 

Our nest is both near and far, hidden from the prying eyes of witches.

She was vaguely aware of the voice of Becky behind her, shouting, “Scrimgeour, ya eejit, step away from those bleedin' monsters!” but she was too focused on the words of the ants to take notice. 

We do not willingly leave our nests in this season of slowing. We forage during the seasons of growing, and only rarely do we send our smaller workers into your witch colony.

“Scrimgeour!” That was Professor MacMillan’s voice, now. “Move out of the way so I can stun them!” 

“You can’t stun them!” June exclaimed, whirling to face her teacher, who was already rolling up her sleeves. Behind her she could sense the ants’ distress at the threat. 

Twist the ring, the ants urged. Twist the ring to send us back to our home. We will come again when you call.

She twisted the ring and the ants vanished. 

Slowly MacMillan lowered her wand, her expression speculative. The other first years were staring at the space where the ants had been with expressions ranging from shock to interest. 

“I didn’t know you practiced Dark Arts, Scrimgeour,” Fausta said, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the group.

“I don’t,” June said defensively. But she wondered — what if the ring was a Dark artifact? She didn’t believe that an ability to speak with creatures other people considered frightening ought to be considered Dark Arts, but everything else associated with the insect glyphs suggested Dark Arts involvement — the probable gateway to Death and the compass that led there…none of that seemed exactly benign. 

Achlys smirked. “You don’t have to pretend around us.” She indicated her sister. “We don't have any issue with Dark Arts, you know." 

Professor MacMillan folded her arms, looking from June to the Yaxleys. “Is this something you ought to be discussing in front of your teachers?” she asked, though she sounded amused rather than offended.

“If you didn’t use Dark magic, how do you explain what happened?” Fausta demanded. 

“Didn’t you…didn’t you hear them?” June whispered. “Or smell them?” The way everyone was staring at her made her nervous. 

“You spoke with them?” MacMillan asked sharply. 

“Not exactly,” June said, resisting the urge to fidget with the ring lest she call the ants back to the room. “I mean to say, I think spoke with is rather the wrong term. They communicated with me, but it was throug pheromones, I think.” 

“Interesting,” MacMillan said. She adjusted her pince-nez, still giving June that speculative look. “I never expected to meet a myrmepath.” 

"What the blazes is a myrme…whatsit?” Fausta asked. 

“A myrmepath,” June said. “Like Myrmosina MacMillan and Lasius Thorn.” 

“That’s right,” MacMillan answered. "It's a rare gift among magientomologists. It allows one to communicate with ants and even control them to some extent."

“A gift?” June asked, uncurling her fist to reveal the ring. “Or an artifact?”

“There have been rumors within L.A.R.V.A. that Lasius and Myrmosina’s myrmepathy was due to some type of artifact,” MacMillan admitted, plucking the ring from June’s hand to examine it. “You’ll understand, of course, that I’ll need Professor Merrythought to examine this.” 

Although June knew the ring wasn’t hers, the thought of being parted from it made her heart ache, especially now that she knew what its powers were. But what could she do but agree? She passed it miserably to her teacher, who pocketed it with a sigh. 

“Poor Apollyon,” MacMillan said, shaking her head. “He’s going to have a stroke. Giant ants infesting the castle…” And she shook her head. 

“You can’t tell him!” June pleaded in alarm. The thought of Pringle waging war on her precious ants – or, worse, asking the L.A.R.V.A. students to do so – was too much to bear. “I don’t think they can get into the castle without being summoned, anyway.” 

Professor MacMillan’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “They most certainly have been getting into the castle. There have been signs of infestation all year. I simply didn’t read the signs correctly. Scotland isn’t known for its giant ant population.” 

“But we would have seen them,” June insisted, but MacMillan cut her off. 

“Back to work, Scrimgeour. You’ve got a whole classroom left to clean.” 

The rest of detention passed in uneventful silence, and afterward the Ravenclaws trooped back to Ravenclaw Tower together. Becky and Myrtle decided to spend the rest of the afternoon finishing homework in the common room–although June suspected that Myrtle was only there so she could spy on Royston Brown. June, however, went straight to the dormitories—only to find Esther and Gillian both standing over Nugget’s cage. 

June, naturally, panicked.

“What are you two doing?” she asked, shoving her way between them. And then she froze, her eyes growing wide as she took in the sight in front of her. Nugget wasn’t the only occupant of the cage—there were several furry little somethings pressed up against the niffler. Furry little somethings that most certainly weren’t nifflings, because nifflings didn’t have antennae or six legs. 

“Why is your niffler nursing furry ants?” Esther asked, her face pressed close to the bars. 

“She can’t be,” June said automatically. “Ants don’t nurse. They’re not mammals. And anyway, those look like adult ants, not larvae.” 

“They’re definitely nursing,” Gillian argued, stepping aside so that June could get a closer look. 

And as she leaned closer, June had to admit that it looked as if Esther and Gillian were correct. The furry ants were nursing. 

“Nugget…” June said, astonished. “How…?” 

Had carrying the ring cursed her niffler with the ability to nurse ants? Did it cross-breed whatever carried it with ants? She certainly hoped not as giving birth to half-ant children would be quite awkward to explain to her parents. 

Or, well, anyone, really. 

Not to mention she had always been confident that she didn’t want children. 

“It looks awfully illegal,” Esther said doubtfully, straightening. “Have you been practicing any experimental charms?” 

June opened her mouth to deny any such thing when the door opened and a voice behind her gasped. 

“Nugget has wee little babies!” 

Myrtle and Becky had returned. 

Myrtle looked positively rapturous as she approached, adjusting her thick glasses. “Aren’t they darling?” 

“Those aren’t nifflings, they’re ants,” Becky argued, elbowing her way between June and Gillian. “Odd, isn’t it? How’d a niffler be havin’ ants?” 

“Just what the rest of us were wondering,” Esther agreed. She folded her arms, eyes narrowed on June in suspicion. 

“I don’t know any better than the rest of you!” June objected before letting out a soft, “Ohhh!” of understanding. Hadn’t that book she’d read—the one Eliza said was written by the missing magientomology professors—mentioned ant-niffler hybrids? And not just any ant-niffler hybrids, but ones just as giant as the ants that were living somewhere within Hogwarts itself. 

“Myrmecoleons,” she whispered in awe. That explained so much. If MacMillan was right that they were creating the dirt mounds, then they could enter the castle, which meant… “Myrmecoleons are giant, treasure-hording ants. They must be why people’s belongings have been going missing.” 

“And they’ve been creeping about the castle invisible, have they?” Becky asked, her expression deeply skeptical. “I still think it’s more likely Black’s doing.” 

“Well, it isn’t as if I can ask the ants now, anyway,” June said glumly. 

“What ants are you talking about?” Gillian asked, looking from June to Beck. 

“Only the giant ones infestin’ the castle,” Becky answered with a great deal of cheer. “Scrimgeour here can speak with ‘em.” 

“No, I can’t,” June said quickly. It was bad enough for the Yaxleys to accuse her of Dark Arts; she didn’t want her house-mates to think the same thing. “I found a ring that let me understand their pheromones, but Professor Merrythought has it now.” 

“That’s for the best,” Esther said wisely. “You can’t trust magic jewelry. You never know what secret Dark powers it might be hiding.” 

June wondered if it did hold secret Dark powers, and concluded that everything she had learned so far suggested it probably did. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed, turning away from Nugget’s cage reluctantly. “But I wish I could have kept it, all the same.” 

“Never you fret, Scrimgeour.” Becky patted her on the shoulder. “You’re the most ant-loving witch in all of Hogwarts. I’m sure Merrythought and MacMillan will let you have it back.” 

But June wasn’t so sure. Even if it wasn’t Cursed or Dark, she supposed she would never see it again. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any real claim to it—she knew that ‘my niffler found it’ wouldn’t be a compelling argument to Hogwarts’ faculty. 

It was even more depressing because she was sure the ring would allow her to communicate with Nugget’s litter, assuming that the ants she had communicated with earlier really were myrmecoleons, and thus already part-niffler. 

She changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, still fantasizing about what a future wielding the myrmepath’s ring, and she fell asleep with dreams of giant ant friends dancing in her head. 

Chapter Text

December swept in with a flurry of snow and sleet. The lake froze, and some of the more fearless students took to skating atop it. June joined them once, looking into the black depths for any sign of the giant squid, but wherever it resided during winter it wasn’t visible.

The cold was so deep that students could even skate down the corridors–in fact, even the students who intended to walk sometimes found themselves losing their balance and sliding across the floor, to the fury of Pringle, who considered skating (and slipping) students a menace to be discouraged. 

The living residents of Hogwarts hid their faces with scarves and wore mittens even inside, but this did little to quell the chill that permeated the castle. 

Peeves didn’t help matters. He floated through crowded corridors blowing out the torches and flinging slushy snow at everyone, or else lassoing students with the tinsel he had pulled off the wall. 

But cold though it was, the castle was alight with Christmas cheer. Pringle and the house-elves wrapped the railings in holly garlands and twinkling lights, and the Great Hall boasted the most magnificent Christmas trees June had ever seen. 

L.A.R.V.A. no longer spent time on infestations; the bitter cold prevented even the most intrepid pest from being active – the only arthropod-like creatures who weren’t in diapause were the nifflings.

And though ant-like in appearance, June was hesitant to classify them as arthropods when they were instead a mammal-arthropod hybrid. There had been the nursing, of course, and the fur, not to mention the fact that they had very un-ant-like pouches in which to store their pilfered treasures. 

June named them Jitterbug, Shutterbug, Humbug, and Bugsy and she loved them all very much. 

Humbug was a shy little thing, preferring sleep to play, but the other three nifflings were full of mischief. They played hide-and-seek under the furniture, chased one another up bedposts, and collected shiny trinkets from around the dorms – to the displeasure of Gillian Bagman, whose coins June constantly had to rescue from her pets. 

Bugsy, in particular, seemed to delight in collecting objects that weren’t hers – she was more often found hunting through the girls’ school trunks than cuddling with her littermates. 

Shutterbug was the most adventurous, climbing the bedposts and trying to open the latches on the windows – until she succeeded. She would have fallen out, but luckily Molloch had flown up to visit Becky and had snatched the niffling up in her talons. June had feared the owl would try to eat her niffling, but it turned out her alarm had been premature. Molloch carefully deposited Shutterbug into June’s lap, and that was the last time any niffling tried to open a window. 

But Jitterbug was the most attached to June; even without the ring to let her sense pheromones Jitterbug was so pitiful about being left behind that June couldn’t bring herself to force the issue. So Jitterbug came with her whenever she left the dorms, curled up in a pocket of her robe. 

“Didn’t you learn anything from Nugget?” Myrtle asked in exasperation the first time June allowed the niffling to tag along with her to class. But Jitterbug proved to be better behaved than her mother, or perhaps simply too afraid to leave the protection of June’s pocket. She never attempted to escape, not even poked out an antennae when there was an explosion at the front of Potions class or when an entire class of first years practiced Audio Amplifying Charms together.

But carrying an ant-niffler hybrid everywhere wasn’t exactly a recipe for keeping said ant-niffler secret, and eventually Jitterbug’s existence was uncovered by Royston and Abdul. 

June was on her way to L.A.R.V.A., for once unaccompanied by either Myrtle or Becky, as Myrtle had hidden herself in the bathroom thanks to Olive Hornby’s teasing. June had told Olive off, of course, but she hadn’t had the patience to deal with Myrtle’s refusal to come out the way Becky did, so she’d gone on ahead and let them sort it out. 

She was aware that Royston and Abdul were behind her — they were far too loud not to notice — but she was doing her best to ignore them, so she didn’t realize they wanted her attention until Royston grabbed her sleeve. 

“What’s all this I hear about you finding treasure, Scrimgeour?” he demanded. The look of betrayal on his face might have been comical in other circumstances, but at the moment June was too annoyed to truly appreciate it. 

“What treasure are you talking about?” she asked, scanning the corridor beyond him. There was no sign of either Becky or Myrtle, which she supposed she ought to have expected; it was never easy to persuade Myrtle to emerge when she was in hiding. 

Giant ants that collected treasure weren’t  the same thing as finding treasure itself. Of course, the ring and the compass probably counted, but she was sure she didn’t want to share that information with either boy. And she didn’t have the ring anymore, anyway. 

The Yaxleys, you see, are insisting you possess a rather peculiar ring that supposedly grants you dominion over ants,” Royston persisted, while Abdul nodded vigorously at his side.  

Above their heads there was a cry of indignation. All three of the Ravenclaws looked up with a start. There, glaring down at them in suspicion, was the portrait of the wizard in the top hat. 

“You have Myrmosina’s ring?” he asked, sounding none to pleased about this news. 

“You know about — ?” she began, and then she remembered — the night she and her friends had dueled the Yaxleys, Henshall had referred to the painting as Lasius. “You’re Lasius Thorn!” she breathed. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t put that together at the time, but then, she’d been quite preoccupied with the fact her head had been transformed into a pumpkin. 

“Indeed,” the portrait answered haughtily. “And I’d like to know how you came to acquire the ring. I was supposed to hide it, not leave it lying around for first years to get hold of.” 

“So that’s your ring, is it?” Royston asked, dropping June’s sleeve and tapping at the portrait’s frame with his wand. “What other delightful little secrets do you have tucked away?” 

Lasius cleared his throat angrily, adjusting his coat. “I’d advise against going on any treasure hunts, young man, unless you’re hoping to get yourself killed.” 

The gleam in Abdul’s eyes faded, but Royston was undeterred. He swung his attention to June, all puppy dog eyes that would have melted Myrtle, had she been there, but had no effect on June whatsoever other than to annoy her.

She edged away, but he grabbed her again, this time by the wrist. “Do us a solid, Scrimgeour, old bird, let us temporarily commandeer the niffler for a treasure hunt, would you?" he wheedled. 

“I’ve seen how you treat your own pet, Brown,” June said, thinking of all the magic Royston had performed on his poor toad — not to mention the fact he’d once stuck it down the back of her robes. 

Royston’s hand tightened around June’s wrist. “Merlin’s beard, Scrimgeour! I haven’t gone and stuffed Hopscotch down anyone's frocks since the term kicked off!” Then his gaze lands on June’s satchel. Hastily he let go of her, stepping back nervously.  “What is that?” 

June glanced down and her heart sank. There, waving her antennae at them, was Jitterbug. She looked around to make sure none of the other L.A.R.V.A. members were around before she confessed in a quiet voice, “This is one of my niffler’s babies. They’re a sort of…ant-niffler hybrid.” 

Royston’s expression morphed from fearful to crafty. "If that beastie’s part niffler, then there’s really no bother in lending us your full-blown niffler, is there? You might as well lend us an ant instead. It’ll be off after gold like a niffler, what?" He asked, tone irritatingly hopeful. 

June shuffled backwards, trying to shield her satchel – and this Jitterbug – from the boys, but it was no use. Royston leaped forward, snatching the poor niffling before June could react. 

He deposited the niffling in his pocket, grinning. “We’ll get it back to you in a jiffy, never fear,” he promised, but June wasn’t having it. He was a constant annoyance, always behaving as if what he wanted was more important than anyone around him — and, the worst of it was, because he did it with a smile and a joke, other people seemed not to notice that he was just as selfish as snobs like the Blacks. 

Fury and indignation welled up within her, and she found herself shouting in his face: “Give Jitterbug back, you thief!”

She regretted this almost at once; somewhere above her a most unwelcome voice was cackling with wicked glee. Not Lasius – who, June was sure, had never cackled in his life – but someone even worse. 

It was Peeves. He was hovering in the air above them, his chin propped in his hands. “Are you stealing from little girls, wicked Brown?” He tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment, as if he didn’t routinely behave much, much worse at every opportunity. “I ought to let Pringle know, I should.” 

June would have preferred Royston steal Jitterbug a thousand times over than have Pringle discover the existence of her nifflings. She knew how he felt about giant pests in the castle, and he was already on the warpath about giant ants. But she couldn’t find her voice; she could only stare up at the poltergeist, silently shaking her head. 

But, of course, her distress only made his grin widen. He took a deep, exaggerated breath and shouted at the top of his voice. “THIEF! THIEF IN THE THIRD CORRIDOR!” 

Royston flushed, looking around the corridor. Several other L.A.R.V.A. members were heading in their direction, including Elisenda Albo, who was drawing her wand as she advanced upon them. She never had forgiven him for his comment about squibs. 

From the opposite direction could be heard heavy sounds of heavy, impatient footsteps stalking across the flagstone floor, coming nearer and nearer, and the grumbling voice of Apollyon Pringle. 

“Blasted miscreants, thieving in broad daylight. I’ll show them what’s what.” 

Abdul grabbed his friend by the elbow. “We’d better get out of here,” he urged. But it was too late — Pringle turned a corner and came to a halt, glaring at the knot of students occupying the corridor. 

Elisenda hastily shoved her wand into her pocket. 

“What’s going on here?” Pringle growled, looking from one student to another, but none of them would meet his eye. 

Peeves swooped between the caretaker and the students, cackling with malicious glee. “Why, this wicked boy stole something from wee little Scrimgeour.” 

Pringle turned to June, who shrank back. “Is that true, lass?” he demanded. Most of the watching students vanished from sight as suddenly as if they’d all apparated, having recalled other obligations — obligations which kept them out of the range of Pringle’s unpredictable wrath.

June quailed. Pringle was scowling at her in suspicion, as if he knew that she’d had some hand in whatever mischief had occurred beyond her role as victim. 

She quickly shook her head. “N-no, sir,” she squeaked, trying to suppress the guilt she felt at lying. Pringle leaned closer, and June realized with a horrible jolt that she had no idea if he was a legilimens. 

But no – if he could read minds, surely he wouldn’t need to resort to quite so much violence to extract confessions from the worst of Hogwarts’ perpetrators. Or so she hoped. 

Pringle grunted, then turned his glare on Royston, with whom he was well acquainted. “Turn out your pockets.” 

Royston paled. “Look here, mate! Scrimgeour says I didn’t, and she’s the one I’m accused of pilfering from, so let’s all take her word for it and nip off, shall we?” 

Pringle folded thick arms across his chest, unconvinced. “I’ve no doubt whatever I’ll find won’t be to either your or my liking, boy,” he said. “Whether it’s stolen or no. Turn them out.” 

Royston reluctantly slunk forward, emptying the pocket he hadn’t put Jitterbug in. As Pringle had predicted, Royston was in possession of a number of forbidden items, including a biting bolo bat, a flaming top, and size-changing marbles. The caretaker confiscated each item with an expression of weary resignation, pocketing each one. But then he reached for the bolo bat. 

He ought to have known better than to grab a biting item without proper precautions, but the sheer number of forbidden items on Royston’s person had evidently muddled his wits, because he simply grabbed for the handle without even charming its mouth shut. So it was utterly predictable when the ball attached to the bat’s end clamped itself around his wrist. 

Pringle howled in pain. “Bloody hell, lad!”  

He was so busy prying at the ball’s jaw, trying to wrench it free of his wrist, that he didn’t notice Jitterbug slipping out of Royston’s other pocket. The niffling scurried down the corridor, away from the commotion, and unnoticed by anyone but June. She gazed in the direction the niffling had gone, wishing she dared go after her, but she was too afraid Pringle — or, worse, Peeves — would notice. 

Abdul danced nervously in place, his head swiveling from Royston to Pringle as if trying to make up his mind about something. After a moment he must have made a decision, because he rolled up his sleeves and thrust his wand toward the bolo bat. “Flipendo!” he shouted, and the bat was blasted off Pringle's arm. It smashed into the wall opposite. 

Pringle snatched it off the ground without so much as a thank you to Abdul. He glared at Royston, who was just now trying to slip into the L.A.R.V.A. classroom “Come with me, laddie,” he barked, grabbing the unfortunate boy by the ear before he could escape. “I must not be lashing you hard enough.” And he marched a protesting Royston straight down to the dungeons. 

Now June and Abdul were alone in the corridor. 

June hated the thought of skipping L.A.R.V.A., but she couldn’t afford to let any more time pass before she looked for Jitterbug. Already she was afraid she might be facing another situation like the one with Nugget earlier in the school year.

Almost as bad, Abdul was giving her an expression full of disappointment. As if he had any right to be disappointed in her, when it was Royston’s own fault for getting in trouble. 

“I have to find Jitterbug,” she said, turning her back on him. “Tell Professor MacMillan I’m sorry.” 

She hurried along the corridor in the direction the niffling had gone, but instead of going into the classroom, Abdul took off after her. 

“Now hold on just a tick, Scrimgeour,” he panted as he caught up. “You can’t blow me off like that.” 

June ignored this; she refused to be distracted from her mission, no matter how irritating Abdul was. 

But it transpired that Jitterbug wasn’t nearly as difficult to find as June had feared. In fact, it was a good thing Pringle had taken Royston in the opposite direction, otherwise all the racket the niffling was making would most certainly have drawn his attention — she had found the empty music classroom, and was attempting to create a pyramid out of flutes which, of course, were a terrible building material and kept rolling apart with a tremendous clatter. 

“You’re as bad as your mum,” June chided as she approached the niffling. “Come on.” 

She held her arms wide, but Jitterbug was too enchanted by the shiny flutes to pay her any mind. 

June sighed, reluctantly withdrawing the compass from her pocket. That got Jitterbug’s attention — as soon as June dangled it in front of her the niffling latched onto it with glee and June was able to carefully place her back in the satchel where she belonged. 

Abdul stood in the doorway, watching. “Quit the faffing about, Scrimgeour. It’s unfair of you to keep all the treasure to yourself.” 

“I was telling the truth,” June snapped, one hand keeping her satchel closed lest he try to abscond with Jitterbug the way Royston had. “There isn’t any treasure. All you’ll find behind that wall is death.” 

"How do you come by that knowledge?" Abdul asked, and it sounded like a genuine question rather than an attempt to argue her into submission. 

“The portrait of Lasius, who also told you,” June said, counting on her fingers as she strode rapidly down the corridor. If she’d missed too much of L.A.R.V.A., she was definitely blaming Royton. “A ghost I’m friends with…” 

"Doubtless, Lasius Thorn wouldn’t fancy us pinching the treasure he and his mates so cleverly stashed away,” Abdul countered, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her. 

“If you don’t believe me,” June said stiffly, “then maybe you’ll believe someone who's been back there.” 

“Who’s that?” Abdul asked warily, but they had by now arrived back at L.A.R.V.A., and June refused to discuss this with so many other people around. 

Royston didn’t show up at all for L.A.R.V.A. More worryingly Myrtle and Becky didn’t show up, either. June wondered if Becky was still trying to coax Myrtle out of the bathroom; surely she’d have emerged by now. But she couldn’t check up on them, because she’d all but promised to take Abdul to speak with McCabe.

And so after the meeting was over June and Abdul made their way to the south wing together. Abdul kept glancing at June doubtfully, as if he didn’t entirely believe her when she said she knew someone who could tell them what was behind the wall. But it wasn’t until they were winding their way up the stairs in the clock tower that he finally spoke.

“Isn’t this the rather curmudgeonly Irish spectre's haunt?” 

June nodded tersely. “How d’you think he died?” 

Abdul stopped dead. “Err…right,” he said, glancing down the stairwell as if debating whether he ought to turn around right now. But then he squared his shoulders and forced a grin. "And you reckon he’ll spill the beans?" 

“He won’t tell us if we don’t ask,” she reasoned, which was her roundabout way of saying she absolutely didn’t expect McCabe to say anything to them, unless it was to chase them out of his tower. 

But when they entered the tower, Fergal McCabe didn’t even seem to notice them at all; he was staring broodingly out across the frosty castle grounds with his hands behind his back.

June stepped forward, twisting the hem of her sleeve, though still smiling lest Abdul think she was afraid. “Mister McCabe, sir…?” 

He turned, regarding the two students with a decidedly unfriendly sort of glare. “Aren’t  you supposed to be in class?” 

“Not today,” June answered, forced optimism waning. “It’s Saturday.” 

McCabe turned his back on them, resuming his brooding scrutiny of the Hogwarts grounds. “Ah, sure, find somethin’ else to keep yerself busy. I’m not havin’ any visitors, thank you kindly.”

June wasn’t having this. She had dragged Abdul all the way up to this clocktower to confirm that treasure hunts were doomed (treasure stealing ants and magical ant artifacts notwithstanding) and she wasn’t going to leave until she’d proved it. 

“Come off it,” she snapped. “We’ve only got a few questions for you, then we’ll leave you alone.” McCabe merely shrugged at that, so June ploughed on. “Is it true you died because you went through the gateway in the magientomology corridor?” 

McCabe started violently. “Where did you hear that now?” he asked, turning to face the students again, scowling harder than ever. 

Mesembrius had been accused of using Dark Arts on fellow students, and the blame for McCabe’s death had been laid at his feet. Was human sacrifice too big a leap from using Dark Arts on other people? 

“He did no such thing!” McCabe flung both silvery hands in the air in exasperation. “I wasn’t ’supposed to’ die, y’know. I knew I could, of course, but I must say, it put a right knot in all our plans, it did. No, the riots were just a bit of distraction to’ draw Professor MacMillan away from the gate she was studyin’, so one of us could be havin’ a chat with the powers that be there.”

“But why…?” June pleaded. “What was so important that you would take that risk in the first place?” 

“They were after the treasure, of course,” Abdul cut in, turning eagerly to McCabe. “Weren’t you?” 

McCabe turned away from them to stare pensively out across the Hogwarts grounds again. “Me da was a Muggle, you know,” he said in a low voice. “I grew up amidst his kin. They said the Great Hunger was done when I was born, but I tell ya, that ain’t the truth, not at all. There was a long recovery time, I’ll tell ya. Do ya know what it's like to see your family starve? And all the while, yer people gettin’ the blame for it? I reckon we sought treasure, in a way, if ya count freedom an’ plenty as treasures.”

There was silence as the two living students absorbed that statement. June had experienced the fear of bombs. She had experienced food rations. And yet, the experiences that Fergal spoke of sounded far more horrible, perhaps because they weren’t the product of a straightforward war. 

She felt terribly sorry for him, but she didn’t imagine he would appreciate it if she told him so. Instead, she said, “I suppose you didn’t succeed, seeing as you died and Ireland is still fighting for independence.” 

“No. The powers wouldn’t be dealin’ with me,” McCabe said with a shudder that caused him to flicker. “They made me what you see today.” 

All the remaining hope had drained from Abdul’s face as McCabe spoke. Now he stared at the ghost in wide-eyed horror. “Something on the other side killed you?” he asked, as if June hadn’t already tried to tell him that. 

“As they'll be doin' wit' anyone who goes through without a key an' a guide, sure enough,” McCabe said curtly. 

June had already been quite certain that traveling to the other side of the gate would end in death, but the bit about keys and guides was new to her. New and utterly appalling. 

“A key?” she repeated, incredulous. “There’s a door to an Otherworld here in Hogwarts and all you need to go through it is a key?” 

Fergal smiled thinly. “The key is the easy part. It’s the guide’s that’re tricky. I don’t recommend you go without both.” 

“I don’t recommend going at all,” June grumbled, at which McCabe smiled — the first genuine smile she’d ever seen on the ghost. 

“Perhaps you’re right, at that,” he agreed. 

They thanked him for his time and left the tower, both lost in thought. June still couldn’t believe there was an easily discoverable key to the underworld lying around Hogwarts. It sounded like a big oversight, to her mind. 

She wanted to discuss this new information with her friends, perhaps indulge in some shared outrage, but neither Becky nor Myrtle were anywhere to be found. 

“I thought they were with you,” Gillian said when June asked if she had seen them, and the common room was no better. They may as well have disappeared. 

“They can’t still be in the bathroom?” June exclaimed in exasperation as she deposited Jitterbug into the cage with her siblings. It had been hours, by now. Surely not even Myrtle could sulk for that long. 

But when the door next opened, Becky and Esther Hyams stepped through…without Myrtle. 

June hurried toward them, wringing her hands. “Didn’t Myrtle come back with you?” she asked. “Where is she?” 

Becky stalked across the dormitory and flung herself onto the nearest chair. “Pringle,” she said tersely. 

“Why…?” June asked, but she was too bewildered to finish her question. As unreasonable as Pringle was, it was difficult to imagine timid, rules-abiding Myrtle doing anything to cross him. 

“She…well…” Esther glanced toward Becky, who covered her face with her hands. “You know how she’s sweet on Brown…” 

June nodded for her to continue. 

“Well,” Esther continued with relish, “We had just convinced her to come out of the bathroom when Pringle came round the corner dragging Brown by the ear and causing a huge ruckus. And, well…remember that Melofors jinx Achlys used on you?” 

June instinctively touched her face. “How could I forget?” she asked. That had been the single worst experience of her life, and she hoped never to repeat it. 

“Myrtle tried to use it on Pringle so he’d let Brown go,” Esther explained with a giggle. “But she missed. Got Brown instead.” 

“An’ Pringle dragged ‘em both to his dungeons,” Becky finished. 

This was the least Myrtle-like behavior June had ever heard of, and it quite distracted her from her worries about the gateway. 

“If only she’d stand up for herself,” she sighed. Then again, it was easier to stand up for someone else, even if Royston Brown wouldn’t have been her first choice of defendee. 

Neither Myrtle nor Royston reappeared until lunch time the next day. They hobbled into the Great Hall together, both wincing as they sat down. 

Royston leaned across the table to address June. "Abdul's trumpeting that he's absolutely certain there's no treasure hidden behind the wall, dash it all!"

“I tried to tell you,” she said, buttering her toast. 

“It's positively baffling,” Royston said. “What on earth is that ring, if not a veritable treasure? Surely they left more than just this, didn’t they?"

“And the compass,” Myrtle piped up as she tried to find a comfortable position to sit in.

June shot her an unamused look. She hadn’t intended to tell Royston about the compass, but of course now she had to explain the entire thing. How she’d found the compass shortly before he’d stuck Hopscotch down her robes, how it led to the wall, and how it had the same ant symbol as was on the ring — an ant symbol that was part of some writing system she hadn’t yet deciphered. A writing system that was used for an inscription along the top of the wall.

Royston looked downright ecstatic. "Blimey, that's it! It must be the key to getting through the gate," he said. 

“The gate that leads to Death,” June reminded him. 

He shrugged this off. "Didn’t you mention McCabe lamented about his lack of a guide?"

“We don’t have one of those, either,” June said. 

“Not to worry, old bird,” Royston suggested. "Let’s just have a jolly stroll down your little corridor and see what’s what. After all, I fancy myself a bit of a puzzle savant. I’ll crack it in no time!"

Chapter Text

Two days before Christmas break, owls swooped into the Great Hall in a feathery storm. They dropped letters on the heads of the dining students and left melting snow in their wake. Some owls brought subscriptions to the Daily Prophet, but most of them brought letters, and all of them brought dire news:

The Germans were bombing Liverpool, and many parents who had hitherto intended to meet their children at Kings Cross Station were urging them to remain at Hogwarts. The next two days saw more owls delivering letters from anxious parents to equally anxious students. Even students who didn’t live in Liverpool hastily rearranged their holiday plans. 

Every morning, June watched the incoming owls with trepidation, and every morning she left the Great Hall relieved that her parents hadn’t canceled her and Sylvia’s holiday homecoming. But the Saturday before the Hogwarts Express was to depart Sylvia approached her during breakfast, holding aloft an envelope. June didn’t need to see who it was addressed from to know what it would say, and all the holiday joy she’d hitherto been feeling evaporated in an instance. 

“It’s from Mum and Dad,” Sylvia said. That was all. Just those five words, and June understood. 

“Ah, cheer up, Scrimgeour,” Becky said, nudging her lightheartedly. “It could be worse.” 

June glanced toward the Gryffindor table, where Augustus Rookwood was goofing off while Olive Hornby giggled, and tried to envision spending the holidays stuck with them as her roommates. “You’re right,” she said. “I could be in Gryffindor.” 

Christmas Eve a blizzard covered the castle grounds in waist-high snow, and kept away all but the most determined and resilient owls. The students awoke to fewer presents than they had hoped for, although there were a few here and there from students whose gifts were handmade or from those who had the foresight to order well in advance. 

June was not among either group, but Becky was. As soon as she saw that June was awake she rummaged through her trunk, pulling out a small box, which she thrust into June’s hands with a brusque, “Happy Christmas, Scrimgeour.” 

“Oh, you didn’t have to…” June stammered. She wished she could conjure a present for Becky out of thin air, but even Sylvia couldn’t do that. 

Becky drew her wand. “Take it or I’ll hex you.” 

June hastily unwrapped what turned out to be a leather collar with bells on it. She lifted it out of the box, holding it up admiringly. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. 

“For Nugget,” Becky explained. “So you’ll hear if she takes off again.” 

“I should have–” June began, but Becky lifted her wand again and she dropped it. 

Becky gave Myrtle a very nice headband (“’Cause you’ve always got hair in your eyes, don’t ye?”). 

Myrtle gave them all embroidered handkerchiefs. June’s was embroidered with geometric ants, Becky’s with golden snitches. 

Becky held her handkerchief up to her face. “These are some of the neatest stitches I’ve ever laid eyes on. You did this yourself, did you?” 

“Course I did,” Myrtle said proudly. “We had to take embroidery at my old school.” 

They descended to the Great Hall together, in high spirits despite the weather, and despite being away from their families for the holiday. At least they had one another, and June had Sylvia, who breezed in not long after they had begun feasting on jam and toast. Marie was draped around her neck like a furry white scarf. Vesta accompanied her, but she peeled off when her own sister, a seventh year, waved her over. Sylvia waved after her friend, then headed for the Ravenclaw table. 

June leaped to her feet, flapping her arms exuberantly. “Happy Christmas, Sylvia!”

“Happy Christmas, Junebug,” Sylvia replied, going in for a hug. June didn’t even pull away. 

The sisters spent the morning together, alternating between giggly reminiscences about their family and mournful yearning for home. There was a great deal of “I wish we could show this to Peter” and “wouldn’t Peter love this?” and “It’s a shame Peter isn’t here. He’d be amazed by the size of these trees.” There was even an occasional “I wonder what Mum and Dad are doing?” and “Do you think they’re even awake yet?” 

June showed off the presents her friends had given her, and Sylvia showed off the portrait Vesta had painted for her — it was even enchanted to sing with Sylvia’s voice. But it wasn’t until the Feast that June received the best present of all. 

She had heard from older students that the Christmas Feast was an intimate, homey affair, but so few students had gone home for the holidays that this year there was hardly any difference at all from any other Hogwarts meal. But there were wonderful crackers at every seat, filled with magical toys and candy and headwear. 

She had just perched a holly wreath upon her head when Professor Merrythought approached the table. 

“This is yours, I believe,” she said, and she handed June the ring. 

June’s gaze darted from Merrythought’s solemn face to the ring that glinted in her outstretched palm. “Are…are you sure?” she asked, not daring to believe it was true. 

“It seems it’s true that all it does is grant ant-speech to those with the capability to wield it,” Merrythought answered. “Nothing more. And I don’t believe you’ll get up to much mischief  conversing with ants. Not at Hogwarts, at any rate.” 

June’s eyes shone with gratitude as she took the ring and slipped it onto her finger. “Thank you, professor,” she whispered. 

“Happy Christmas, Scrimgeour,” Merrythought said, and she left June alone to boggle over her good fortune. 

After the feast most of the students dispersed to their common rooms or else to play outside in the snow. Sylvia and her chorus friends went around caroling, but June, who had no interest in singing, returned to the Ravenclaw Common room, where she was immediately accosted by none other than Royston. 

“The time has come,” he whispered solemnly, “to solve that jolly riddle of yours.” 

“It’s Christmas!” June exclaimed in annoyance. 

“Exactly,”  he agreed, looking far too smug for someone who faced regular whippings from Pringle. “Everyone will be busy with eggnog and carols and whatnot. I fancy this is the perfect opportunity.” 

In the end, June agreed. But if she  thought this would be a quiet, private expedition, she was mistaken. Royston had apparently filled several other L.A.R.V.A. members in on their plans: Rosemary Chen followed the first years out of Ravenclaw Tower, and when they crossed the stone suspension bridge they found Elisenda Albo and the Yaxleys waiting. 

It was with weary resignation June led the way to the magientomology corridor. This time, when they ducked behind the tapestry there was a warm, bitter-sweet smell pervading the hall, like burnt rose petals or peppery vanilla ice cream. The scent was faint but unmistakable. And, to June’s surprise, she could smell a sort of message with it: 

Keep going in this direction. 

The pheromone trail followed the same path the compass had led, ending abruptly in front of the two ant statues. This close to the wall the fragrance was overpowering. 

“This is it?” Fausta demanded, placing both hands on her hips and scowling critically at the writing etched into the wall. “This is nothing but a wall.” 

"A rather curious wall with an inscription," Abdul said, pointing to the insect glyphs. “We simply must discover how to gain entry.” 

Royston limped past and pointed his wand at the wall. “Alohomora!” 

“A professor who wants to keep something hidden will know how to prevent anyone from waltzing in with such an obvious spell,” Rosemary Chen said scathingly. 

Royston pouted. "Why don’t you have a go, then!"

Rosemary rolled up her sleeves and swished her wand through the air. “Confringo!” 

The spell bounced off the wall and hit the ceiling, sending rubble raining down upon their heads. When the dust cleared the wall remained smooth and intact.

June thought she saw one of the statues twitch, but her attention was redirected when Elisenda swept Rosemary aside, wand at the ready. 

“Deprimo!” A green light shot from her wand. Again the wall deflected the spell, which blasted a hole through the wall behind them. 

The ant statues leaped from their plinths, advancing, their mandibles creaking as they snapped open and shut. 

Most of the students stumbled backwards, but Fausta flung herself forward, her eyes wild. “Stupendo!” There was a burst of red light, which hit one of the ants and then rebounded in her face. She collapsed to the ground, out cold. 

Achlys let out a wordless cry and leaped forward, trying to pull Fausta out of the way of the statues. June stooped to grab Fausta’s other arm, and the two girls dragged her after the others, who were rapidly retreating. 

All along the corridor the other statues sprang to life. A praying mantis swept its forelegs across June’s path; she stumbled, nearly bringing down Achlys with her. Up ahead, a wasp bore down on Royston and Abdul, and only a quickly cast Shield Charm by Rosemary kept the boys from being skewered. 

 June pointed her wand over her shoulder. “Cadite!” 

One of the ants tripped. Other insects bounded over it, undeterred. 

Although Achlys joined June in attempting to stop the onslaught, she displayed none of the confidence she’d had during the duel.. “F-Flipendo!” 

A giant mechanical scorpion was knocked into the beetles behind it, bowling them over. Their legs scrabbled uselessly in the air. 

June felt guilty about it, but not guilty enough to stop. “Wingardium Leviosa!” She shouted, but the insects were too large to affect. 

“What are you doing?” Achlys hissed in her ear. “I don’t want flying insects coming after me!” 

A pair of spiders scrambled down from their positions in webs carved between columns, leaping in front of June and the Yaxleys. 

“Melofors!” Achlys squeaked. A flash of orange bounced off the stone body of the spider, and Achlys ducked. The spell hit a vase decorated with stylized beetles, turning it into a pumpkin. 

One of the spiders shot sticky webbing at Achlys; it wrapped around her ankles, bringing her crashing to the ground. 

Fausta was finally beginning to stir. She moaned, gripping her head with both hands. Not that June felt much better about their situation now that Fausta had revived; if Achlys couldn’t face down the statues, June and Fausta certainly couldn’t. 

Up ahead, the other L.A.R.V.A. students were locked in their own battles. Elisenda and Royston had joined forces to keep back the Mantises, while Becky was thwacking the ants with a shillelagh she’d obtained from Merlin knew where. 

June watched helplessly as the spiders advanced. She couldn’t recall any spells; it was as if the spiders had tangled her brain in webbing. 

And then she had a flash of inspiration: Myrmosina’s ring! She had a suspicion she now knew what the giant ants meant when they’d said their colony was both near and far. If she was right, the ants could protect them. 

Hastily, she rubbed the ring, and just like before three large ants materialized out of nowhere. They smelled of exhaustion and lethargy, and June remembered with a guilty jolt that most ants would be in diapause now that it was winter. 

“For what purpose have you summoned us?” the ants asked. 

Pushing aside her guilt, June said, “My friends and I need help…please…” 

The ants lifted their antennae in tandem and all at once the statues froze. Beyond the ants, June could see her friends lowering their wands, looking bewildered. 

“They attack all who break in,” the ants said, and June knew they meant the statues. This made her feel even guiltier, as if she’d been the one trying to blast a hole in the wall. “Do not try to get through without a key again or even we will not stop them for you, speaker of the secret tongue of ants.” 

“I wouldn’t go through that gateway for anything,” she said adamantly, thinking of Fergal McCabe, haunting the Hogwarts’ clock tower after a failed attempt at insurrection. As much as she’d wanted to come to Hogwarts, she didn’t exactly fancy spending the rest of eternity haunting it. 

Perhaps the fact she was down this corridor being attacked by the guardian statues rendered this statement suspect, because she smelled the ants’ skepticism. 

“If you return, remember: summon us and we shall lead, but only if you bring with you a key. For now, farewell, little witch. Leave while the custodians are paused and then release us.” 

Fausta had already hauled Achlys to her feet; Achlys was covered in sticky webs, and had to hop the rest of the way down the corridor. 

Once they were safely on the other side of the tapestry, Rosemary and Elisenda stepped forward, helping Achlys over to the wall where they began attempting to free her from the webbing. 

 June rubbed her ring and sensed the ants disappear. 

Myrtle bent over, clutching her stomach and shaking. “Let’s never do that again,” she said. 

“Ah, don’t be all dramatic, Warren, ya were just grand, so ye were.” Becky twirled the shillelagh she’d wielded in her hands admiringly. Now that June saw it up close, it looked oddly soft, like it was made out of…fur, maybe? “But I reckon you’d best transfigure this back, now.” 

Myrtle grumbled, but waved her wand and muttered an incantation, and suddenly Becky was holding a quill.  Not fur, then. 

“Why did the statues stop attacking?” Achlys asked, spitting white string out of her mouth as she spoke. “They were ready to rip us to shreds, and then they just…stopped.” 

“Scrimgeour’s ring,” Fausta said. “She summoned those ants just like during detention. They stopped the dratted statues, somehow.” 

Everyone turned to look at June, who suppressed the urge to fidget with the ring in question; the last thing she wanted was to disturb the ants during diapause again. 

How was she supposed to explain something she barely understood herself? But the other witches were looking at her so expectantly she had to try. 

“They said…the ants said the statues will attack anyone who tries to cross the gate without a key,” June said. 

“A key?” Elisenda Albo paused in pulling webs out of Achlys’s hair. “What kind of key?” 

“That’s what old McCabe said, too,” Abdul piped up. Royston was crouched beside him, head in hands – he looked as if he might be sick. “He said anyone who wanted to get back there required a key and a guide.” 

June glared at Abdul. Elisenda, however, looked thoughtful. 

“Did he now…?” she murmured. “I wonder if that inscription would tell us what it was…” 

June had been certain the inscription said how to get through the wall since before she knew it was a gateway, but she was no closer to understanding what it said than she had been when the compass first led her there. 

“Probably,” she conceded grudgingly. “But I don’t think we ought to try. If I’d known we were going to try this time, I wouldn’t have shown anyone.” 

Elisenda shrugged. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, and resumed picking spider webs out of Achlys’s hair. 

Myrtle lifted her head to give Elisenda a dour look. “Anyone with half a brain could see that,” she muttered. 

“So that’s it? You’re going to just give up?” Fausta demanded. 

“I’m strategic,” Elisenda corrected coolly. “And if you really want to find Eumolpos, you should be, too.”

As she settled into her bed that night, June’s thoughts kept returning to the gateway in the magientomology corridor. She held out her hand, staring at the ring. Merrythought had claimed that ants were guardians of the underworld in some cultures, and June could summon giant ants who claimed they could lead her through the Otherworld that lay beyond that gate. 

Was it possible McCabe would have survived if he’d had the ring? 

June had no intention of entering that gateway; that would be foolish. But there were so many unknowns, and she was a girl with a thirst to know things. At the very least, she wished she could figure out those insect glyphs. 

Sighing, she reached into her trunk for the crumpled parchment she’d found when cleaning 54-B. She had looked over it every night since she found it, wishing she could make sense of it, and every night she was disappointed when no flash of inspiration struck. But tonight she finally noticed something significant — the top row was the only one with no repeated glyphs. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? The key had been in front of her the whole time. 

She dug parchment and quill out of her trunk – along with the copy of the inscription  she had made all those months ago – and excitedly copied out each insect symbol in a column. There were only twenty-two of them, which wasn’t enough to correspond to the English alphabet. She sucked the nib of her quill between her teeth in thought, then spat out ink. 

“Let’s see. I suppose we don’t need C, as S and K cover both its sounds. And I suppose that also would make Q unnecessary, wouldn’t it? But then I still have two letters more than correspond to the insects. Oh, of course, you could use KS in place of X and then I or WAI or something for Y. If this is even used for English.”

She couldn’t be certain of that until she’d attempted to decode the message. And even then, she wasn’t entirely sure which glyph might correspond to which sound. She had to eliminate the most obvious solution first.

After painstakingly pairing letters to glyphs she had two separate poems, one from the note with the key, the other from the inscription. The note was short and simple: 

To enter bring cowslip or primrose

Poplar, thyme, or mistletoe

To return you must remember 

Honey cakes and heather 

The inscription poem was longer. This she read aloud to herself in a halting voice: 

Those who wish to enter

First must find a key — 

Touch it upon the wall 

And the doorway they shall see. 

Kindle a torch of mullein

To light the darkened way, 

Then call forth a trusted guide,

For those who stray

Shall wander lost forever,

And never shall be free.

June repeated the last line with a shudder. McCabe had been right – the key really was the easy part, if it was as simple as choosing from among an array of plants. That wasn’t even the worst part, though. The worst part was that he had never mentioned the necessity of honeycakes or heather. Then again, maybe he hadn’t gotten so far into his journey through the gateway as to discover those were necessary. 

June wasn’t sure she would ask. 

“You’re not working on homework, are you?” Gillian Bagman asked from the bed across the room. 

“What? No, just something for fun,” June said, folding up the poems and slipping them into her pocket. “Sorry if I was disturbing you.” 

The week after Christmas was bitterly cold. Snowdrifts piled up outside the front doors, and when June looked out the second-floor windows, she imagined she could climb right out into the snow without falling.

It was much too cold even to go outside and play in the snow, and with no classes and no extracurriculars, many of the students were going out of their minds with boredom. This did not include the fifth years, few of whom found peace from their impending O.W.L.s even in the absence of classes. 

With nothing better to occupy her time, June had taken to haunting the library in search of information about Otherworlds. Her friends, of course, noticed her preoccupation. 

“You’ve been in the library a grand bit, Scrimgeour,” Becky said one morning after breakfast when June had announced once again her desire to spend the day cooped up there. 

“I suppose,” June said vaguely. “I’m just curious to know more about those Otherworlds. What could possibly be in one that would be worth risking your life for?” 

“Didn’t McCabe tell you?” Becky said, as if this weren’t a question worth asking. “Independence.” 

June didn’t want to argue with her friend, especially because she knew perfectly well she didn’t share Becky’s experiences and so probably was a poor judge, but she also thought there were factors Becky wasn’t considering. 

“Yes,” she agreed cautiously, “but why would he think he could achieve that by going through the gateway? What are these Powers he wanted to speak with?” 

At that point, Becky suddenly became very interested in the nearest suit of armor, which was tangled up with holly garlands. But when June departed for the library, Becky and Myrtle both followed. 

“Do you really think any book outside of the restricted section is going to tell you about gateways that kill people?” Myrtle asked doubtfully. “Wouldn’t it be a better use of time to look up MacMillan and Thorn?” 

In this way, June’s friends began spending time in the library searching for any morsel of information. 

 This caught the attention of Royston and Abdul, who were physically incapable of minding their own business. They, in turn, informed Elisenda and the Yaxleys, and before June knew it — and to the horror of the librarian — spending all day in the library researching Otherworlds had become an unofficial L.A.R.V.A. club pastime. 

But with so many people searching, they certainly covered more ground than June could on her own. 

They perused every book that seemed like it might remotely have some connection to Thorn or MacMillan or ants or even death. 

 Some were only general Magizoology texts; others were books written by early magientomologists, with names such as An Illustrated Field Guide to Saxonian Bowtruckles by Sidonia Rash (trans. by Wymer Cochrane ), The Magientomology of Deseret: Monograph of the Haakapainiži by Antipas Diggory, British Entomology, being illustrations and descriptions of the genera of insects found in Great Britain and Ireland by Eudactylina Nutley and Vesperina Westwood, and The Dances of the Billywig by Thyreus Swoopstikes. 

They pored over armfuls of old issues of Chiton, as well as back issues from Transfiguration Today, Challenges in Charming, Journal of the London Numerology Society, The Year’s Work In Modern Spell Studies, Review of Alchemical Research, and Journal of Applied Entomomancy. Achlys Yaxley even returned with a stack of yellowing Plinian Society journals. 

“I tried to find back issues from Necromancer Quarterly,” she said, dumping her pile of magazines onto the table. “But I couldn’t find a single issue.” 

June looked up from The Acromantula Book: A study of the Acromantulas and Near Relatives. “I don’t think the Ministry encourages necromancy.”

“Would have come in handy if this Death theory of yours is correct,” Achlys said as she flipped open one of the journals. 

They lapsed into silence, each girl focused on her research, until Achlys threw aside the journal she was reading. “Ugh! This is impossible to read!” 

June reluctantly tore herself away from an intriguing description of the social habits of Acromantula Bombycinus–commonly known as the Acid Acromantula–and examined the journal Achlys had discarded. The pages were yellowed with age, and the ink had begun to fade in some places. But as she flipped through the pages, a photograph caught her attention. It was a faded sepia-tone picture of two young men in what looked like a military uniform with their arms around one another’s shoulders. One of them had a thick, pale beard and a face that rather looked as if he’d been on the wrong side of one too many hexes. The other was a familiar dark-haired wizard. 

The caption read: Emmett Kickham and Lasius Thorn, before Emmett Kickham’s arrest. 

“That’s Professor Thorn!” June said in excitement. She scanned the text, reading aloud for the benefit of the other students. “Lasius Thorn was born in 1822 in the Roanoke Territory of the American Confederation. He was interested in healing magientomology from a young age, after observing the use of leeches upon his older brother. He attended Blacksburg Magery Institute (BMI), where he became fast friends with Irish-American wizard Emmett Kickham. Upon graduation, Thorn traveled to Scotland, where he studied healing at Belinos Hospital under the renowned healer Roderick MacMillan.” 

“While in Scotland, Thorn became acquainted with Roderick’s daughter, Myrmosina. Myrmosina encouraged him to join L.A.R.V.A., where his insights into Magitoxicology were well-received.” 

“He sponsored his friend, Emmett Kickham, to come to Great Britain, where Kickham became a well-respected member of the British magientomology community.” 

June flipped through the journal, skimming through the rest of Thorn’s biography. 

“In 1866 the Ministry of Magic passed the 20th Unlawful Oaths Act in response to suspected Dark Arts activity by Irish nationalists. Between 1866 and 1869, over thirty witches and wizards were arrested and sent to Azkaban under suspicion of cooperation with the Dark Arts group known as the Coffin Flies, including noted L.A.R.V.A. members Emmett Kickham and Phorida Driscoll. Kickham was charged with recruiting Irish sympathizers from his alma mater of BMI and encouraging them to immigrate to Great Britain to form a secret militia. He spent four years in Azkaban. Driscoll was arrested in the aftermath of the Irish Riots at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with her son, Mesembrius, who had been the ringleader. She was later released, as the Wizengamot was satisfied that she had no prior knowledge of her son’s plans.” 

All eyes turned toward Becky, who frowned. “Don’t be givin’ me that look as if I had anything to do with it!”

June stared down at the book, her gut churning. Coffin flies were parasitic towards ants, laying their eggs inside them and when their offspring hatched, they were able to control the infested ant until…

She squeezed her eyes shut. That wasn’t something she wanted to think about. But a voice in the back of her head whispered tauntingly: The ring controls ants as surely as coffin flies do.

Were Thorn and MacMillan  friends of the ants…or enemies? They weren’t listed among the L.A.R.V.A. members who had been accused of working with the Coffin Flies, but that did little to reassure her. Not when Myrmosina’s compass led to a gateway to what could very well be Death itself. 

Elisenda’s voice cut through June’s spiraling anxiety. “I found something else!” she said urgently, reading aloud. “Myrmosina MacMillan studied magimyrmecology in the Near East for several years, along with Myrmosina’s long-time sweetheart, Lasius Thorn, and Irish witch Phorida Driscoll. Myrmosina and Lasius were wed upon their return to London. A year later, they welcomed a daughter, Porena, into the world. But tragedy struck, when it became apparent that Porena was a Squib…” 

Elisenda paused, and when she began to read again her voice shook. “The Thorns sent her away to a Muggle boarding school, knowing that to live within the wizarding world would only bring their daughter pain. They returned to Britain for good, where Myrmosina took up a post as the Head of Magientomology at Hogwarts, where she remained until her untimely disappearance in 1868.”

When Elisenda finished reading she looked up at the rest of the group in despair. “They sent their own daughter away,” she whispered, and there were definitely tears sliding down her cheeks now. 

“Isn’t that for the best, though?” Royston said, watching Elisenda warily as if he was afraid she would make good on her original threat to curse him for talking about Squibs. “If she’d remained, wouldn’t she feel a tad ostracized and…”

“And prefer to be entirely cut off from her family?” Elisenda cut in. “Who would want that?” 

Royston flinched, but instead of drawing her wand, Elisenda broke down into sobs. 

Achlys reached across the table to pat her hand gently. “Some people do choose estrangement,” she said softly. “But parents should never abandon their children.” 

“Definitely not,” June agreed. She tried to imagine how she would feel if instead of going to Hogwarts like she’d dreamed, she’d been completely excommunicated from her family; this thought made her like Thorn and MacMillan even less, but that still didn’t tell her anything about if they had personally been involved in the Dark Arts, nor what their connection was with the Otherworld gateway. 

Elisenda was too distraught to continue researching, so the other students agreed to end there for the day. But instead of returning to Ravenclaw Tower, June headed toward the room where L.A.R.V.A. met. She hadn’t asked nearly enough questions of Lasius, and she intended to correct that oversight. 

The portrait of Lasius Thorn was dozing in his frame when she approached, but he started awake when she called his name. 

“It’s you again,” he said, rather rudely, in June’s opinion. “What do you want this time?” 

June lifted her head so she could look him straight in the eyes. “I want to ask you about the Coffin Flies,” she said. 

Lasius recoiled. “Why would you want to know about those ghastly cultists?” 

He seemed so genuinely horrified by the idea that June was given pause. “So you weren’t one of them?” she asked. 

Lasius drew himself up like a ruffled peacock. “I? One of them? The very people Myrmosina and I went into hiding to avoid? I should bally well think not.” 

“You were hiding from them?” June asked, shocked by this information. “But…I thought you were friends with them.” 

Myrmosina and Lasius had vanished a few years after McCabe’s death. Had the Coffin Flies escalated their Dark Arts activities after his failure?

“At one time,” Lasius confirmed. “Until they decided they wanted our ring and damn the consequences. Myrmosina went into hiding, first. Took the ring with her, even, but did Emmett care? Of course not. He tried to Cruciatus her whereabouts after me. Myrmosina had left the compass with me, of course, so I could join her if necessary.” 

“But,” June said, mulling this over. “If the ring is what summons the guides, how could you follow her safely?” 

“Ants are not the only possible guides, young lady. Of course,” Lasius conceded, his expression growing sour, “I was painted before Myrmosina and myself went into hiding so I cannot say for certain if either of us made it safely.” 

“How do you know you were Cruciatus-ed, then?” June asked skeptically. 

Lasius rolled his eyes. “Good heavens, young lady! You’re a Ravenclaw, aren’t you? Use that clever mind of yours. I obviously told myself before I left.” 

That admonishment left June feeling very foolish indeed so she decided to switch to a different part of the puzzle. “McCabe says that Myrmosina was researching the gateway,” she said, trying to sound casually interested. “I was wondering why. You know, since she was a magientomologist.” 

Lasius looked down at her with minor astonishment. “You mean to say you haven’t realized?” he asked. 

June shook her head. “I only know it leads to Death,” she said grimly. 

“All Underworlds can lead to Death,” Lasius answered delicately. “They have many branching paths, you know. It’s important you choose the correct one if you wish to avoid it. But it was not Death that interested Myrmosina. No, that gateway leads to the one place that magimyrmecologists have long believed only a myth.” Lasius paused, watching June for a reaction. 

She simply tapped her foot impatiently. He seemed to get the point, because he went on at once. 

“It leads,” Lasius said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “to the Valley of the Ants.”

Chapter Text

Winter clung to the castle grounds late that year. Patches of ice frosted the walkways even after the snow had begun to melt, and the primroses only just peeked through the snow on the castle grounds by the time the Easter Holiday rolled around.The greenhouses were another story entirely — flowers bloomed in fragrant abundance, and already insects stirred from diapause here in the enchanted warmth. 

Many of the flowers they covered were found even in Muggle gardens, but as Professor Beery often reminded them even the most mundane plants had magical properties. 

“I have here,” Beery said, waving his hand over the pots clustered on his trestle, “three different types of spring flowers: Peonies, cowslips, and primroses. Each of you will have a different flower to attend to and to study. Although you will, of course, be expected to know about all of them for your end of term exam.” 

There was an outbreak of groans from the class. 

“Honestly,” June whispered to Becky. “You’d think Ravenclaws of all people wouldn’t be upset at being expected to learn something.” 

Becky patted her arm. “Now, Scrimgeour,” she said as Beery began calling students up for their flower pots. “We don’t know how the hat judges what qualities we’ve got. Perhaps it's a fortune-telling hat.” 

Their conversation was interrupted as Professor Beery began calling students up to the front to collect their flowers. When it was June’s turn he handed her a peony with a wink. 

“I hear you’re a girl with a gift for ants,” he said. “So you ought to enjoy the peonies. They’re myrmecophytes.” 

June looked down at the bright pink flower buds in front of her. Tiny black garden ants were crawling up and down the stem. She carefully carried the pot back to the trestle, examining it while the rest of the students were called up one by one for their flowers. 

Myrtle returned with a pot of white primroses and a sullen expression. “Professor Beery didn’t tell me mine were specially selected,” she complained in a whisper. 

“And Dumbledore has never given me advanced transfiguration exercises to work on,” June whispered back. 

But this conversation, too, was cut short by the fact that they were in class and Beery expected their attention while he delivered his lecture. 

He cleared his throat and most of the class fell respectfully silent. “Now that all of you have your flowers, let’s begin. I would like you to diagram the flowers in front of you while you listen. Peonies are a kind of myrmecophyte. That is, they have a mutually advantageous relationship with ants. Peonies have many beneficial properties and are used often in healing potions, especially antidotes for curses. However, you won’t be harvesting any unless you go on to N.E.W.T level herbology.”

“Pray tell, Professor?” Royston asked. He still hadn’t learned to raise his hand before speaking, to June’s eternal frustration. 

Beery didn’t reprimand him, but only glanced to the roof of the greenhouse, where sunlight lanced through the transparent glass. “Unless peonies are picked at night,” he said somberly, “you run the danger of woodpeckers plucking out your eyes.” 

The students drew their gazes to the roof as well, but the only birds visible were the distant silhouettes of owls swooping to and from the aviary. 

“Come off it,” Orion Black scoffed. “You can’t expect us to believe that. Woodpeckers? How would they even get in?” 

Professor Beery licked his lips, picked up a pair of shears then put them down again. “It’s best not to tempt them,” he said at last, and then hurried on, as if afraid the students might demand further explanations on the dangers of woodpeckers. “Now then. Peonies and ants! Muggle gardeners often speak of the need to have ants tickle the peonies into blooming. For Muggles, this is only a myth, but when you plant peonies in magical soil it becomes quite true. Those of you with peonies, watch closely.” 

June crouched as low as she could, so that she was eye level with her flower pot. Beside her, Becky leaned forward, as well. She could see the ants tickling the closed peony buds with their antennae until the petals unfurled and the stems seemed to shake with silent laughter. To June’s delight, while she was wearing the ring she could understand the pheromones the ants sent out, even though they were tiny, not at all like the giant ants the ring summoned. They said: Open, open, open. 

She dipped the tip of her quill into her ink and began sketching the buds and the tickling ants, trying to capture the image of flower petals unfurling while Professor Beery continued his lecture. 

“Primroses and cowslips are closely related, and have many similar properties. Both are used in tinctures and potions that treat burns and warts, heal wounds, and cure toothaches, and both are used in potions that treat insomnia. But primroses are also used in potions designed to conceal or confuse, and cowslip is one of the most important ingredients in Veritaserum, as one of its properties is revealing the hidden. Of course, ancient Celtic wizards believed that primrose could also reveal on some occasions — A posy made of primrose, touched to the surface of a rock, was said to open a portal to Fairy.” 

June chewed the nib of her pen. What had that poem said?  To enter, bring cowslip or primrose. 

Even if she hadn’t translated the inscription, this knowledge alone would have been enough to suggest primroses or cowslips as potential means of entering the gate. It was a good thing so few people were aware of its existence. 

Except, of course, all the L.A.R.V.A. members who now knew.

As soon as class ended most of the students headed for the grassy bank of the lake or the pleasant shade of the courtyard, pleased that the weather was finally warm enough to spend out of doors, but June headed straight for her dormitory to read over the poem again: 

Kindle your torch of mullein

To light the darkened way… 

To enter bring cowslip or primrose

Poplar, thyme, or mistletoe…

Did the other plants mentioned also have revealing properties? She assumed they must, but looking through her Herbology textbook didn’t give her too much to go on. She learned that mistletoe was used to ward of ghosts, which she supposed was decently useful if there really were ghosts in the Otherworld, and mullein could ward of curses, which she supposed was also useful, even if she didn’t see how it related to opening the gate to get there. 

Eventually, accepting that her Herbology textbook had told her all it could tell, she pocketed the poem and took herself to the library. She grabbed several books from the Herbology section and settled at a table  to read. 

This time, she found exactly what she was looking for in an old, nondescript book titled simply Unlocking Botany: 

                There are many plants that give entry to the hidden worlds. Among these are cowslip, primrose, poplar and mistletoe. Today we only know which plants were used, but the how has been lost; the tales that instruct us are missing crucial elements, so that we only learn a witch had a posy of peonies or that a wizard wore a crown of poplar. 

This may not have given the specifics, but it was enough. Excited, June flipped to the section on heather and read: 

                 Commonly used in luck potions, Heather is associated with the dead and with fairies. 

June was so absorbed in reading that she didn’t notice Elisenda Albo’s approach until the other witch had dropped a heavy stack of books onto the table across from her. 

“Mind if I sit here?” 

June tilted her head to the side so she could read the titles, which seemed to all be about protection and safety. “No wonder you’re the best in our Defense class if this is your idea of reading for fun,” she said, placing her quill in her book so she wouldn’t lose her place.

Elisenda lowered her eyes. “It’s not my own safety I worry about,” she murmured, twisting locks of dark hair round one finger. 

“That’s right,” June remembered. “Your brother–” 

“Anyway, what are you working on? Is this homework?” Elisenda reached for the poem laying next to June, but as she read it what had begun as mild curiosity turned to shock. She looked up, her dark eyes wide. “Is this about that gateway?” she breathed. 

June knew what this looked like — she’d told everyone she had no interest in going through the gateway, and truly, she didn’t! – but would they believe her if they found out she’d been translating the inscription on the wall? 

But she couldn’t bring herself to lie about it, especially not to Elisenda, who was always so nice. “...yes,” she admitted in a tiny voice. 

“Mmm,” Elisenda said, and June was sure the other girl was going to berate her, but all she said was, “You’d best be careful. Those statues were quite difficult opponents.” 

“I don’t want to get through them,” June said, a hint of a plea in her voice. “I’m just curious, that’s all. I certainly don’t fancy joining McCabe in the clocktower.” 

Elisenda laughed at that. “As if he’d let you.” And then, before June could concede the point, she changed the subject completely. “The weather’s been quite lovely lately, hasn’t it? I was thinking it would be nice to have a picnic. It’d be an excuse to get out of this stuffy old castle for a change.” 

June didn’t think they needed any excuses, especially as Becky already had one with Quidditch, but she expected she would enjoy a picnic more than braving a broom. And besides, this was a much better topic of conversation than deadly secret gateways. So she only said, “That sounds lovely. When did you have in mind?” 

“This Sunday,” Elisenda answered at once. “Oh, do say you can come. And ask Becky and Myrtle, too. I’d be ever so delighted if all three of you can make it.” 

As tempting as it was to lock herself inside and do nothing but study, June had to admit it was probably a good idea to enjoy the weather while she could. And anyway, what use was knowing about Herbology and insects if she never went outside?  

“I’d love to,” she agreed, flashing Elisenda a bright smile. 

It took no work at all to convince Becky, and even Myrtle seemed to harbor a tentative enthusiasm at Elisenda’s idea. They spent the week looking forward to the picnic, making plans for what they would bring with them and debating whether picnics were an appropriate venue for athletic pursuits. 

Then the spring weather grew cool again and the skies overcast. All week June kept glancing out the windows, expecting rain to derail their picnic plans, but while the clouds never dispersed rain didn’t fall, and Sunday afternoon June and her friends left Ravenclaw Tower together, Becky with a blanket slung over her shoulder. 

But while the weather may have cooperated, nature was less amenable: Midges swarmed the grounds, stinging and biting, and in general being such a nuisance even June was having difficulty appreciating their presence. 

Becky attempted to perform knockback jinxes on the midges, but they were too small for her to target. “Ah, feck! I’d prefer if we’d picked up summat more useful in Charms than just makin’ things float an’ spin,” she complained. 

Just then someone spoke an unfamiliar incantation, and the midges dispersed to hover in frustration on the outside of some invisible boundary. 

“That should allow us to picnic in peace,” Achlys said, stepping forward with her sister and Elisenda in tow and all three girls carrying wicker baskets. 

Becky unrolled her blanket and shook it until she the bottom brushed across the buttercup-and-dandelion strewn grass. 

Myrtle eyed the blanket critically. “How are you planning to wash that?” she asked. 

“Have you ever washed your own sheets?” Becky tossed her hands into the air so that the far end of the blanket flapped upward. But when she draped it across the ground it ended up in an uncomfortable-looking lump. She picked it back up and shook out the blades of grass stuck to the bottom. “The house-elves do it. Here, someone lend me a hand?” 

June and Myrtle hurried to the other end of the blanket and grabbed the corners, helping Becky stretch the dark blue blanket out to its full length. They laid it as flat as they could on top of the grass. 

The dark waters of the lake were completely still; not even a faint ripple disturbed the placid surface. Towering stalks of flowering yellow mullein grew in bunches nearby, right up to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, which loomed behind them. 

Elisenda deposited her basket on the edge of the blanket and propped open the lid. “The house-elves are always so eager to serve,” she said, laying out checked napkins, followed by cakes wrapped in handkerchiefs. 

June snatched up one of the cakes, taking a huge bite. It seemed to melt in her mouth. “Mmm. This is delectable,” she said, reaching for another one. 

Beside her, Becky ate in silent rapture. She closed her eyes, her face lifted to the heavens as she chewed. “What kind o’ cakes are these, then?” she asked. 

“Honey cake,” Elisenda said. “Very traditional recipe, the house-elves assured me.” 

“They’re very good,” Achlys said. She was already on her second cake, as well. 

There was blissful silence for a long while as the girls ate the honey cakes and washed them down with pumpkin juice. At last, the pumpkin juice had run dry and the cakes were all but devoured. 

Elisenda stood, brushing at her lap. “I didn’t expect those cakes to go so fast.” She hooked the handle of one of the baskets over her wrist. “I’ll be back with more before you can say honeybee!” 

As Elisenda headed back inside, June stretched out on the picnic blanket, a sense of drowsiness coming over her. All around her the other witches were yawning. 

Achlys rubbed her eyes with her fist. “Goodness, I’m sleepy.” 

“Me, too…” June mumbled, her eyes closing. And then she was asleep. 

“Junebug! Wake up, Junebug!” 

Fingers dug into June’s shoulders, gently shaking her awake. She pushed herself onto her elbow and blinked blearily. 

It was Sylvia. She was frowning, though June couldn’t tell if concern or disapproval was to blame. “Are you all right? What are you doing out here? It’s nearly curfew.” 

“Curfew?!” June yelped, suddenly wide awake. Above was a purple and pink striated sky, speckled with the faint pinpricks that marked the first stars of the evening.

She looked around at the other sleeping witches — only three. Elisenda hadn’t returned from the kitchens, it seemed. But where was Fausta…?

“Help me wake them?” June asked, pushing herself to her knees and shaking Myrtle, who was nearest. 

“What–” Myrtle began, but June cut her off. 

“We fell asleep out here. It’s getting late,” June explained. 

Sylvia had already revived Becky and was now gently shaking Achlys, who sat up, looking round in sleepy confusion. “Where is Fausta…?” 

“I don’t know,” June admitted, trying to ignore a growing sense of foreboding. “Perhaps she went to find Elisenda. Or maybe she went back to the dormitory.”

“Which is what we’d better do,” Myrtle said, glancing toward the darkening sky. “Are we in very much trouble for being out after dark?” 

“It’s not dark yet,” Sylvia said. “But you’d best hurry.” 

Fausta began placing empty goblets back into the remaining wicker basket while Becky shook crumbs out of the blanket and folded it beneath her arm. 

“I can’t believe we were asleep for so long,” Myrtle moaned as they made their way back to the castle. “You’d think someone would have noticed and said something. Ogg, maybe.” 

“I can’t believe Elisenda never came back from the kitchens,” Achlys said.

“Maybe Pringle caught her,” June suggested. She glanced up at the sky again. How had they slept that long? Her attention was so focused on the sky that she wasn’t watching the ground, and didn’t see the book lying in the grass until she had tripped over it. She glanced down at her foot, then frowned. Gold embossed letters glinted from the dark cover of 1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi. 

“How careless,” she said, picking it up and flipping it open. Fausta’s name was written on the inside cover with a large, looping hand. She handed it to Achlys. “Looks like your sister dropped this.” 

Achlys accepted the book, her face pale. “What’s this–?” She pointed to something yellow sticking up from between the pages. 

“A bookmark,” Becky suggested, but Achlys flipped open the book to where the yellow peeked through. 

It was a yellow petal. And it was the same color as the illustration of mullein adorning the top of the left-hand page. 

June bent down, picking up the petal fragment that had fallen out of Fausta’s herbology textbook. “Mullein…” she whispered, then her gaze snapped back to the stalks of mullein growing near their picnic spot. 

She took off across the lawn, ignoring the cries of her sister and friends behind her. She tumbled into the grass where they’d picnicked, into the indentation left by their blanket. Dusting herself off, she approached the mullein with more caution, scanning the stalks for any sign of disturbance. There, in a nearby cluster, was the stub of a severed stem. 

Her heart sank. Could Fausta know…? June had never shared the poem with her, but maybe she’d found out from someone else. McCabe, perhaps. 

June beckoned the others closer, pointing to the stub. “I think we’d better gather some mullein stalks.” She turned pleading eyes upon her sister. “Do you know any spells to cut flowers?” 

Sylvia sighed. “If I do this for you will you promise to go to your dormitory?” 

“Yes!” June said, clasping her hands together. 

“Diffindio!” Sylvia slashed her wand across the entire cluster of mullein, cleanly slicing the stems at the bottom. 

June rushed forward to pick up the fallen flowers. She hoisted them over her shoulder and gave her sister a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said. She hoped the mullein wouldn’t be necessary, but the presence of that petal in that page of Fausta’s book worried her. 

The common room was nearly empty when they returned to Ravenclaw Tower. Only a few fifth years were present, but they were too preoccupied with their impending O.W.L.s to give the first years much notice. 

The girls trudged past in a weary silence that was only broken when they entered the dormitory and June laid the mullein stalks down upon her school trunk. 

“At least we know Fausta can’t — ” she began, then broke off, staring down at her hands. Her ring! She dropped onto the edge of her bed, cold realization dawning: The unexpected sleep. The mullein stalks. And now…

“She stole my ring,” she said numbly. She hardly noticed the tears trickling down her cheeks to splash onto her lap. She didn’t particularly like Fausta as a person, but she didn’t want her dead. And if she was dead….. “This is all my fault,” she whispered. “I should never have kept those items. I should have told a teacher, not pretended I’m any sort of detective.” 

She had let herself get big-headed all because she could use the ring and nobody else could. And now Fausta was foolishly going to try and use it to summon the ants to guide her, and what if she ended up just like McCabe, a ghost haunting Hogwarts? June would never be able to forgive herself. 

As she sat, crying, the nifflings climbed into her lap and rubbed their antennae against her wet cheeks. Jitterbug burrowed its head into her pocket and emerged, clutching her compass in its mandibles. June sighed and patted the niffling. “I suppose you can play with it,” she said morosely. “It isn’t like I need it.”

“But she can't be gettin' through, can she now?” Becky asked. “She might have the ring, but devil a key does she have.” 

June’s gaze strayed toward the mullein Sylvia had cut for them. Sighing heavily, she lifted the nifflings from her lap, then rummaged in her trunk for the poem. 

“Know why I asked Sylvia to cut mullein for us?” she asked as she searched. “It’s because I transcribed that inscription that was on the wall. It mentioned lighting mullein torches, and we know Fausta cut some. She must have found out how to get through from McCabe.” 

Myrtle gasped. “You think he’d really tell her?” 

But June wasn’t listening. Her panic was rising as the poem failed to materialize. “It’s gone…” Frantically, she began throwing things out of her trunk without any regard for where they landed “How can it be gone? I swear I had it in here!” 

Jitterbug pushed the compass off the edge of the bed. June bent to pick it up, but the niffling tumbled after it. “Jitterbug!” June said, changing direction and reaching for her pet, instead. But the niffling nipped at her fingers, and she drew back, shaking her hand. “Ow!” 

The other nifflings leaped after Jitterbug, who marched straight toward the door, where all four stood on their hind legs, begging to be let out. 

Nugget trundled after them like a concerned parent, which, June realized, she was. 

A wild, desperate thought occurred to June at that moment, one that seemed so ludicrous she almost couldn’t believe it would work. But she knew they couldn’t head into that gateway without guides, and she didn’t have her ring to summon any. 

“You’re ants,” she said slowly, “Sort of. I think. Can you lead us to Fausta?”

The nifflings scratched more insistently at the door. June hopped to her feet. “All right. But you have to travel in the bag until we get to the corridor.”

She dumped all of her school belongings out of her satchel, replacing them first with the mullein stalks and then with the nifflings and Nugget. She swung it over her shoulder, her expression determined. 

“Let’s go.” 

June led her friends back through the common room. She was half-afraid that Will Burrow, who was studying in front of the fireplace, might notice their furtive faces and stop them, but he was buried up to his neck in textbooks and didn’t look up as they passed. 

“What exactly is our plan?” Myrtle whispered as they stepped onto the landing, shutting the door behind them. 

They wound down the tower staircase, June taking the steps two at a time in her haste. The darkening sky was visible through the arched windows, reminding her of just how much time had passed since they’d fallen asleep out on the grounds. 

“The plan is to follow the nifflings and hope they can lead us to Fausta in time to stop her from going through the gateway,” June said, trying to ignore her doubts. 

Myrtle was apparently determined to voice them, however, because she said, “If she was going through the gateway, she’d have done it before we woke up.” 

June patted her bag, feeling the lumps the mullein stalks made and making the nifflings wriggle. “Then I’m going in after her.” 

“But you can’t,” Myrtle protested, pushing hair out of her face. “We still don’t have the key or any guides.” 

“I think we have guides covered,” June said. At least, she hoped so. “But you’re right, we need the key or else the guides won’t do us any good.” She chewed her lip, thinking, as they continued descending the stairs. “Slughorn likes you,” she said at last. “Can you get something for me and meet us by the wall?” 

“All right,” Myrtle said, her expression pale but resolute. “Tell me what we need.” 

June wanted to hug her friend, but she contented herself with flapping her arms in enthusiasm. “Thank you,” she said, before rattling off the list of plants the poem had mentioned, grateful that she’d read it enough times to have it memorized. 

Myrtle repeated them to herself a few times, then left on her mission, while the other girls continued across the suspension bridge separating the south wing from the west wing. 

The nifflings were wiggling so much, now, that June was afraid they’d rip through the fabric of her satchel. She stopped on the other side of the bridge, just outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, glaring into the depths of her bag. 

“Settle down in there,” she hissed. 

Just then, the door to the classroom opened and out stepped Sylvia. Her gray eyes grew stormy as she took in her younger sister and friends. 

 June shifted her satchel, trying to shield it with her body, but Sylvia’s sharp eyes caught the movement and she stepped forward, yanking the bag–and June–nearer. 

“Did you perform an Engorgement Charm on ants?” Sylvia exclaimed when she had looked inside. “ Oh, Junebug, I know you love ants, but why?”

“I didn’t!” June protested, pulling her bag out of Sylvia’s grasp and hurrying along the corridor. “They came like this. I’ll explain later. I’m really busy right now, Sylvia.”

Sylvia followed the Ravenclaws, refusing to be shaken off. “I can take points off you for sass, you know. What are you doing out past curfew with giant ants?” 

“They’re not that giant,” June said, thinking of the ants the ring had summoned. She quickened her pace; Fausta already had a huge lead on them, and Sylvia’s unexpected appearance was slowing them down. 

“They are so giant! I’ve never seen ants half that size!”

While the sisters were arguing, Myrtle returned. She held a bouquet of primroses tucked under one arm; in her other arm she held bundles of heather. “I couldn’t get everything you needed,” she said apologetically. “Primrose and heather will have to do it.” 

“Will have to do it for what?” Sylvia asked, glaring at her younger sister. 

June inhaled deeply, keeping her attention on Myrtle; if she looked at Sylvia, she was afraid her resolve might waver. “If that’s what we have, that’s what we have,” she agreed, ducking behind the beehive tapestry. Becky, Myrtle, and Sylvia followed, Sylvia still hissing at them in confused annoyance. 

“I can’t believe this, Junebug, I thought you had more sense than to go around breaking rules like this. What are the three of you up to, anyway? Fess up.” 

“We’re helping a friend,” June said, kneeling down on the other side of the tapestry and opening the flap of her satchel. Jitterbug skittered onto the flagstone floor, the compass still clutched in its mandibles. Shutterbug, Humbug, and Bugsy followed. 

June hurried after the nifflings, her heart pounding, praying that Fausta hadn’t gone through the gateway. 

As they drew nearer the gateway they could see a tiny blonde figure kneeling between the two ant statues with one hand resting against the wall. A wax-like substance oozed down the wall. 

“Fausta, wait!” June cried. “Don’t go in!” 

The figure looked around, staring at the approaching witches with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. It was Achlys. “I have to get through!” she whispered imploringly. 

Sylvia frowned at the first years. “I don’t know what you lot are going on about, but I’m going to get Professor Merrythought.” 

June turned pleading brown eyes upon her sister. “You can’t! If we don’t go after Fausta she might die!” 

“Now, I’m not tryin' to rain on our parade,” Becky said. “But don’t we also be needin’ honey cakes?” 

Achlys reached into her pockets and pulled out several packages of honey-cakes, wrapped in handkerchiefs. “I…saved some of the honey cakes Elisenda gave us,” she mumbled, her face turning red. 

June squared her shoulders, fixing a determined gaze upon the wall. “All right, Jitterbug. Lead us through.” 

The nifflings pawed at the bottom of the wall as if they could see the door, even though to June’s eyes there was nothing visible but the paste glistening on the wall where Fausta had painted it. 

June pressed her hand against the wall; the stone was slimy but solid. She wiped her hands on her robes, grimacing. 

Myrtle stepped forward, holding up the bouquet of primroses and pressed it against the wall. There was an audible click, and then the stone melted into a doorway. Myrtle stepped back. The bouquet of primroses turned to ash in her hands. 

“Junebug, you can’t!” Sylvia said, wringing her hands. “You’ve got to tell a teacher!”

“I know it’s dangerous.” June’s voice shook. “But Fausta doesn’t have a guide. We do.” She bent forward and patted Jitterbug on the head. “She won’t be able to get back if someone doesn’t help her.” She stepped into the tunnel with Becky and Achlys at her side. 

Myrtle and Sylvia both hesitated. Then Sylvia ran in after the others as the tunnel closed behind them, leaving Myrtle behind. 

Chapter Text

"Lumos!” Sylvia spoke, and the path ahead was bathed in a pale blue light. High above them, the ceiling remained cloaked in darkness. They stood there in the faint wandlight, peering into the darkness beyond, the nifflings milling about their feet.

June handed each of the other witches one of the mullein stalks. “We’re supposed to light them on fire,” she explained.

“Hold on,” Achlys said, rummaging through her pockets and pulling out the honey cakes. “I suppose we all ought to have one of everything.” 

Sylvia used a fire-conjuring spell on their mullein and the yellow blossoms flared into a torch, casting a brighter light than the wand.

June held her torch aloft, illuminating the subterranean tunnel before them. The walls and ceiling were rocky and uneven, but the path itself appeared to be smooth, packed dirt. The nifflings crowded at her feet, their antennae lifted up to her. 

“All right,” she said, looking down at the four nifflings. “We each need a guide. Can you all do that? Can you guide us?” 

The nifflings hurriedly dispersed until each was standing beside a different witch: Jitterbug remained in front of June, but Humbug rubbed Becky’s ankles, Shutterbug sat in front of Sylvia, and Bugsy placed herself directly on Achlys’s shoes. Nugget remained in June’s satchel, poking her head out of the top and her dark eyes watching her children’s activity. 

Once each niffling had claimed a witch, June said, “Let’s go on, then.” 

The nifflings formed a neat little row and trotted on ahead of the witches, who followed in a silence punctuated by occasional sniffles from Achlys. 

“I can’t believe Fausta wouldn’t tell me what she was doing! I don’t know what I’ll do if she…if she…” Achlys rubbed her face with her torch-free hand. “Ow! I got something in my eye!” 

Sylvia drew nearer, the firelight from her mullein throwing shadows across their faces. “Did you touch that potion that was on the wall?” she asked. 

Achlys nodded. She had one eye squeezed shut. 

“Can we get out again?” Sylvia demanded of June. “She ought to go see Madam Kittridge.” 

“No!” Achlys said quickly. “I need to find Fausta!” 

June couldn’t argue with that and neither, it seemed, could Sylvia, because she didn’t try to pressure Achlys into turning back, but followed the first years and their nifflings. 

As they walked the dirt path gave way to blue chicory, which blossomed underfoot. June lifted her torch higher, spilling light further down the tunnel to reveal a fork in their path. Blue chicory grew down the left hand path, but while the right hand path was also awash with flowers, their petals were pink. 

The nifflings remained huddled together. Apparently the witches needed to decide the next path for themselves. 

June remembered watching how the chicory blossoms had changed from blue to pink when exposed to ant. Maybe Fausta had been able to use the ring, after all — or maybe anyone could use it once they got through the gateway. Otherwise, why would Thorn and MacMillan have been so concerned about it falling into the hands of the Coffin Flies?

“We’ll take the path to the right,” she said, stepping around the nifflings. 

They continued on, the flowers growing sparser until they were walking on packed dirt once more. Outside the bounds of the torchlight the shadows were deep pools of nothing, where anything could have been: a hidden beast, or a hole, or a waiting wizard. 

“Our torches ain’t burning down,” Becky observed, eyeing her mullein stalk, which was just as tall as it had been before it had been lit. 

“That’s fortunate,” Sylvia said. “I wouldn’t fancy being down here without one. I’m not sure lumos would provide enough light for us to see down here, not even if all of us cast it together.” 

That dampened their moods, and they walked in silence for a long while, the only sound the tramp of their feet against the dirt. June squinted at the path, hoping to see footprints, but there were none visible — only solid, brown dirt sloping gently downwards. 

Eventually Achlys spoke. “She’s too far ahead of us.” Her voice was strained. “We’ll never catch up. I’m going to lose her, too.” 

“That’s right. Your brother…” June recalled, feeling another wave of sympathy for Achlys. Losing one sibling would be hard enough, but to lose both of them? It was unimaginable. “You really don’t know what happened to him, then?” 

Achlys hiccuped and shook her head. “We tried to send Eumolpos an owl, but it came back with my letter. I suppose the post owls can’t reach him, wherever he is. Mum was furious when she found out. She said if we tried to send an owl to him again she would disown both of us.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence. June couldn’t fathom how a parent could say something like that to their own children. She was sure that wasn’t how her parents would react if Peter ran away and she had tried to write to him. 

“We’ll find Fausta, at least,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. But it felt like they had been walking for such a long time, and Fausta had such a huge head start, and those pink chicory blossoms only meant that ants had come this way–if Fausta hadn’t gotten the ring to work, she could very well have taken the path with the blue chicory. 

June pushed those thoughts away as they arrived at another fork. If they wanted any hope of saving Fausta, she couldn’t second guess herself. She swept her mullein stalk across the entrances to the tunnels, hoping there might be some clue that would point them in the right direction.

There was no sign of Fausta’s passage. But there was another message: A row of insect glyphs were written in the dirt along the top of the tunnel. June recalled enough of the insect glyphs to struggle through deciphering the writing, although it took her several long minutes made all the longer by Achlys sobbing in the background. 

“It says to play music to choose our path,” June translated, turning to Sylvia. “Can you sing something?” 

“What song?” Sylvia asked. Her face was white in the torchlight. 

“I don’t know,” June said, scanning the glyphs again. “It doesn’t say, so it must not matter, so long as it’s music.” 

Sylvia closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. And then she sang. At first, her voice was barely audible, but her volume grew along with her confidence, and–to June’s excitement–so did flowers, springing up around the entrance to both tunnels. 

Along one path grew primroses; along the other luminescent peonies. 

Sylvia’s voice wavered. The flowers drew in on themselves. 

“Keep singing!” June said. “I’m still thinking.” 

Sylvia resumed her song, while Becky and Achlys looked on doubtfully. 

June knelt beside the flowers, touching their petals as she compared them with the mental image in her mind of flowers observed in Herbology. 

“The right-hand side,” June said after a moment.

“Why?” Achlys asked. 

June peered ahead into the peony-lined right-hand tunnel. There was no sign of Fausta, and yet she was certain this was the direction they ought to take. “Peonies are myrmecophytes, but primroses are associated with the underworld.”

“But…” Achlys glanced at the right-hand tunnel anxiously. “We don’t know which one Fausta took.” 

“I know,” June admitted. “But if she’s got the ring to work at all, she’ll have taken this one.” 

They shuddered and took the road June suggested. Achlys cast mournful looks behind her, but followed the other girls without further verbal complaint. Clusters of peonies continued to grow along the way, becoming inexplicably taller as they went, despite the lack of sunlight.

Then the peonies thinned out until they had given way to a clearing.

Here, at last, they found the sign they had been looking for, for in the middle of the clearing was a table set with a number of small tin and silver bowls, mixing spoons, and vials of different herbs. One of the bowls had a sticky residue in the bottom, as if it had been recently used. 

“Looks like we’re on the right track,” Becky said, clapping Achlys on the shoulder. Achlys smiled weakly. 

“But what are we supposed to do with these?” Sylvia asked, eying the bowls warily. “This looks like potions. I hate potions.” 

Jitterbug answered that question. The niffling was busily rolling a wadded paper ball along the ground. June bent down to pick it up. 

“Looks like there are instructions,” she said, smoothing out the parchment and reading aloud. 

“If you wish to further go,

erase the smells you know. 

Wear smells which ants please,

or you shall larva feed.”

“I should never have let you come down here,” Sylvia said in a quavering voice. “Now we’re all going to get eaten alive!” 

June handed her mullein stalk to Sylvia for safekeeping. “It sounds like we’ve just got to make a potion to attract ants. That’s easy.” 

Sylvia looked doubtful, but she kept silent as June looked over the herbs, mumbling to herself as she identified them. “Peonies, wild parsnips, rose petals, lilacs, marigolds, catnip, lavender, pennyroyal, peppermint…”

Whenever June had any doubt she would hold the ingredient up to the nifflings, who either inched closer with eagerly waving antennae or else recoiled away from her all the way to the far wall. “We can’t use any of these,” she said, pushing away the group that included lavender and catnip. “Those plants all repel ants. But these,” she nodded toward the second group, which the nifflings were swarming around. “attract them.”

Sylvia lit a fire beneath the cauldron and then the four witches set to work crushing petals and leaves. When they began adding herbs to the cauldron, a sweet fragrance filled the air.

When it was finished, they all dabbed the resulting potion on their bodies, until they were honey-sweet to the nose. 

“It’s like a perfume,” Sylvia said, inhaling deeply. 

They walked on, winding downward. It took a moment for June to realize that the tunnel was no longer silent, but full of a distant roaring sound that grew louder and louder. 

“Do you hear that?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at her friends. 

“It sounds like water,” Becky said thoughtfully. “There must be a river down here.” 

Becky’s guess was, it turned out, correct. The tunnel opened up into a wide cavern, and cutting straight across the middle was a river. It didn’t look deep, but it was wide and fast, and they were reluctant to wade in and risk their potion washing away.

They spread out along the river banks, looking for some manner of crossing. At last, Achlys gave a shout and the other witches hurried to her side. Arcing over the river, seeming to sprout from the rock itself, was a treacherously slender bridge. 

Sylvia eyed it warily. “I’m not sure we can get over that…”

She sounded as terrified as June felt. It would be so easy to lose your balance and plunge into the river below. But June shook her fear away. She couldn’t let Fausta suffer the same fate as McCabe. What kind of sister would she be if she dismissed the pain of someone else’s sister? 

She stared at the bridge, swallowing hard. “You have your heather, don’t you? I’m sure Shutterbug can lead you back.” 

Sylvia shook her head. “I’m not leaving you behind,” she said, and she followed June. 

They were almost at the foot of the bridge when an enormous snake uncoiled out of the shadows. It raised its head, tongue tasting the air. 

“How are we supposed to get past that?” Sylvia whispered. 

Achlys’s torch shook in her hands. “Haven’t you learned to vanish things yet?” 

“Not that size!” Sylvia said. “And that’s assuming vanishing works in the underworld!” 

“We’re not in the underworld,” June said. At least, she hoped they weren’t. But Lasius had said that all Otherworlds could lead there, hadn’t he…? 

Her satchel began to wiggle, distracting her from her thoughts, and she looked down in time to see Nugget’s head emerge, her jaws clamped around the honey cake. 

“Is that what those were for?” June wondered, taking the cake from Nugget. She eyed the snake warily; she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to get close enough to feed it. 

Jitterbug pawed at her legs. When she bent down, the niffling snatched the honey cake out of her hands. It hurried over and dropped the offering in front of the massive serpent. 

The snake bent its head and licked the cake, and then devoured it one gulp. 

The other nifflings pawed at the legs of the witches they guided, and one by one the other three girls passed down honey-cakes until all four nifflings had deposited them in front of the snake. It ate each one in a single bite. When it had eaten all four of the cakes it closed its eyes and coiled up again. 

The nifflings hurried out onto the bridge, then turned and waved their antennae urgently at the witches. 

“Is it safe to pass?” Sylvia asked, eyeing the serpent nervously. 

“It looks asleep to me,” June said. “That sleeping draught Fausta laced those with must have been terribly strong.” 

Nonetheless, it wasn’t with any amount of enthusiasm that she crept past the sleeping snake and stepped onto the bridge. It wasn’t only the snake that worried her; below her the water swept past ruinously fast, and she was now very conscious of just how high up she was. She wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of falling herself or of dropping her torch into the rushing river below. 

She held her breath as she inched her way across and didn’t release it until she stepped onto the ground on the other side of the river. The nifflings crowded around and rubbed against her until Nugget leaped out of her satchel and rounded them all up into a snuggle pile. 

Now the path led upward and the air became fresher. June closed her eyes, imagining the wind on her face and sunshine and all the upperworld things that were beginning to slip from her mind the longer they were down here. 

She inhaled eagerly, then gagged; the air was no longer fresh and clean, but rancid. 

“What’s that?” Becky asked. 

June’s eyes flew open. A lump was just visible at the far end of the tunnel, its dark silhouette unmistakably distinct from the shadows. Dread crept up her spine as she looked at the lump. The smell put her in mind of animal carcasses, and she thought back to the perfume they’d made before crossing the bridge. 

“It’s probably just a rock,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as the other witches. 

As they crept forward to examine it the rancid smell grew stronger. June’s stomach did nauseous flip-flops; she was glad it was such a long time since she’d eaten, or she was sure she would have been sick. 

They drew nearer and the light from their torches fell upon the figure. There, lying pale and unmoving on the ground, was Fausta Yaxley, her yellow hair splayed around her. 

Achlys raced forward and dropped to her knees with a strangled sob. “Fausta, Fausta, wake up,” she sobbed, shaking her sister frantically. “You can’t be dead, you can’t be!” 

Sylvia knelt beside her. “June, do you still have the compass?” June passed it over, and Sylvia held it above Fausta’s mouth. A faint breath fogged the metal. “She’s alive,” she said, handing the compass back to June and drawing her wand, which she pointed at the unconscious witch. “Renervate!” 

Fausta blinked groggily at the other girls, then pushed Achlys away. “What are you doing down here!” 

“We came for you,” Achlys said. “We ought to go back before whatever…whatever attacked you comes back.” 

Fausta stood, wobbling unsteadily. “You go back!” she snapped. Her eyes glittered with hatred. “I’m not going anywhere until Albo pays for doublecrossing me.” 

“Albo…?” Achlys whispered, scrambling to her feet after Fausta, reaching out a hand to steady her sister, who didn’t look like she’d be able to take two steps before falling over. 

June’s heart plummeted. Elisenda was her friend. She wouldn’t–she couldn’t–

Fausta laughed bitterly. “Sweet little Elisenda Albo. Who would have believed it of her?” 

She swayed on her feet and Achlys hurried forward to grab her. Fausta leaned against her, her expression dark. 

There was a moment of tense silence. Then June asked, “Where’s my ring?” 

“Albo has it,” Fausta said. “Not that it worked for either of us. We had to bind a different guide to us. They were most unwilling.” 

“What d’you mean?” Becky asked sharply, sounding suddenly alarmed. “She couldn’t possibly have — ” 

“She’s got more Dark Arts in her than you can possibly know,” Fausta said. “My bloody guide scarpered, didn’t she?” she added, glowering around at them. 

The nifflings scurried forward, then turned their heads to look back at the witches. 

“I don’t think we have time to figure that out,” June said. She bent down and patted Nugget. “Are you able to be a guide, as well?” she whispered. “Because Fausta makes five.” 

The niffler trundled over to stand in front of Fausta, snout quivering. 

Fausta’s scowl softened for just a moment. “Guess I’m borrowing your niffler after all, pumpkin head,” she muttered. 

Reflexively, June felt her face, as if to reassure herself that the Otherworld hadn’t reverted her to a pumpkin. Then she said, “I suppose you are.” 

The witches forged onward, following the nifflings up a steep hill. The path disappeared into distant shadows their torches couldn’t penetrate, making it impossible for them to guess how far away the summit was. June’s calves ached by the time they reached the hilltop; she wanted nothing more than to lie down right there, but the nifflings continued down the other side into the valley tirelessly. At the bottom of the hill a stalk of mullein was thrust into the ground, burning. Words dug into the dirt wall with an unknown implement warned them not to proceed unless they left the mullein torch behind. There was a citrusy aroma around the letters, which June ordinarily wouldn’t have found offensive, but in this subterranean maze the scent seemed to carry a warning with it: Danger up ahead. 

They left the torches rising up in the valley and proceeded onward. The witches drew closer together, the light from their wands unable to dispel the darkness that closed in around them. 

Just when June thought the darkness would swallow them up, there was a glint of light off to the right. She thought of the glowing eyes of subterranean animals, but no–it was too bright for that. The nearer they approached the brighter the light became until the witches were all squinting and shielding their eyes. 

Nugget and the nifflings streaked toward the light and the witches stumbled after. As their eyes grew used to the light they saw that they were approaching a glittering cave. 

The cave was an incredible trove of riches, like some dragon’s mythic hoard. There were gold and silver trinkets, rubies, sapphires, and many items that looked suspiciously like items some of June’s fellow students had believed lost. There were now-tarnished silver spoons, brass telescopes, charm bracelets, pocket watches, cufflinks, and many, many coins — galleons and sickles and knuts and coins none of the witches recognized. 

Fausta could barely walk over flat terrain; she struggled to conquer the unstable mounds of treasure even with Achlys’s help. Even Becky, normally so athletic, stumbled and slid as they made their way through the treasure cave. 

“You don’t reckon Nugget might’ve stashed a treasure hoard down here?” Becky asked June. 

“Nugget has her own storage system,” June said. She stalked through the treasure, kicking aside coins and goblets on her way to the niffler, whom she picked up and placed firmly in her satchel. “You can play in the treasure hoard later,” she admonished, but Nugget resolutely leaped back into the pile of gold. 

“It’s got to be the treasure those missing professors hid,” Achlys said, looking at the pile of treasure, in which Nugget and the nifflings were now swimming. 

June bent down to pick up handfuls of coins, then allowed them to slide through her fingers. They fell back into the pile with loud clinks. “But that portrait of Lasius said they didn’t hide any…” she said. “Other than the compass and the ring, anyway.” 

He’d also said the Otherworld led to the Valley of the Ants. And she knew what type of ants lived here — Myrmecoleons. 

“This is the ants’ hoard,” she said, fully confident that she was correct, although she had no idea how they’d managed to get into the dormitories unseen. However they’d managed to leave mounds of dirt in the corridors and plunder Beery’s seed storage, she supposed. 

“Sure, whatever this is, we’re wastin’ time if Elisenda isn’t here,” Becky said. She slid across the coins towards the far side of the cave, where they could just make out another entrance.

Humbug dove headfirst into the gold, then emerged carrying something that looked like an intricately carved beater’s club. As the niffling scrambled after Becky an unfamiliar voice said, “You’d better take me with you, or you’ll be sorry.” 

Becky whirled around so quickly she tripped and slid down a pile of coins. “Did Humbug just talk?” 

Humbug waddled up to Becky and dropped the club at her feet. “No, you great ignoramus,” grumbled the voice, and this time it was obvious the voice wasn’t coming from the niffling. “I did!” 

Becky stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the club. “The shillelagh talked!” 

The shillelagh emitted something like an impatient snort. “Of course I did, you buffoon! Grab hold of me already.” 

Sylvia wobbled precariously over the mounds of treasure to reach Becky. “I really don’t know that you should listen to talking weapons,” she warned. 

“We’ve been following mystery instructions this entire time,” June pointed out. “And they haven’t steered us wrong yet.” 

Becky apparently agreed with June, because she grabbed the shillelagh and swung it over her shoulder. The nifflings bounced up and down in an ant-like imitation of June’s signature celebratory jump, then hurried to the back entrance with more grace than any of the witches managed. Nugget shoved a few stray coins into her pouch on her way after them. 

They were greeted, upon their emergence, by the gentle tinkling of windchimes, although there was no wind in this subterranean Otherworld. Up ahead a silver tree grew tall and thick, with boughs that stretched almost to the edge of the cave. Light seemed to emanate from within the tree itself, and upon its boughs golden apples swung. 

June looked up in wonder as they passed beneath the nearest branches. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. And then a golden apple fell straight down and hit her square in the face. She reeled, blinking away stars. 

This was followed by a veritable shower of golden apples raining down upon them. The girls shrieked and yelped as they were pummeled, and the nifflings scurried underfoot in terror. June plucked Jitterbug up and thrust her into her satchel. She darted this way and that, trying to dodge the unexpected apple storm while gathering up the Nugget and the nifflings. 

“Quickly!” The shillelagh cried over the din. “Bat them away!” 

Becky thrust the bat upward, hurtling golden apples away from the other witches. They smacked against the side of the tunnel with a sound like tinkling bells, then rolled to a stop between the roots of the tree. 

June shielded her satchel with her body and ran for it. Behind her, Achlys and Sylvia were half-dragging Fausta to safety. Becky followed behind her friends, continuously darting and dodging between the swaying branches.

When she reached the far side of the tree June knelt down and opened her satchel, letting Nugget and the nifflers out. Becky breathed heavily, sweat pouring down her face. She peered into the branches stretching above their heads warily. The branches swayed violently, setting off a peal like thousands of bells ringing all at once, but no more apples fell. 

Chapter Text

Out of the darkness, a lone ant appeared. 

The nifflings ran toward her, touching their antennae to hers. The ant returned the gesture, greeting each niffling with a whiff of familiarity. Then she drew nearer the witches. 

Achlys’s arms tightened around Fausta protectively. “I hope it doesn’t decide we’re dinner.” 

“You’ve got me, haven’t you?” Becky’s shillelagh exclaimed. “Knock it upside the head with me, I’ll make quick work of the bugger.” 

Becky drummed it against her thigh. “Sure, how’s that helpin’ if you make it think we’re plannin’ to attack!”

“If she was going to hurt us, the nifflings would warn us,” June reasoned. But despite her brave words she approached with caution; she didn’t want to startle a creature with such dangerous mandibles. 

June was near enough to reach out and touch the ant when the creature turned to her, brushing her antennae against the witch’s face in greeting. “You are the human nest-mate. And you have brought our little cousins.”

June’s heart gave a little jolt of excitement. “I can understand you!” she exclaimed. She glanced over her shoulder at the other witches, who were still hanging back. “Sylvia! Becky! Come here! We don’t even need the ring!” 

The ant shook her great head slowly. “Only those who can wield the ring above ground can hear us without it below,” it said. 

This was news to June. She peered into her compact eyes, frowning. “But…can’t anyone use the ring? All you have to do is wear it, right?” 

The only response the ant gave was another ponderous shake of the head before she clacked her mandibles together in agitation. “There is no time for idle chatter. You must assist us. Come, follow me.” And she turned and lumbered into the darkness, away from the silver tree. The nifflings scurried after. 

“She wants us to follow,” June explained to the other girls, just in case it wasn’t obvious. 

Fausta was still leaning against Achlys for support, but her pale face was set. She nodded, and they stumbled forward after the ant. June’s feet were aching; it must have been hours ago that they had entered the gateway, and it was only adrenaline that kept her upright. 

As they drew deeper into the colony the air grew warmer and the citrus smell stronger — so strong that June’s stomach heaved. She forced herself step by painful step to keep going. Soon the darkness gave way to a faint luminescence emanating from fungus growing along the walls: The tunnel had let out into a small subterranean chamber. At the far end was another ant, listing to one side, one of her back legs dragging along the ground behind her. A herd of aphids huddled nearby. 

The aphid-herder’s compact eyes locked on the witches. “More invaders!” the ant gasped, struggling to back away. “ Get back!” 

The ant’s panic elicited another wave of that awful citrus scent; June dropped to her knees, one hand clamped over her mouth, but none of the other girls seemed to be affected at all. Only Sylvia showed any discomfort, her gaze raking over the injured ant with concern. 

“I know a few healing spells,” she said, stepping forward to lay a hand on June’s shoulder. “I might be able to help.” 

June shook her sister’s hand off. “I’m not sick,” she mumbled into her hand. 

Sylvia tsked. “I meant the ant,” she clarified. “I know you’re just upset at having to see one that’s hurt so badly.” 

June lowered her hand from her mouth just long enough to plead with her sister. “Don’t raise your wand. She’s scared we’ll attack her.” 

“Why? Albo wasn’t the one who hurt it, was she?” Fausta asked sharply. 

Meanwhile, the guide ant had come to a stop beside her wounded nest-mate. “These are not invaders,” she reassured the other ant. She nuzzled her antennae against the aphid-herder, sending out a wave of  soothing pheromones as she did.

The sense of fear and danger lessened, and with it came a sense of peace and calm that made June drowsy. She yawned, head nodding forward — Then Jitterbug nipped at her ankle, and she was brought back to her senses. She shook her head, trying to clear her head. “When you said ‘more invaders’, did you mean another witch has been down here” she asked, repeating the question Fausta had asked. 

Even as she asked the question, she was sure of the answer. 

“Elisenda’s a Hufflepuff!” Sylvia objected. “She wouldn’t dare hurt an innocent creature!” 

“She already attacked Fausta,” June pointed out. “And drugged the rest of us. I don’t know what her lines are, but attacking the innocent definitely isn’t one of them.” 

She turned back to the ants. “We’re here to bring her back to the surface with us. Which direction did she go in?” 

Jitterbug touched June’s leg gently and urged her toward a tunnel along the right of the chamber. June cast an inquiring look towards the two ants as she followed the niffling. 

The guide ant was licking her nest-mate’s wounded leg, but she paused when she caught June’s eye. “I must stay and tend my sister,” she said. “But your guides lead you in the right direction.” 

The aphid-herder bent her head toward the witches. “I will not stop you, human nest-mate, nor your friends. But if you cannot stop the intruder…” 

The aroma the ant released was a mixture of sorrow for the ants who were injured, worry for the future of the colony, and murderous rage directed toward Elisenda. 

“I will!” June promised and then she ran. 

“Scrimgeour, wait up,” Achlys panted, struggling to keep pace with Fausta still clinging to her like a pale-faced anchor. “What’s going on?” 

June followed the scent trail of pain and danger Elisenda had left in her wake without slowing down. “Fausta was right. Elisenda is the one who hurt that aphid-herder,” she explained breathlessly. “If we don’t stop her, they’ll kill her.” 

That was enough to hurry the other girls along, although as Sylvia said, it would be Elisenda’s own fault for deliberately provoking  a colony of ants. (She was taking it rather personally that a Hufflepuff was capable of such horrors.) 

As they moved deeper into the colony, the fungi clustered together in greater quantities and the light grew brighter until the girls could see as clearly as if it were a bright day above ground. There were more ants, too: guards patrolling the tunnels in pairs, scents alert for danger. Two of the soldiers stopped the witches to scent-check before allowing them to continue on. Unlike the aphid-herder, they seemed less concerned that the witches were witches and not ants, so long as they had the correct smell, and June was quietly grateful for the potion they’d doused themselves in. 

Faint sounds echoed up the corridor from below. At first, June couldn’t make out what the sounds were, but as they came nearer she could hear frantic incantations and make out the scent-speech of ant commanders giving orders to their soldiers.

Soon, she could even see flashes of colored lights that indicated spells and the giant figures of ants rushing about the chamber, snapping at a much smaller figure in dark robes. Other ants dragged injured nest-mates out of the fray, or else took their place. In the tunnels beyond June could just make out ant medics tending the wounded, but her attention at the moment was on the witch at the center of the battle. 

Elisenda had her back to the tunnel; The ribbon tying back her curls had come loose. As good as she was at defense in class, she was only a first year, and spells never did work quite as well against anything with an exoskeleton.

“Elisenda!” June exclaimed, drawing her own wand and rushing forward, heedless of the danger. “Stop!” 

Elisenda turned. She caught sight of Fausta behind June, and her eyes widened. “How–” she began, but she had no chance to finish her question as the ants surrounding her advanced. She twisted back to face them, sending off a desperate jinx at the nearest ant.

The spell rebounded off its exoskeleton, and Elisenda cast a quick shield charm before it could hit her. The ants snapped at the air, but the charm prevented any of them from coming closer. Nearby the ghostly figure of Fergal McCabe hovered, watching the proceedings with a look of mild disinterest. He didn’t even spare a glance for the newcomers. 

Jitterbug wriggled out of June’s grasp and raced toward the embattled witch. June launched herself after the niffling with a cry. “Jitterbug, no!”

Elisenda spun around, pointing her wand at Jitterbug. “Flipendo!” 

The force of the jinx sent the niffler sprawling. June and Nugget shrieked at the same time. June dropped to her knees and lifted the limp niffling into her arms while Nugget scrambled up her arms to rub her nose against feebly twitching antennae. 

June turned an accusing stare upon Elisenda. “You hurt her!”

Elisenda’s expression was cold. She didn’t lower her wand. “Stay out of my way. That goes for all of you.” 

Sylvia stepped protectively in front of her younger sister. “How dare you?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion. “First you steal her ring, then you attack her pet! I don’t care if Hufflepuff loses the house cup, I’m detracting a hundred points from you for that.” 

“Go ahead! I don’t care! House points don’t matter,” Elisenda snarled. “And just because she found it doesn’t make it her ring. I needed it so I took it.” 

Fear and hatred wafted from the ants at Elisenda’s words, and they drew back, stridulating fretfully. 

“Grand. The ring don’t belong to Scrimgeour, neither. It’s the property o' Myrmosina MacMillan.” Becky held her wand at the ready; her other hand clutched the shillelagh, which was letting out a steady stream of advice. “I say, knock her upside the head! Give her the old one-two, that’ll show her. What are you waiting for? Come on!” 

“MacMillan is dead!” Elisenda shouted. “She’s dead! The ring isn’t hers, because she’s dead! Cadite!”

Becky started forward, but she stumbled as Elisenda’s jinx hit her. She picked herself up, grimacing, while her shillelagh continued its tirade. 

“And what is coming down here to attack ants going to do for you?” June shouted. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “How could you possibly need that?” 

“I need to make the Queen help me! And I need the ring for that!” Elisenda’s wand slashed through the air at June. “Sternius!”

June began sneezing violently. She was forced to cover her mouth with her arm, while she raged at the other witch. “Make–achoo — the — achoo — !”

Sylvia pointed her wand at Elisenda. “Fumos!”

Thick fog rolled through the chamber, concealing the girls from Elisenda’s view, but this didn’t stop her from continuing to fling hexes and jinxes at them. Colored lights blinked in and out of the fog like multicolored fireflies. A flash of red was all the warning June had as another stunning spell shot toward her. She flinched and shielded Jitterbug with her body.

But the spell never hit her. A shadow fell across her, obliterating the light. She squinted up and saw one of the ants standing in front of her. “Move!” June whispered to the ant. “Please, she’ll hurt you!” 

It stood impassively, its scent exuding calm. Elisenda screamed hexes in increasingly hysterical desperation. One struck the ant’s antennae, severing it. June’s scream echoed the odor of pain that washed over her. 

Sylvia swept her wand in a downward motion. “Protego!” The shield flew up in front of the ant and June, blocking further retaliation from Elisenda. 

Achlys gently disentangled herself from Fausta. Fausta swayed and Sylvia slid an arm beneath her to keep her upright. Becky moved to join Achlys, beating the shillelagh against the palm of her hand. It shouted out encouragement with a bloodthirst June was beginning to understand. 

Achlys moved around the shield, twirling her wand. “Ventus!” 

The wind pushed Elisenda backward, but it also blew away the fog Sylvia had conjured. 

Elisenda raised her wand again. “Osc–” 

And then another voice cut through the noise. “Immobulus!” 

Elisenda froze with her wand still pointing at June’s guardian ant. 

June lifted her head. There, striding toward Elisenda with a grim expression was Professor Merrythought. Her hair was in disarray, her robes were torn, and her hat askew, but she made a terrifying figure as she advanced upon them. 

She looked at her wayward students critically. “Bunkey told me I’d find two students here, not half of L.A.R.V.A.” 

“That little snitch,” Fausta muttered under her breath. She leaned against Achlys, her eyes half-closed. June privately thanked Bunkey for sending them a teacher in their hour of need. 

Becky looked down at the club in her hand, which was now expressing disappointment at the lack of beating that had occurred in the course of their fight. “You ignorant twit! You didn’t use me at all! You can’t go around knocking over people with wands when you’ve got a proper weapon about! It’s not done!” 

June’s guardian ant slumped over. June cradled Jitterbug in the crook of her arm; with her other hand she gently brushed the side of her guardian. “You’re hurt,” she whispered in a broken voice. “For me.” 

“The medics will tend to me,” the ant said weakly as the other soldiers gathered nearer. Two of them helped the injured ant out of the chamber. The others crowded around Elisenda. One plucked the wand from her frozen hand while another ant picked her up by her robes.

June instinctively understood their intentions – they were going to rend Elisenda limb from limb and feed her to their larvae. Her arms tightened around Jitterbug as she struggled to her feet, panic rising in her throat, but Merrythought spoke first. 

“She is under my protection. I will see to her punishment.” 

There was an outbreak of scents and stridulation from the ants as they debated among themselves. It was clear that not all of them were pleased with the idea of letting Elisenda go, but they all seemed to hold a grudging respect for Merrythought. Finally, one of the ants turned its head towards her. “Will you take her from our realm and ensure she does not return?” 

“I will personally ensure that she doesn’t come here again,” Merrythought promised, casting a dark look in Elisenda’s direction. 

“If she returns, we will eat her,” the ants warned. “Whether she is under the protection of the creator’s descendant or not.” 

“Understood,” Merrythought said. 

June turned to Merrythought, her mind working furiously. “What do the ants mean by creator’s descendant?” she asked, though a suspicion was beginning to form in her mind. 

Merrythought didn’t look at June; she was staring at the frozen Hufflepuff, examining her hands. “This ring belongs to you,” she said after a moment, slipping it from Elisenda’s finger and handing it to June.

“This is yours, I believe,” she said, handing it to June. 

“But–” June began, but before she could finish her objection, Merrythought had undone the Freezing Charm she’d cast upon Elisenda. 

Tears ran down the other girl’s face but the glare she gave Professor Merrythought was nothing short of venomous. “You ruined everything! I was so close!” 

Merrythought regarded Elisenda sternly. “Now, really, Albo, is that any way to speak to your head of house? Especially seeing as I just saved your life.” 

Elisenda’s eyes blazed with defiance. “Oh, you think I should be grateful, is that it? Well, I’m not. I’d rather die than fail, and if they hadn’t interfered, I wouldn’t have failed!” She shot an angry look at June. 

“I still don’t understand why you’d betray your friends like this, Albo,” Sylvia said, looking at Elisenda with disappointment. “That isn’t very Hufflepuff of you at all. We’re supposed to be the house of loyalty.” 

“You can’t be loyal to everyone,” Elisenda said angrily. “And I’m loyal where it counts — I’d do anything for my family. You’d think some people would understand that. Sometimes Dark Arts are the only way.” 

McCabe’s bored expression transformed into a smile at that. “She’s spot on, you know. Just have a gander at me–” 

Achlys rounded on him. She looked beyond furious. “You’re a terrible example!” 

McCabe folded his arms across his chest and stuck his nose in the air. “I took a chance on somethin’ I believed in. Maybe more folks should think on that.”

“Ah, perhaps you shouldn’t be givin' us a lecture 'bout riskin' our necks for our morals, seein' as we came down here to save this lot,” Becky said. She glared meaningfully at Elisenda — who was still in tears — and Fausta — who averted her gaze. 

June sighed heavily. “We’d better get back to the castle, hadn’t we? I don’t think we want to tempt the ants into changing their minds about eating Elisendea.”

One of the ants stepped forward, shaking its head. “You cannot leave yet. Our Queen wishes to reward those who have ventured into our realm. Especially you, ring wielder. And our medics wish to treat the little cousin.” 

June glanced down at Jitterbug, and then at her friends. Fausta was struggling to remain upright. Elisenda was hunched over with her arms tight around her waist and casting sullen glances at the shillelagh Becky wielded, which was still making suggestions for violence that ought to be enacted against her until Merrythought silenced it with a flick of her wand. 

“All right,” she agreed, relinquishing the niffling tearfully. Nugget clambered into her arms, and she clung to her niffler as Jitterbug’s tiny form was carried away. If she hadn’t insisted on translating the inscription, would Elisenda have learned how to get through the gateway? 

And even if Elisenda had come through, she should never have allowed her nifflings to come with her. They were only babies, and she had put them in danger, and now Jitterbug was injured and what if she never recovered and—

Another ant nudged her gently. “Come. Our Queen wishes to reward the witches who protected our nest.” 

The ants led them up and up the tunnel, past the silver tree with the golden apples — which remained unnaturally still as they passed with their escort — until they reached the treasure chamber. Professor Merrythought escorted Elisenda out the other side, leaving June and the rescue party alone. 

“This is our own treasure,” the ants said, “and we are to give each of you a reward.”

They sifted through the piles of gold and silver trinkets. One of the workers picked up a glittering necklace in its mandibles and made its way toward her. It dipped its head reverently, offering the necklace to her. 

“That,” the ant worker said, “Is an Ant’s Eye Amulet. It grants the wearer the ability to see through the eyes of ants.”

June plucked the necklace from the ant’s grasp, turning it over in her hands. A charm in the same shape as the now familiar ant glyph dangled from the slim gold chain.

Then they turned to Becky. “You found a treasure before you earned your reward. We allow you to return with the scorpion’s shillelagh to the upper world.” 

Becky hefted the club critically. “Why’s it called the scorpion’s shillelagh, then?” 

“Because you do not need to beat with it, only, but you can sting, as well,” the ants replied, their scent now light like laughter. 

The ants turned next to Achlys, handing her a bracelet adorned with a small bee charm. “When danger is nearby, this charm will buzz,” the ants said.

Achlys turned the charm over. Tiny, sparkling black and yellow jewels decorated the bee’s body. “Thank you,” she said quietly. 

Last, they gave Sylvia a pouch shaped like butterfly wings. The interior glowed when she opened it to peek inside. “You will never lose items in this pouch,” the ants said.

“How do you know I lose things?” Sylvia asked, tucking the pouch into her pocket. 

Fausta leaned against Achlys, looking sour. “And I get nothing? I helped track Elisenda down.” 

An indecipherable scent wafted from the ants at that. “We allow you to return to your world with your life. That is gift enough for one who intended to invade.” 

Achlys glanced anxiously at her sister; when Fausta didn’t answer she sagged in relief before plucking a necklace from the pile of treasure at her feet. “This is Lucretia Black’s. What are you doing with it?” 

One of the ants gently plucked the necklace from her hands. “We do at times add to our collection during the foraging months.” 

“How come nobody sees you foraging?” June asked. 

There was more laughter from the ants. “We send our smaller brethren into your nest for food and treasures,” the ants explained. 

“You shouldn’t take things that belong to other people,” Sylvia objected, looking very much as if she wanted to dock points from the ants for their thievery. “It isn’t nice.” 

“Consider it a tax upon the witches for being so near our territory,” the ants said dryly. “Now, you must come before our Queen, ring wielder, for she wishes to speak with you. My sisters will lead your friends to the gate.” 

June handed the heather bundles to the other witches. Nugget and the nifflings scurried inside, taking the place of the herbs, and June understood — they wouldn’t leave without Jitterbug. 

She said goodbye to Sylvia and her friends, then followed the ants deep into their nest, through labyrinthine tunnels she knew she’d never be able to find her way out on her own, even with the ring. 

Down, down, down they went until they had entered the lowest chamber. The floor was covered with thousands of white round eggs. And there, at the back of the chamber, was the Queen. 

June wasn’t entirely sure what the protocol was for addressing an ant Queen as a human child and she dawdled for a moment before sinking to her knees in what she hoped was an appropriately respectful gesture.

Nugget had no compunctions. She wriggled out of June’s satchel and raced between the eggs until she had arrived in front of the Queen. The Queen ant touched her mandibles to the niffler’s snout, in much the same way ant workers kissed one another in greeting. “Welcome back, little cousin,” she said gravely. 

“So it’s true that myrmecoleons are ant-niffler hybrids,” June said. 

The existence of the nifflings had made that rumor seem more credible, but of course, with magical creatures one could never be entirely sure. 

The Queen exuded a scent of deep thought before answering. “Yes. Many long seasons ago, before my colony had arrived in our current home, one of my ancestors took a niffler for a mate. It happens, on occasion, that one of our drones mates a niffler during the nuptial flight.” 

That was more than June had wanted to know about Nugget’s love life. “Oh,” she said. “Ah.” 

The Queen apparently didn’t wish to dwell on this topic, either, for she said, “Little cousin told us there was one who loved ants as much as the witch called Myrmosina, and we gave her the ring to bring to you.” 

June latched onto this change of topic gratefully. “You knew Myrmosina MacMillan, then?” 

She had so many questions about MacMillan and Thorn and their disappearance, and finally it looked like she might get some answers. 

But the Queen shook her head, her scent-speech slow and heavy with thought. “I did not know her, but I know of her. She is the one who brought us here, where we were safe from our tormentors. She concealed the entry to our nest with the use of a compass.” 

The idea that the compass could be used to conceal and not just lead was one June hadn’t considered, but she was more concerned by the mention of these ‘tormentors’. 

“Do you mean the Coffin Flies?” she asked tentatively. 

The scent that wafted from the Queen was one of anger mixed with fear. “That is the name they use for themselves,” she said at last. “And they would have chased us here, had the ring not been hidden.”

“But why…what did they want with you?” June asked, anguished on behalf of the ants. 

“Whether through flattery or force, they hoped to obtain powerful treasures from us,” the Queen said, nodding toward June’s necklace. “We are known for our ability to find treasures and gold, and the greedy and power-hungry envy this.” 

June hesitated, then said, “Lasius…he said that Myrmosina took refuge with your colony, and that he was supposed to do the same. Do you know….do you know if they made it?” 

The Queen shook her head. “Neither I nor my people can tell you. We are bound to silence.” Then she lifted her head to look beyond June. “Ah. Here comes my little cousin’s daughter.” 

June turned. Two ant medics strode forward, Jitterbug walking between them. To June’s immense relief, the niffling’s compound eyes were bright and alert. Her pace quickened when she spotted June. 

“Jitterbug!” June shrieked. Nugget whirled and lumbered over to rub against her daughter, and then June swooped both of them into her arms. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re all right. I was dreadfully worried,” she said. She tucked Jitterbug into her satchel, where her littermates swarmed around her in excitement. 

June smiled at the Queen. “Thank you, O Great and Wonderful Queen of the Myrmecoleons. I will forever be in the debt of you and your colony.” 

“There is no debt,” the Queen said. “You have done us a great favor by stopping the intruder. Now, I believe you must return to your own world up above. I shall take you myself.”

Chapter Text

When June climbed out of the tunnel she found Professor Merrythought waiting. 

“There you are,” Merrythought said, steering June out of the Magientomology corridor. “I was beginning to worry I’d have to go back in after you. Now, there’s a lot I want to know about what happened tonight.” 

June ‘s feet ached terribly even after the ride back to the entrance, and she longed for the comforts of bed, but she had no choice but to follow the professor to the staff room. Bunkey appeared bearing food for Nugget and the nifflings, who ate greedily while June explained everything. 

“And you didn’t think to speak to any adults about this?” Merrythought asked when June had finished. 

June found she couldn’t meet Merrythought’s gaze. She had known, deep down, that she ought to,  of course, but at the time there had seemed to be so many marks against involving authority figures. 

“I didn’t think there would be time,” June explained, close to tears now. “What if Fausta couldn’t get back?”

“You thought you’d have better luck finding her and bringing her back on her own than one of us professors would?” Professor Merrythought flung her hands into the air. 

And June had to admit she had a point — if Merrythought hadn’t gotten down there, could she and her friends have stopped the ants from killing Elisenda? She wasn’t so sure — they hadn’t seemed like creatures any wizard could truly control, no matter what the Coffin Flies or MacMillan and Thorn seemed to think. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said meekly. All the pride she’d felt at finding Fausta and conversing with the ants had dissipated in the face of the obvious trouble she was in. And yet, she couldn’t help but ask more questions, even as she knew she was probably pushing her luck. “Professor…was Porena your mother?” 

The facts all pointed in that direction: Merrythought had told the first year Defense students that her mother was a squib; Merrythought could converse with the ants, which made her a myrmepath; and the ants had referred to her as ‘the creator’s descendant’. 

Still, it was difficult to believe her Viking-ish teacher was related to Lasius Thorn. His portrait certainly neither looked nor behaved anything like Professor Merrythought. 

Merrythought’s gaze darkened. “She was.” 

“Then the ring—” June began, but Merrythought quickly cut her off. 

“It would never have gone to me, even if it hadn’t been hidden. My mother was estranged from her parents, after all.” 

“But—”

“I have no interest in their legacy,” Merrythought said firmly. “You keep it.” 

June nodded, pocketing the ring gratefully. “How ever did you get through the tunnels, anyhow? McCabe said nobody could get through without a guide.” 

“That would be Bunkey,” Merrythought answered. “It seems Yaxley coerced the poor thing into accompanying her and Albo’s foolish expedition. When Yaxley was stunned she came straight to me.” 

“I didn’t realize house-elves could be guides,” June said, more to herself than the professor. She also felt a little foolish for not guessing; after all, Merrythought had mentioned Bunkey when she found them. But June hadn’t seen Bunkey anywhere — although, as she admitted to herself, she had been quite preoccupied with other things at the time. 

 “It appears they can be. Perhaps that’s why the gateways are also known as Elf-mounds.” 

Then Merrythought stood, dusting her hands on her robes. “I understand you thought you were doing the right thing in going after Fausta, but we can’t have students thinking they can run around putting themselves and their friends in danger like that. I’m afraid I’ll have to take fifty points from Ravenclaw for that little stunt, and you’ll be in detention for the rest of term.” 

June’s heart sank to her toes. Fifty points from Ravenclaw! And there was no telling how many her friends had lost on her account. Not to mention the rest of the school year in detention — she could already imagine Pringle readying his implements of torture, and the thought alone made her want to cry. 

But she knew arguing would be worse than useless, so she bowed her head with a quiet, “Yes, professor.” 

Exhausted, ravenous, and despondent, June made her way to Ravenclaw Tower. Outside the sky was just beginning to turn light again — she’d been in the Valley of the Ants the entire night. So much for sleep. 

When she stepped into the dormitory the other girls were asleep. She tiptoed silently to her four-poster and collapsed without even taking off her robes. Nugget and the nifflings piled onto the pillow by her head, and there they slept. 

Both June and Becky skived off Monday’s classes, too exhausted to get out of bed. Myrtle brought them food from the kitchens so they didn’t have to get up, for which June was grateful. But not even Myrtle could save them when it came time to go to detention. 

It was something that, afterwards, June strove to put from her mind — but suffice it to say, detention with Pringle was every bit as horrible as June had been led to believe. Neither she nor Becky nor Elisenda nor the Yaxleys could sit down for days. 

Only Sylvia got off without detention, because she had only gone through the gate in an attempt to stop them. 

“And it’s a bally good thing an older student went along,” Merrythought had said, berating the first years before their first evening of detention. “Who knows what would have happened to you lot if she hadn’t been there?” But June thought perhaps Merrythought had let Sylvia off because she was a Hufflepuff. 

Not that being a Hufflepuff did Elisenda Albo any good. Merrythought wouldn’t even let her get her wand out during Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, and she sat, alone and despondent, while the rest of the class continued to practice. 

Nor did Elisenda attend the last few L.A.R.V.A. meetings of the year, a fact June had mixed feelings about. On the one hand, she was furious with Elisenda, not just for doublecrossing her, but also for attacking the ants and Jitterbug. On the other hand, whenever June saw Elisenda she looked so desperately sad and lonely that June couldn’t help but feel sorry for her despite this. 

And so one day, after a particularly grueling Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, June told her friends to go on ahead while she waited outside the door for Elisenda. The entire rest of the class was receding into the distance when Elisenda finally emerged, and a poor figure she made, too: instead of her usual curls, her hair hung limply about her face, and her gait was slow and plodding. 

Elisenda walked right past June without even looking at her, and June, still not quite sure how she felt about the other girl, almost lost her nerve. But before Elisenda could get too far ahead of her, June cleared her throat. 

“Albo,” she said quickly. 

Elisenda jumped, suddenly tense, but when she spotted June her entire body seemed to slump over in resignation. “Oh. Scrimgeour. What is it?” 

June shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wishing she’d rehearsed before trying to catch Elisenda. “Well…I just wanted to talk, that’s all. You said you needed the ring. Something about family.” 

That was why the Yaxleys had wanted to steal Nugget and why Fausta had entered the Otherworld with Elisenda, but Elisenda, of course, had turned on Fausta. But…why? 

Elisenda’s lower lip quivered. “Yes,” she muttered, not looking at June. “My brother…he’s a Squib. His regiment…they….” she swallowed convulsively, and June was afraid she was about to start sobbing. “He’s a POW. I just want him to come home.” 

And then, to June’s immense discomfort, she did, in fact, break down. June stood there awkwardly while Elisenda howled with suffocating grief, tears splashing down her face. 

When Elisenda had said her brother was enlisted, June had assumed he was fighting against Grindelwald. It had never occurred to her that he might be fighting in the muggle war. Now she wondered why it hadn’t. Elisenda had always been so touchy about the subject of squibs that it ought to have been obvious. 

Tentatively June patted Elisenda on the shoulder, but of course that did nothing to stem the tide. No words seemed adequate for the enormity of Elisenda’s confession, but June tried. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine what that must be like.” 

And truly, she couldn’t. Or perhaps the real trouble was she could easily see herself making the same choice Elisenda had, if it had been Peter or Sylvia in danger. This realization disturbed her mightily — she didn’t want to believe she could stoop to using Dark Arts for any reason. But confronted with McCabe and the Yaxleys and Elisenda… she no longer could say she couldn’t understand it. 

But the worst part of the whole ordeal wasn’t even the detentions (although those were awful) or the loss of house points (though that was humiliating). It was the fact that everyone else noticed.

In particular, the other L.A.R.V.A. students noticed. How could they not? Elisenda had once been friends with the Yaxleys and with June and Becky, and now she was on speaking terms with none of them. June and Becky, for their part, were now often seen with Fausta and Achyls, and all five of them had lost loads of house points and spent half their free time in detention. 

And so some accounting of their ordeal had to be given. 

Becky was the only one who didn’t seem to mind the scrutiny, saying she’d been judged more harshly, but the other girls found the whole thing miserable. 

June couldn’t deny the other L.A.R.V.A. students had a right to know, given that they’d been involved in some of the initial investigations, but that didn’t make her any happier about having to explain. And it was made all the worse by how envious some of the others were. 

Rubeus’s disappointment she could empathize with; he was devastated at missing the chance to visit a colony of giant ants. She made it up to him by summoning them out on the lawn over the weekend, but then he went and ruined it by trying to hide one in his robes because he wanted to keep it as a pet. 

She had dismissed the ants at once, and vowed never to trust another boy who wasn’t related to her. 

But Royston Brown and Abdul Hafeez were most upset about the treasure, and seemed convinced she had left them out on purpose. Worst of all, they refused to drop it. They followed her around the castle, making it impossible to relax in the common room or read in the library, because when she did there they were, ready to bring it up again. 

"Let me get this straight, my dear,"Royston said, swelling up indignantly as he cornered June at breakfast one morning."You went through that wretched gateway you labelled too perilous and discovered the treasure that you claimed was a mere myth?" 

“I was trying to save Fausta,” June repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “It wasn’t about treasure.” 

“Ah, but still, there was treasure, wasn't there?" Royston countered. "A smidge of consideration to bring some back for the rest of us would have been rather splendid!"

June couldn’t believe he was this upset about being left out of a desperate, potentially deadly rescue mission. “Next time someone does something stupid they need rescuing from I’ll make sure they wait until you’re nearby to rescue them.” 

Even Myrtle was a bit envious of the treasure, although she maintained that she was glad she hadn’t gone. “You’re very lucky you came back at all, if you ask me,” she said, but she kept staring at the amulet around June’s neck. “But I must admit, the treasure is quite nice.” 

Becky pulled her shillelagh out of the trunk, which at once began spouting its usual hope for bloodshed. “Sure, think on it, Warren, you missed your chance to earn this, didn't you?”

“On second thought,” Myrtle said quickly, “I’d prefer safety to treasure.” 

But some good had come out of all this trouble — Fausta and Achlys Yaxley were perfectly friendly to June and her friends, now. Achlys, in particular, had begun telling Orion Black off when he teased Becky about being Irish or Myrtle about being Muggle-born. 

 Fausta, like Elisenda, had been distinctly subdued since her rescue from the Otherworld. 

“I should never have listened to Elisenda,” she confessed one day after Herbology. “It’s just that she promised there were Powers that could find Eumolpos, and I wanted to believe her.” 

Achlys’s expression was almost as mournful as her sister’s. “I told you, he doesn’t want to be found.” 

June thought about Myrmosina MacMillan and Lasius Thorn; they hadn’t wanted to be found, either, and they had left a decades long mystery in their wake because of it. And yet, they’d had good reasons to wish to disappear. Just like Fergal McCabe and Mesembrius Driscoll and the other Coffin Flies had good reasons to seek independence for Ireland, and Elisenda Albo had a good reason to fear for her brother’s safety, and the Thorn’s had good reasons to think Porena would have been unhappy growing up in a world she couldn’t fully belong in. 

 Just like she’d had good reasons to keep the compass and the ring instead of turning them in the moment she’d found them, and good reasons to bring Nugget to school with her. 

 Just like she’d had good reasons to go through the gateway after Fausta. 

 Maybe good reasons weren't enough. Or was it that sometimes there were no good choices? 

That was a thought that troubled June. Because if there were times when any choice led to suffering, how could she choose? 

In this instance, her choices had definitely caused suffering for her fellow Ravenclaws: Between her and Becky, their house had lost a hundred points. She avoided looking at the hourglasses in the entrance hall; she didn’t even want to know what the rankings were. 

But her self-imposed ignorance of the house rankings couldn’t last forever, and at the end-of-term feast the students entered a Great Hall decorated in crimson and gold. June instinctively sought out the Gryffindor table, where Augustus Rookwood was doing some sort of victory dance. Olive Hornby caught her eye and gave her a sarcastic wave. 

June had to resist a childish urge to stick out her tongue; She did not resist the childish urge to pointedly fold her arms when Professor Dippet announced Gryffindor the winner of the house cup, though. She scowled at her plate as the Gryffindors whooped and shouted so loudly the noise reverberated from the rafters. 

But worse than the Gryffindors winning was the knowledge that their win had only occurred because the other three houses had first years who had behaved more recklessly than any of the Gryffindors, and she was one of them. 

“Second place isn’t so bad,” Myrtle said brightly, trying to console her friends, who were all looking quite glum. She didn’t seem to feel their pain, perhaps because Ravenclaw’s loss wasn’t her fault. 

“Next year we won’t get in so much trouble,” June vowed, glaring moodily at Olive Hornby, who she was sure would be even more insufferable after this. “So we can come in first.” 

The next morning the students made their way down to Hogsmeade Station. Leaving was bittersweet; June was eager to be reunited with Peter and her parents, but she would miss Hogwarts and her friends. Then again, it would be nice to have Nugget and the nifflings in a place where they couldn’t get lost and there were no doorways that lead to deadly Otherworlds. 

When they boarded the train, Achlys and Fausta joined June and Becky. Myrtle, who hadn’t entirely forgiven the Yaxleys for their treatment of her, took herself off to find Royston – not that he had ever given her any reason to think he was interested in her company. 

 “I wish Warren wouldn’t be like that,” Becky grumbled as she helped load everyone’s luggage into the overhead compartment. “You’d think she doesn’t want friends, the way she pushes everyone away.” 

 Fausta shrugged. “It’s not against the law for her to dislike us.” 

“I suppose not,” June agreed reluctantly. It made perfect sense, of course, that Myrtle wouldn’t trust the Yaxleys after the way they had treated her, but Becky was right: . Myrtle wasn’t forgiving, and that self-imposed isolation couldn’t be good for her in the long run. But June couldn’t force Myrtle to join them; she could only hope she understood she was welcome to join them. 

But the train ride passed without any hint of Myrtle. 

Still, as worried as June was, she had to admit she had a great deal of fun with Becky and the Yaxleys. They stuffed themselves silly with sweets because they knew there was no guarantee of any once they got off at King’s Cross Station, and June filled her pockets with extras to share with Peter, who had been horribly deprived compared to his sisters. 

By the time the train pulled into the station, June was full and sleepy and utterly content, but she jolted awake as Becky nudged her. 

“Stir your stumps, or you’ll be gettin’ left behind.” 

June yawned and trudged onto the platform. Fausta and Achlys said their goodbyes and departed for their dour looking mother, who didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her daughters. If that was how she always looked, June couldn’t blame Eumolpous for leaving. 

She spied Peter and her parents on the far end of the platform. Peter caught her eye and waved vigorously, and she looked away quickly, feeling guilty –  she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Myrtle! But then she saw the other girl exiting the train, trailing after Royston, who didn’t even seem to notice her. 

“There’s my Dad,” Becky muttered, nudging June’s shoulder. June turned and saw a lean man with frizzy hair staring warily at the other wizards.

June grabbed Becky by the hand. “Let’s say goodbye to Myrtle, first,” she suggested, dashing across the platform and bowling into Royston in the process. 

“Ow,” he moaned, picking up his hat, which June had knocked clean off his head when she’d run into him. “You know, Scrimgeour, old bird, just because you’ll miss me doesn’t mean you need to come running at me like that. I accept ordinary goodbyes, don’t you know.” 

“Sorry,” June squeaked, too embarrassed to tell him off for his grossly inaccurate assumptions. “Bye, Brown.” 

“Cheerio, Scrimgeour! Driscoll! Warren!” 

And to June’s relief, he was off without any further ado. She turned to Myrtle, bouncing on one foot nervously. “I hope you have a lovely holiday,” she said. “Do try not to get any bombs dropped on you. And…” 

She flunh her arms around Myrtle in an impulsive hug. Myrtle froze, then returned the hug with a small smile. 

“I’ll miss both of you, too,” she admitted, letting go of June to hug Becky. “Anyway…My parents will be on the other side. See you next term!” 

And she turned and walked through the barrier and vanished. 

“Take care, Scrimgeour,” Becky said, hugging June. “And you lot stay out of trouble,” she added, reaching a finger through the cage to tap Nugget on the nose. Then she  hauled luggage and shillelagh and Macha and all to where her father was waiting. Mr. Driscoll’s expression brightened visibly upon seeing his daughter; they embraced, and then he all but dragged her through the exit. 

Finally, June began to make her way towards her family, but then she noticed Elisenda. The other girl was standing in the middle of the platform looking forlorn and miserable. 

Leaving her luggage where it was, June dashed over to her. “Albo, wait! You can’t leave without saying goodbye!” 

Elisenda froze as June swept her into a fierce hug.  “I hope your brother comes home soon,” June whispered. “See you next term.” And she dashed back to her luggage, leaving Elisenda staring after her, motionless as a statue. 

By the time she reached her parents, Sylvia was already there, petting Marie asbsently. 

“Mum! Dad! Peter!” June flung her arms around her family members one after the other. “I’ve missed you.”

“Woah!” Mr. Scrimgeour laughed, returning her embrace. “Is this our Junebug giving hugs so freely?” 

“Sometimes they’re not so bad,” June mumbled, wishing he hadn’t called her out. 

Peter was bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking far too excited. He had a gap in his teeth that hadn’t been there when June had left for Hogwarts. “Guess what?” he asked, grinning at her smugly. 

“You lost a tooth,” June guessed, but he shook his head. 

“Nope! Guess again!” 

“What?” June asked, but Peter devolved into fits of giggles, so she looked to her parents for answers, instead. 

Her parents exchanged an inscrutable look, then her mother inhaled and said, “You and Sylvia are coming home today. We’re not sending you back to Granny Beetle’s.” 

Sylvia let out a screech of glee while June flapped her arms so vigorously that Jitterbug scrambled out of her pocket and onto her shoulder, clinging on for dear life. 

“Sorry,” June whispered, ceasing her flapping at once and giving Jitterbug an apologetic pat on the head. 

“Whoa, what’s that?” Peter asked, poking Jitterbug with one finger. 

June pulled the niffling away from him indignantly. “Be nice, Peter,” she chided. 

“Merlin, June, did you smuggle giant ants out of the magientomology class?” Mr. Scrimgeour asked in exasperation. 

June had never told her parents about her adventures during the school year, of course, and one look at her mother’s face was all it took for her to decide to share as little as possible; she knew how neurotic her mother was, and hearing that both her daughters had gone through a possible death gateway wouldn’t let her rest easier at night.

“Of course I didn’t,” she said, a trifle defensive. “Nugget had babies with a giant ant. So Jitterbug is an ant-niffler hybrid.” 

“I hope they house-train better than a regular niffler,” Mrs. Scrimgeour said, eyeing Jitterbug doubtfully. 

“Speaking of house-training,” Mr. Scrimgeour interjected. “Are you girls ready to go home?”

June tucked Jitterbug back into her pocket before latching onto her father’s arm. “I can’t wait.”