Hello everyone! I'm baaaaack! I feel awful for waiting such a long time to update this, so I'm very sorry ... Also, Louis is blonde in this, so I'm sorry if you pictured him as a redhead.

I've got the rest of the book planned out, but there's one more thing I'd like to say: thank you very much to whoever followed this story and put it in their favourites! I cannot believe that in one day people are already reading and enjoying my work! So thank you very much to whoever did so! I was overjoyed when I read so many lovely reviews today!

DISCLAIMER: Yeah, sure, I own Harry Potter and Umbridge is still alive! Jokes, J.K Rowling owns the light of my life.

Now let us begin the actual chapter!

Chapter 1: Purple Thestrals and Phoenix Feathers

The fading colours of the world intensified. Shell Cottage (Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill's recently renovated estate) was a burst of colours entwined with natural beauty and neutral colours. However, Lily was in the middle of a hallway she did not recognise. She was seeing double. Her arm was gripped by someone or something she could not see. Twilight glimmered on the elegant photo frames on the wall. Lily only noticed that particular detail because she may or may not have spontaneously lost her balance and tottered into a wall.

Judging by the hand that was now holding her arm in a vice-like grip, her unexpected clumsiness and the fact she did not remember appearing here previously, Lily had been pulled into another hallway. Was this some prank?

A sudden wave of nausea almost overcame Lily. Her head spun like Molly Weasley doing ballet. (Let it be known that Molly Weasley II was very, very serious about her beloved ballet.) She slid onto a door ("Stupid door," said a disgruntled Lily.) and nearly staggered into an ever-tormenting wall. She swerved around the doorway, careful not to knock down the family photos plastered on the wall. Lily threw out an arm to steady herself and leant against the frame.

She shook her head dazedly and spun around in circles. (Which was not helpful for her nausea. Lily, this is Nausea. Nausea, Lily. She's a very big fan of your work!) The hallway was empty; quite eerie compared to the shouts that rang through the house during daylight. Lily was puzzled at the sudden evanescence of civilisation. Hopefully those Muggle movies James watched were not real, and Lily was not the only survivor of some magical mass-killing.

She stepped forward and cleared her throat. "Um ... is anyone—"

She was cut off, for the world was suddenly engulfed in a terrific wave of blaze—a blinding light was pointed at her eyes. Lily squinted and shielded her face.

A familiar voice shouted, "WHAT'S THE PASSWORD?"

Lily shook her head, appalled. "I'm sorry?"

"What ... is ... the ... password?" the voice snarled.

"How am I supposed to know? You—whoever you are!—you never told me about a password!"

The light slowly dissolved to reveal the tousled, silvery head of Louis, Lily's cousin, who was also due to begin at Hogwarts that year. Lily felt her face flush—had he witnessed her display of clumsiness?

"Fine," Louis grumbled. "It's killer Thestrals."

The cluttering of footsteps announced the arrival of Dominique, Louis's older sister, a soon-to-be-fourth-year. And the only redhead out of her siblings. ("A proud gene!" as she called it.)

She pouted. "Louis, we agreed on purple Thestrals!"

"Why?" Louis whined. "You always get to choose the password!"

Dominique glared at him—a murderous look that Lily certainly did not envy. "But killer Thestrals is way too boyish!"

Thundering of urgent footfalls echoed around the room. Formidable older sister alert: Victoire had arrived.

"But you always get to choose!" Louis complained.

"Well, killer Thestrals is too boyish, purple Thestrals is too girlish. I thought we agreed on Phoenix feather!" Victoire chipped in.

All went silent. Not the calm, peaceful quiet that was a savoured bliss: the lethal kind that was trembling with tension.

The silence was short-lived. In a matter of seconds, the siblings had broke out in a painful bout of arguing. ("SHUT UP!" "YOU SHUT UP!" "NO, I JUST TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!") The scornful demands grew so loud that Lily was doubtful even the best Muffliato could disguise the shouts. She was honest-to-Merlin getting a migraine. And only Uncle Percy got migraines. (Migraines after work, the type that made him ask for tea and make him start to rub his temples and mutter "What a stressful day, what a day, indeed ..." The very ones that drove him insane. They drove Aunt Audrey insane, too)

"Okay, shut up," she grumbled, just loud enough for them to stop bickering, "it can be Phoenixes and Thestrals. Happy?"

Louis, Dominique, and Victoire paused. A moment of consideration.

"Fine," they agreed beseechingly.

Victoire, who regained her composure first, held the door to her bedroom open. "Here," she said.

"Thanks."

Her heart wildly beating a happy march, Lily stepped inside.

The bedroom honestly belonged in a Muggle magazine. It looked pristine and anyone would assume house-elves payed a visit. (If so, they were being ridiculous. Victoire had the demanding Hermione Granger for an aunt.) Her room was decorated white, with faint touches of blush-pink and dotted with marble figurines. She always said the marble "tied in with her aesthetic"—whatever that was. It was a rather large room, and the walls were plastered with large posters of muscular boys with names that sounded "hot"—at least that was Victoire had stated. Victoire's bed had been stripped and pushed to one wall, and the floor was smothered with a towering mound of pillows and bedsheets.

Sprawled across the floor were James and Albus, Roxanne and Fred (Roxanne was a fellow soon-to-be first-year, and Fred was in the same year as James—not a very good combo, unfortunately), and Lucy and Molly (her other older cousins, Lucy a fourth-year, Molly a sixth-year). Alice Longbottom was leaning against the wall, waiting for Dominique. Her younger brother Frank was chattering eagerly to Fred.

Lily plonked herself on a spare cushion. She was awaiting a certain someone—no, not that Sebastian Wood The Daily Prophet was always "shipping" her with. (What even was this scandalous "shipping"?) It so happened to be that Hugo Weasley, her favourite Weasley cousin and one of her faithful best friends, was starting at Hogwarts this year. And it just so happened to be that Hugo Weasley was always late.

Heaving a great sigh, she deposited a folded slip of yellowed parchment in her lap—her one and only list of necessities required at Hogwarts. Lily began to fiddle with the corner of the slip when the door flung open. It crashed against the wall with a bang so loud that Australia must have heard it. ("Oof," a voice grunted.)

A freckled, ginger boy about the age of eleven stumbled inside. He was rather tall for his age, which didn't come as a surprise regarding the height of his father. The blue of his startled eyes was so deep it was almost violet, and in the pale moonlight it was easy to believe they were. He was, as others put it, "iconically Weasley."

Hugo Weasley had finally decided to show up, flanked by his older sister Rose. He looked slightly flustered, but Rose looked merely agitated.

Rose's vibrant eyes were bearing into the back of Hugo's tousled mood of fire. She and Hugo had the exact same blue eyes, but hers were noticeably more intense. She was incredibly tall and looked like a giant compared to her brother. The curls and twists of her hair were a marvellous shade of red, and they almost burned in the sunlight, but her magnificent locks were almost always pulled back into a firm braid. She carried herself high and appeared almost haughty. Her glare was almost challenging.

The siblings were now in the spotlight.

Everybody in the room was staring, their eyes widened ingenuously. The innocent stares were an act. Lily knew all about the legendary misdeeds most of her cousins plotted. Opting for a grand entrance? Lily thought.

Hugo's eyes flickered to where she was sitting and he flashed her a cautious grin. Lily tried to give him an exasperated, frustrated, almost disapproving frown. Rose had mastered that expression. But she couldn't help but reciprocate a bemused smirk.

Hugo grinned sheepishly and scrutinised his surroundings. "Hi," he said breathlessly. "What's up? Um ... yo?"

Rose shook her head and groaned. She smacked his arm gently. "Did you just say yo? And what's up?"

Hugo looked puzzled. Rose simply rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair (Hugo did not appreciate that gesture. "Hey!" he complained. "She does it every time!") as she trampled over to Albus. "Lorcan and Lysander are trailing behind." She sank onto a cushion beside Lucy. Albus glared at her and Lily could've sworn Rose glared back. The room seemed much more quiet. Their animosity dimmed the room.

It all seemed quite unfair, really. They just had to argue. Just had to clash. As if they weren't the best of friends only a few years back. As if all those secrets and nights spent chattering through the mirrors meant nothing. Was it fashion to forget about all the inside jokes exchanged? To dim the mood because of their quarrelsome nonsense? Lily didn't like that. It was unfair. It seemed quite selfish to tear apart the family because of some silly dispute. Or perhaps it was the family itself being selfish.

Whatever. It wasn't like the adults knew.

It was fine. They'd all go back to being a picture perfect family soon. (But soon wasn't now. Soon didn't block the fierce remorse shared between Rose and Albus.)

Thankfully, the staring match was interrupted. A square box soared through the open doors. A thud and an irritated mumble that sounded curiously like "Lorcan!" could be heard. The mood became somewhat brighter.

Two boys pursued, and one did not need an alert to know who would protrude from behind the doors.

Lorcan and Lysander Scamander looked absolutely and undoubtedly identical, with curious light-green eyes and frosty pale complexions dotted with freckles. They shared same mop of corn-silk blonde hair and the same crooked smile. But both were not the same in any way, albeit their looks and surnames. Merlin forbid anyone make the mistake of believing that Lorcan and Lysander were anything but different.

Lorcan was loud-mouthed. He spoke his mind, and that was perhaps not always a plus. He cracked jokes worthy of Uncle George and his grin was that of a Cheshire cat's. He was due at Hogwarts this year ("I'll be the best thing that place has ever seen!" he'd presumptuously declared one night.) He'd have been mistaken to be an overgrown, cheeky elf that dwelled in the trees and danced in the mist of morning lights. He serenaded people and took pride in their irritated language. Lorcan was jubilant and exaggerated. He was the most mischievous of the mischief-makers. It was a good life for Lorcan Scamander indeed.

Lysander opted for silence. For privacy. He was a curious boy, and he kept his thoughts to himself. He displayed a logical manner. He wore thick black glasses, which earned him a lot of teasing from Lorcan. But Lysander was far more refined; he didn't catcall or insult. He tended to follow in Lorcan's shadow and run around after him, lest he make any (more) stupid mistakes. He was clumsy yet endearing. Lysander was an intelligent boy and he was kind. Just one look at him and you could tell he was modest. Lysander possessed the charming qualities of a Healer, the ones that made it on the front page of The Daily Prophet. (Partly because of their looks.) Lysander was bottled and reserved; when he got upset he would burst. (Lily knew from personal experience.)

To know the Scamander twins, one had to be able to differentiate. (And to not mix up their names – that made them terribly upset.)

Lorcan broke out into a malicious grin. "My existence has now been forced upon you!"

"He means that he's here," Lysander groaned. "Sorry about Lorcan. He thinks he's just superior." He shot his brother a dithering look. Lorcan shrugged like Well, we're in public so you can't kill me in front of them, and dropped himself next to Roxanne. The room was swallowed by silence one again. Somebody cleared their throat. Another sneezed. One began to whistle.

Fruitless attempts at conversation rang around the room. Lily was even sure she heard Rose bring up the 2015 Quidditch World Cup scores. That wasn't a good thing; England had been smashed. It was kind of embarrassing. The topics ranged from things as bland as brands of parchment to things as ludicrous as how many bricks it would take to fill the Great Hall.

"I heard about Austin Finch-Fletchley's girlfriend Lindsay ..." Lucy whispered in a hushed tone.

"Wasn't his girlfriend Olivia?" Alice inquired.

"But Olivia's an idiot."

More conversations could be heard. Most were more interesting than listening to teenage girls blabber on about Austin Finch-Fletchley.

"Ah," somebody marvelled, "you reckon about seventeen thousand bricks?"

"Perhaps eighteen?"

Lily was recoiling internally as awkward chatter resounded around the room.

This was boring. She turned to Hugo. "So ... Hogwarts soon, huh?"

He swivelled around to face her. "Yeah." He dropped himself on a cushion beside her. Then he continued, "Feels like it's going to take forever until September. But people say the time goes quickly? It's ... not? Am I possessed or something?" He said all of this slowly and finished with a look of confusion, wonder and almost disdain on his face, as if he had sampled some sort of new omelette recipe Harry had cooked up. Except the omelette left an aftertaste, and it was kind of pleasant. Lily entertained that thought. Not of Hugo eating the omelette—the one of the aftertaste actually being pleasant. She smiled to herself.

A bang echoed around the room. Lily was shook out of her amusing daydream. Everybody flinched, except for James and Fred, who were standing atop a towering stack of blankets, as if they'd claimed it as their tower. Fred dropped what looked like a burned-out Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes miniature firecracker. Looks of horror became clear on everybody's faces. The resident tricksters had stepped up their game.

One thing became clear, and it was an immediate source of impending dread for everybody present. They were not going to send an owl to the Ministry of Magic requesting a pack of Chimeras again. But that was not on their minds at all. "Now, then ..." they chorused, eyes sparkling with malice. "Does anybody here happen to have a broomstick?"