Chapter Text
Grey, cloudy skies enveloped the world overhead. A slight breeze stirred the silence of the empty road—usually bustling with the chatter of townsfolk. Leaves, still clinging stubbornly to their branches, whispered as they swayed. Hinting at the coming season when they would blaze with color before falling to the earth, welcoming the first dusting of snow.
I particularly loved this season in between, when the world softened before it slept. When the weather was more considerate, when colors bled all through the countryside like the strokes of an artist's brush. A time that made you yearn for another to share its quiet splendor—a season meant for walking close, speaking low, and savoring fleeting moments before they vanished.
I often felt comforted in moments like this when nature’s voice was the only one calling out to me. The creak of the tree branches bending in the wind. The last sweet breath of summer flowers mixing with the crisp autumn air— a melody stitched together to a beat only the heart could hear. Above me, the sun strained to break through the clouds.
It was beautiful in a way that almost hurt.
My thoughts drifted, pulled back to distant days and half-forgotten dreams, until a voice brought me back to the present.
“It’s a pity we didn’t have more time to spend on spell-casting,” Professor Fig began, stepping around the carriage with a familiar creak of leather boots and cloak.
I offered him a small, grateful smile
“I trust you’ve been practicing the spells we worked on?”
Professor Fig—my mentor, and the only one who genuinely believed in my potential when others hesitated—had done all he could to prepare me for the road ahead. Teaching me what he could despite my late arrival at Hogwarts, offering every bit of time and patience even when there was little to spare. He never once treated me as anything less than capable.
The thought of starting this new chapter was both thrilling and unsettling. I had always imagined what it would be like to finally walk through the towering gates at Hogwarts. How easy friendships would form; how natural it would feel to belong. If only things were different . But those old dreams had faded, a distant echo of a life I could no longer claim. Now all that remained was uncertainty
A slight tremble passed over me at the truth I was soon to face. I would be new in a place where everyone else my age was nearing the end of their time there. Will I be able to learn in a year what others have spent mastering in 4?
It felt as though I was losing in a race I hadn't even begun, that I would always be behind, having missed four years of opportunity.
“I have professor.” I replied, offering a small nod.
“Well, I'm quite sure I've never seen anyone take so quickly to a second-hand wand,” he said, his voice warm with pride. “You'll be a force to be reckoned with when you get your own. You’re a fast learner.”
I was overdue in many respects. His confidence in me felt like a balm against the twisting feeling of uncertainty in my chest.
This dusty wand has been keeping me company since Professor Fig began mentoring me. When I was younger, I had dabbled in magic as my parents once had, but that was a lifetime ago. Up until recently, magic had felt more like a distant memory than a living, breathing part of me.
It wasn't until Fig was assigned to my aid that I truly began to learn. Patiently, he taught me the basics, hoping to give me a fighting chance before my arrival at the castle.
“Thank you, Professor Fig. I appreciate your working with me before the term begi—”
Before I could finish thanking my mentor, a disturbance to our left pulled our attention away.
A man had appeared a few paces down the road, stumbling slightly as he caught his footing. His dark hair was neatly combed, and a pair of spherical glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His attire was immaculate—polished boots, tailored robes—a clear mark of someone tied to the ministry of magic. After a few moments he seemed to acknowledge our presence.
“Oh! Eleazar!” The man exclaimed, making his way toward us with an easy, familiar smile.
“George.” Fig said, his own face lighting up. “Glad my rather cryptic description of our location did not thwart your finding us.”
“I've apparated to more vaguely defined destinations than this—” George chuckled, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve.
I watched with curiosity as the two men reunited, noting the obvious familiarity between them.
“—Though, I confess I may have miscalculated slightly on my first try,” George admitted, laughing at himself. “Gave quite the fright to some theatre-goers in the west end.”
He turned to me then, his smile widening with a hint of good-natured mischief, as if sharing the joke.
“It's been much too long. When I received your owl, I must say I—”
“Best not speak here, Eleazar, Hm?” George interrupted, suddenly lowering his voice. His gaze swept the rocky landscape as if expecting unseen eyes hidden among the stones.
“Of course,” Fig agreed, casting a thoughtful look over his shoulder. “Why don't we speak en route to Hogwarts? We have a start-of-term feast and a Sorting Ceremony to get to.”
“Wonderful idea!” George agreed enthusiastically. He glanced at me with a twinkle in his eye, making a little walking motion with his pointer and middle fingers. “As long as your young charge here doesn't mind me tagging along.”
They were both looking at me now. To be in the company of another wizard—one so obviously worldly and at ease—should prove interesting.
“Not at all, sir” I conceded, offering a slight nod.
“After you.” Fig offered, ushering me into the carriage with a wave of his hands. A strong feeling of nervousness washed over me. There was no going back now. It's finally time to commit myself to learning magic. I turned towards the door of the carriage, took a steadying breath, and stepped inside.
“Ages since I've been to the castle. Would be good to see the old pile of rocks.” George said, following behind us. The carriage creaked under the added weight of three passengers.
Inside, the breeze could no longer reach me. Hopefully, the journey to Hogwarts would grant me a little time to collect myself.
While Fig is confident in my abilities, I wasn't so sure. Despite how far I'd come under his guidance, it still felt as though I might fall short of the legacy of a true Hogwarts student.
As George climbed in, he hesitated for a moment, his smile faltering. His eyes drifted toward the clocktower ringing in the distance, the town nestled beneath it. Then, with a soft sigh, he ducked inside and took the seat across from fig and me.
The door closed with a protesting squeak of its hinges, and the coachman gave the invisible creatures a sharp flick of the reins. With a sudden lurch, the carriage climbed into the sky.
I pressed my forehead lightly to the glass, watching as we whizzed through the gathering clouds. They were bloated and heavy, darkened with the promise of rain. I loved the rain. Even as a child, I had found comfort in the patter of droplets against the earth, the way they pooled in the dimples of the ground. It was so calming even the birds would pause their song to listen.
Most preferred the warmth of a cloudless day. Basking in the bright beams of the sun. I loved that too. but there was something about the peace after a rainstorm that reminded me of my own humanity—my own mortality. All of us, bound by the same fragile existence.
“Glad I caught you before you left for Scotland.” George chuckled, pulling me from my reverie.
“Just barely,” Fig said with a laugh, holding his thumb and forefinger close together to show just how narrowly George had managed it.
“And who is your traveling companion?” George asked, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. He glanced between Fig and me, waiting for an answer.
“A new student.” He replied, glancing at me.
“New?” George echoed, his brows knitting together in confusion.
“Yes sir,” I added quickly, offering a small shrug. “I'm starting school as a fifth year.”
“How extraordinary,” George said, leaning back slightly.
“It is, indeed,” Fig agreed. “None of the faculty has ever heard of anyone being admitted to Hogwarts so late.”
Fig's comment made me shudder inwardly. If the gravity of my situation hadn't been clear before, it certainly was now. The thought of standing out—being at the center of attention—wasn't something I wanted to dwell on as I approached the threshold of this new reality. I felt a flush of heat creep up my neck. I forced a smile to stay in place, though it felt as if the corners of my mouth had suddenly gained weight.
“Nor have I,” George admitted, still studying me with open curiosity.
“Of course,” Fig continued “as the other fifth years will have been honing their magical skills for four years now, the headmaster asked if I could get our new student up to speed a bit before the term begins.”
While Fig had helped me in every way he could, I had only learned the basics— simple casts, elementary spells. Surely nothing compared to the repertoire of spells a proper fifth year would have mastered by now. I couldn't help but wonder what the others would think: a new student, appearing out of nowhere in their fifth year? They’d probably see me as a failure— someone who didn't belong.
I had never even been around other young witches or wizards before, let alone ones so much more advanced. I'm sure they’ll be too busy learning the most difficult spells while I'll still be learning how to wave a wand. I was certain I'd be an outsider.
“Well,” George said, leaning forward with a grin, “You couldn't have asked for a better mentor.”
It's true. Fig had been patient, wise, and endlessly kind. I just hated that he was saddled with someone so far behind.
“Professor Fig is not only an exceptional teacher,” Geroge said warmly, “but he is also one of the most remarkably intuitive and gifted wizards I've ever known.”
Fig waved his hand dismissively, clearly flattered by his acquaintance's praise.
“Mr. Osric is prone to flattery. I daresay it's one of the reasons he's risen so far at the ministry.”
For a moment, the comfort of the carriage's silence returned—until it shifted, soured by a tension I couldn't quite name. There was this shared understanding between the two wizards, something unspoken that I wasn't privy to.
“Have you seen this?” George asked, pulling a folded newspaper from beside him and offering it to Fig.
The thick stack of parchment crackled as he unfolded it, and only one headline dominated the front page:
RANROKS GOBLIN REBELLION: TRUTH? OR GOBBLEDEGOOK?
Beneath the bold letters, a moving photograph depicted a goblin with a hardened scowl, glancing around as though expecting danger—Ranrok.
“I have,” Fig said grimly. “Opinions differ as to how great a threat Ranrok really is.”
The air inside the carriage seemed to grow heavier, the clouds around us darkening like a reflection of the conversation. A sudden lurch of turbulence rocked the carriage, making me clutch the seat beneath me. As I steadied myself, something in the mist below caught my eye—a dark, fleeting shape moving among the clouds.
I leaned forward, straining to get a better look. But almost as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
Perhaps it was nothing. Maybe it was just my nerves playing tricks on me. A shiver crept up my spine, nonetheless. I turned back just in time to hear George continue, his voice tight.
“Although I've yet to convince my colleagues at the ministry, I believe he is a significant threat—”
“—And it was your wife, Eleazar, who alerted me to his activities months ago.”
His brows furrowed at the mention of his wife. Fig very rarely spoke of her. It was clear that his heart was still sore from the loss of his other half. It's a shame how fate snakes its fingers around the neck of those most pure.
Leaning forward on the edge of his seat, Fig asked, “Mirriam? How?”
“She wrote to me about Ranrok before she died—Wondering what the ministry knew about his activities...” George sighed.
Figs' eyes danced around the carriage as if he was piecing together fragments of information right in front of him.
“...Before I could respond, I received this. It was the last thing she sent me, Eleazar.” George said as he reached to his side yet again. He held a cylindrical item in his hands, moving it over as he inspected it. It appeared to be a metal container, pointed at both ends, with an intricate design of green and bronze swirly lines. In the center, there was an emblem that didn't seem to correspond to anything familiar.
“It came to me via her owl—But with no correspondence. I can only assume—”
“—That she had to get rid of it quickly to keep it safe.” Fig finished, reaching out to inspect it himself. I can only assume he felt compelled to touch one of the last things his wife had held before her demise.
“Presumably from Ranrok.” George added. “I cannot open it. Whatever magic protects this is powerful indeed.”
“It looks like goblin metal,” Fig observed, pointing to the unique design. He leaned closer to me, offering a better look at the strange container, this time focusing on the unfamiliar emblem. With a closer look, I noticed more about the strange item.
“That symbol—”
“What's that glow?” I said, pointing to the faint light emanating from it.
Glancing my way, Fig seemed confused. “I don't see a glow.”
Turning it in complete disorder, trying to see any sign of a glow as I had, Fig was unsuccessful. My heart was pounding as I fumbled with the strange object, desperately searching for any sign that might explain the phenomenon. The sensation of the glow surrounding the emblem was unmistakable in my hands. My thoughts swirled, and my fingertips tingled as if they were being gently pressed by an unseen force.
“Nor do I," George said, his voice sharp with confusion, his brow furrowing as he glanced in my direction. His gaze was heavy with uncertainty, as if he were questioning everything, he thought he knew about magic.
Fig handed me the alien object for it to rest in my hands, his expression now one of concentration, as though his curiosity had shifted to something darker, more urgent. I began to hear strange sounds. It sounded as if an orchestra of people were whispering directly in my ear, their voices tangled together in chaotic murmur. The sound was distant yet close, like a million thoughts merging into one unified hum. The glow encircling the emblem intensified, almost as though the very air around it was charged with energy. Suddenly, with a flicker of light, two sharp beams of brilliance pulsed from the symbol, tracing lines from its center out to the edges of the object. A faint click echoed in the stillness, sharp and final, as the capsule split open with a suddenness that caught me off guard.
Inside, nestled in the center of the opening, was a key, its hilt bearing the same intricate design as the strange emblem. It gleamed with an aura that felt...alive.
“Merlin’s beard! How did you—” George gasped, his voice barely a whisper of disbelief.
Fig lunged for the object in my hands, seizing it quickly with an urgent motion. “Wait! We do not know what—”
But it was too late. The world around us seemed to shudder, a violent tremor running through the carriage as if the very earth beneath us had shifted. Everything around me was suddenly too loud— the creaking of wood, the rush of wind. Then, a roar, low and deafening, tore through the air with the force of a storm, rattling my very bones.
The carriage lurched sideways, and in that moment, I barely had time to register the horror unfolding in front of me. My body was thrown against the wooden wall with brutal force, pain blooming in my head as disorientation set in. My hands instinctively gripped the seat beneath me, the only thing offering any sense of stability in the chaos. A dragon. It tore through the side of the carriage, its massive jaws snapping shut on the other half, ripping it apart with ease. My heart pounded in my chest, a sense of helplessness seizing me. The force of the creatures' attack left me breathless, and for a moment, I thought everything was falling apart.
The coachman struggled to regain control, but it was clear we were helpless against the dragon's fury. I tried to grip anything I could, but my hands kept slipping. Fig, still beside me, fought to hold onto something, anything, to prevent himself from falling. The dragons whose jaws clenched around the remaining half of the carriage, slammed its teeth together with a deafening crack. More wood splintered and fell, destined to meet the ground below. My throat tightened at the thought of George, who was trapped on the other side of the carriage. The fear of his death gripped me. I quickly turned away from the scene, clutching the carriages bars to steady myself.
The identity of the creature the coachmen was guiding was no longer a mystery. As my heart ached with a mix of dread and sorrow. I no longer had to imagine the beast's true form. Six winged horse-like creatures appeared in a desperate flight to escape the dragon's rampage. The coachman glanced over his shoulder, tightened his grip on the reins, and urged the creatures to fly faster.
“Yah! Yah” He shouted, his voice straining against the chaos.
The dragon's piercing eyes locked onto us, and with a terrifying growl, it opened its jaws once more, sparks crackling in the air, threatening our already precarious existence. Before I could fully register the danger, Fig grabbed my sleeve, yanking me toward him.
“Jump!"