Sirius,

I thought this could be a fitting first task to get you going. The team won't be too exposed, but it still demands solid investigative skills and should help your guys bond (if at all possible). Well, even if you don't want it, there is no one else, so tough lack! I'll Floo call in a few days to check-in. Good luck handling your new kids!

Hugs,

Kingsley.

P.S. I've attached the dossier. Clearly. The letter is heavier than a bloody hippogriff.

Sirius chuckled at the note, wishing that the Minister could join them instead of being stuck at his (undeniably infuriating) post. But things were what they were. He accioed a box and took out dried meat to feed the exhausted owl.

Then, he proceeded to unlock the dossier, using an elaborate combination of spells designed by him and Kingsley. He finished it off by pressing his fingerprint to the seal, after which it finally broke. Sirius ripped the large envelope and took out a pile of papers.

He nodded and mumbled to himself while reading, appreciating that the job was indeed perfect.

Sirius bounced through the door to their newly decorated meeting room, timing it perfectly to be the last one there. Or, he didn't time it at all. Given his experience with the Marauder Map, he'd already made one for this castle, so he knew that everyone was waiting.

As his eyes swept the space, he felt a sudden pang of regret that the people there couldn't just all be left as they were, laughing, chatting, learning their way around each other, finding their boundaries. Wouldn't that be more appropriate for their age? He saw Harry and Ginny sitting on an oversized pillow in the dark corner, whispering and giggling to each other. Luna was passionately showing some book to Neville, while George and Ron seemingly played some trick on Angelina Johnson, who was faking being offended.

Maybe one day, there would be more time for all that. He cleared his throat.

"Hey! Enough slacking! We got a job," he announced curtly.

It was as if the air circulation in the room paused briefly to resume in a strikingly different manner. People lying on giant embroidered pillows or lounging on leather couches nearly jolted upright. The small talks died mid-sentence, dispersing the illusion of carefreeness. Lazy Saturday vibe gave way to a mixture of apprehension, laser focus, and a tiny pint of excitement. Some people fidgeted with their hands, either eager to finally move into action or because they were slightly nervous. Others sat very still. Nearly everyone bore their eyes into Sirius.

"As you are all aware, four wizarding villages in Gwynedd were cursed, presumably by Dolohov. The scale and impact are unprecedented. The curse affects how people act but also the quality of their food, water, and air. And it seems to be spreading, with worrying reports from neighboring communities," Sirius recapped.

Sitting cross-legged on one of the pillows, Anthony Goldstein reached to grab the Daily Prophet lying on the table right next to him.

He vigorously flicked through the pages and held out a piece he was looking for, "They say that all the curse breakers who've tried came up short. We've only been here a few weeks, and we are no curse breakers."

"Between us, we've broken a couple of nasty curses, though. Solved a few mysteries. And beaten shit odds," Sirius said, offering the young man a small smile. "Strictly speaking, our job is to find out what it is. Clearly, it isn't something that curse breakers are familiar with. Or Aurors. When we know, we will go from there."

It seemed as if Ron was shooing the fly away with his hand, though he only reacted to what George whispered to his ear. "Damn, where is Bill when you need him," the younger Weasley said.

Sirius had just started pulling copies of the dossier out of his charmed leather bag. He remained close to the door, leaning against the wall. "He'll be here when we need him. He declared that he'll be involved, just not full-time."

"Alright. Before we go any further, you should all read the case files. There is one for each. We will meet in the morning to discuss them."

"I suppose it goes without saying, but just to get it out there, this is less helpful than a strong cup of coffee," Michael Corner complained, holding up the case dossier.

Padma Patil, sitting cross-legged on the couch and looking surprisingly fancy in a pale blue summer dress, rose her gaze from the parchments on her lap. "Another obvious point, but I think we should visit the villages and investigate ourselves."

Most people entered the meeting just moments earlier, sipping their teas and coffees, and rather occupied with their thoughts around the case. Only now, when all eyes were on Padma, a few men got temporarily distracted by her outfit. After all, the dress code around the place seemed to be sweat pants and sweatshirts, so the variation was most welcomed, if unexpected.

"I agree completely," Sirius stated, sitting on a chair near the desk and crumpling the corner of the parchment with his fingers. "With both of you. The only semi-helpful conclusion we can draw so far is that the curse is too powerful for Dolohov. There has to be some amplifying force, perhaps a dark magical object."

"So, we need to find what it is," Harry's voice sounded a little more enthusiastic than he intended. Gazing at the window, he had to admit at least to himself that the perspective of being able to go back to the field felt good.

"Exactly. We need four teams. I think four-five people for each will be sufficient for now. Those who stay can help by researching in the library and doing additional interviews with curse breakers who have worked on this so far," Sirius stated, walking to a shelf and taking an oval emerald vase with a floral pattern.

He looked around. Any perceptive observer could see who wanted to go and who didn't care much for it. Several people were already on the edge of their seats, eager to find out how they could sign up for the mission.

Sirius tapped his wand on the vase, muttering tractus. "Those of you who want to go to the villages, please put your names inside. The vase will draw out four names."

The commotion started immediately. People were rushing around the room, looking for parchments, ink, and quill pens. Soon, Sirius had about 20 names inside the vase, submitted by more than two-thirds of his task force.

"Wait, what about the rest of each team?" Hannah Abbott asked just before the drawing began.

Sirius raised his eyebrows as if realizing that he forgot to explain that part. "Ah, yes. They can apply to join any of the teams. The leader makes the decision. They can also invite whoever they want."

"Keep in mind that leaders only have the final say about the composition of their teams. Beyond that, please aim at democracy. Understood?" he waited for a murmur of confirmation. "Okay. Let's do it, then."

He tapped on the vase again. A blueish mist emerged from it, followed by a tiny piece of parchment that unrolled in front of Sirius.

"George Weasley!"

The redhead grinned widely. A second name appeared.

"Ginny Weasley—damn, George, tell me you didn't mess up with this. I didn't notice, so if you did, my prank expertise needs some serious attention."

"You offend me. It's not even remotely funny by my standards. I guess Weasleys' luck is coming around," George shrugged.

"Okay. Moving forward, then, Daniil Volkov!" Sirius announced the third name.

Daniil, an ex-Durmstrang guy, high-fived his friend, Alexei Orlov.

"And finally, Luna Lovegood!"

"Hermione, wait up!" Ginny panted, sprinting down the corridor to catch up with the brunette.

Hermione stopped abruptly. When Ginny reached her, she bent forward and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

"Hey," Hermione said slightly awkwardly.

While out of all her former friends, her relationship with Ginny was the last strained, they still drifted away from each other. It seemed weird to stay so close with Ginny being Harry's girlfriend and Ron's sister, though the youngest Weasley did nothing to indicate she was taking sides. Perhaps there weren't even sides to pick, just the ocean of awkwardness that seemed to swallow Hermione's entire social life.

"Hey!" Ginny sounded considerably more enthusiastic. "I'd ask how you are, but I know you're not a big fan of small talk lately, so I'll cut straight to the point."

Hermione almost snorted, knowing that the redhead meant she didn't like to talk. Period.

"Will you join my team?"

The brunette let the question hang in the air for a bit. She chewed on her lip, trying to phrase her response accordingly.

"Thanks, Gin. But I didn't even put my name in the vase. I'm fine doing research in the library. Some would say that I'm good with books," she attempted a sheepish smile, but she felt it didn't come out as intended.

Ginny's body tensed a little. A pout briefly crossed her face, though she covered it up quickly. Still, not fast enough for Hermione not to notice. She did know her (former?) best female friend through and through. So, she fully expected a heated answer along the lines of, yeah, apparently better than with people. But it didn't come.

"Sure, you are great with books," Ginny said surprisingly calmly. "But that's not why you are a war heroine. After we come back, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to bury yourself in research. Right now, other things you are just as good at need a little attention."

"There are plenty of people who want to go, Gin. Most of them are proven warriors. Just let one of them have the spot," Hermione proposed, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

Ginny crossed her arms, her cheeks reddening rapidly. Unmistakable signs of her patience running out, despite apparent attempts to keep her composure.

"Damn, Hermione. I don't know what's going on with you. And I've got your message that it's not anyone's business, so I've long stopped trying to figure it out. But were you even listening to Sirius? Have you read the files?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. For all her faults, she didn't like being accused of incompetence or idleness. "Of course."

"So, perhaps it should occur to you that we aren't going for a fight. It is an investigation. And the Aurors and the curse breakers have no clues or leads—," Ginny started her rant with the passion that seemed to be a trait of each and every Weasley.

"Semantics," Hermione interrupted, also getting irritated. "Warriors are not only made of fighting skills, so I fail to see your point."

"My point is that if it's not completely frozen yet, maybe that brain of yours could be of some help. We are not equally good at everything. Figuring stuff out is your thing. Or has that changed, too?"

Hermione almost retorted that she didn't feel very confident about that particular skill, considering that she was doing a shitty job at figuring out her own life. But she restrained herself, not wanting to get exposed in the middle of Ginny's angry outburst.

"Who knows. It might have. It's been a while since the last time it turned out useful," the brunette went for a safer answer.

"Well, then, perhaps you should start by figuring out whether you even want to be here. If you prefer not to use your skills because they might possibly have gotten a little rusty," Ginny blurted out.

She made a half-turn as if she had to stop herself from storming off.

Hermione exhaled loudly. And again. "Okay. Now you've made it impossible not to see your point—as usual. And I can't say it's not valid."

Ginny's eyes lit up slightly. "So you'll come?"

"With Harry and Ron? I can hardly see this partnership working out," the brunette said in a startingly emotionless voice and with glazed look.

"As much as I'd like to see the end of this pathetic nothing happened thing between the three of you, I'm not insane. Nor do I wish to end up in Mungo's psychiatric ward."

Hermione looked at the younger woman questioningly.

"Well, I don't intend to take the entire Golden Trio, with bonus drama. I told Harry and Ron to go with George," Ginny explained, finally dropping her arms to the sides.

"What? Why?"

"Well, one reason is that I did consider it a unique opportunity to help you get your head out of your butt. But I'd be lying if I said there was nothing else," Ginny paused briefly.

"If I went with Harry—well, Ron, too, but Harry especially—he'd try to shield me from everything. I'd be mad at him. We'd fight. People would take his side because I'm the youngest here, and he's Harry Potter," she continued, playing with her sweatshirt's drawstring.

"I've explained it all to him, and he kind of understood. So, I asked Padma to join. She agreed though I think she has a thing for one of the Durmstrang guys. But the team was full with his friend, Dean, Seamus, and Michael Corner."

"Who else?"

"I've talked with Sirius about Madeleine and Zoe from Beuxbautons. Going by his account, they should be good with this kind of thing. So, I've invited them, too. They are in—Good enough for your standards?" Ginny concluded with a tease.

Hermione chuckled. "I guess they can do. Why choose people you don't know, though?"

"People I do know have gone daft, so what can I do."

"Alright, alright. I said they could do. I'll go."

Draco was making himself comfortable in the library, planning to start early on the research. He had already shortlisted a few positions from his personal collection, a depressing but useful family inheritance. He was glad that he managed to snatch most of his things from under his father's nose.

He set the books on the table and dove under it to pick parchment that slipped in the process. As he was rising, he heard footsteps approaching him. Damn, not even one evening without mental daggers sent my way every few seconds.

It turned out he was being a little dramatic. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood perched on the opposite side of the table. While it was weird and unexpected, at least it didn't herald hostility.

"Hey, Malfoy—uhm, Draco, if that's okay with you," Luna started fumblingly.

The blonde gave her a half nod.

"You're opting for the research? Seems like a waste of resources," the former Ravenclaw momentarily mustered a lot more confidence.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. It wasn't the first time that Lovegood astonished him with her ability to switch between sounding awkward and sensible, bonkers and clever.

"Perhaps. But it would be an even greater waste if my whole team spent the entire trip daydreaming about ways to hex my arse. Not that anyone would even take me," he commented a little too drily for his own liking.

"We would. We would like to," Neville said without a hint of enthusiasm or sympathy in his voice or expression, which made the offer more acceptable. A tiny little bit more.

Draco sighed, rubbing his neck with his sleek fingers. "Thank you—I guess. But I don't think it's a good idea."

"It seems considerably better than this," Neville looked pointedly at the books and parchments.

Salazar knows that the blonde did try to stifle his chuckle but failed utterly. "I'm sorry. Still getting used to some things."

"Believe me, I know. In the last two sentences, you've said both thank you and sorry. It's deeply unsettling," Neville quipped.

Luna's face involuntarily broke into a huge grin upon hearing the exchange. She looked down at her thighs.

"Even I don't know how you can deal with it—with me being here—just like that. But, look, others can't, and that's fine. It's better to wait until it's all less unsettling," Draco reasoned. At least he would call it reasoning.

"I think that Death Eaters will gladly wait until we settle our differences. It makes perfect sense," Luna chimed in, rotating her turquoise pendant between her fingers. "In fact, I can nearly see your father sitting with a glass of firewhiskey and rooting for you to get along with a bunch of muggleborns and blood traitors."

Both Draco and Neville looked at her wide-eyed. Then, they turned to each other with matching quizzical expressions.

"That was even more baffling. But Luna is right," Neville said after collecting his jaw from the floor. "You know Dolohov better than any of us. Likely better than anyone at the Ministry."

"I suppose so."

"Then, play your part. So what if someone doesn't like it? How does that even matter in our situation?" Neville accentuated his point by lightly slamming his hand on the table.

"When you put it like that. To be clear, though, I'm not worried about people not liking it. They can't like me any less anyway," Draco explained with a perfectly straight face. "It's the disruption I bring. Even Granger suddenly became mute, not to even start on all the people who didn't—"

Neville massaged his temples. "Well, finally, a glimpse of Malfoy we knew and didn't love."

"Hm?"

"You give yourself too much credit if you think people who have lived through the war and landed in this mess are off their game because of you. It's just easier to blame stuff on someone. Or to dump anger on them."

"Not that I'm judging. We all do what we can," Neville added after a short, poignant pause.

"Alright, I'm willing to admit that you may be right and even do what you say, weird as it sounds coming from my mouth," Draco deadpanned, shoving the books away and putting his elbows on the table. "Just tell me one thing, Long—Nev—okay, I'll stick to Longbottom for now."

"Deal."

"How is it that the same stuff that made nearly everyone more fucked up inspired you to completely unfuck yourself? No offense."

"None taken," Neville replied, looking humored with a twinkle in his eyes and his lips curving up slightly. "I wouldn't say that I completely unfucked myself. I unfucked some of myself and fucked up some other parts."

"Fair enough."

"Some things just went away. I mean, how silly would it be to keep being scared of everyday life if I realized that it's possible not to be afraid in front of Voldemort," despite his spirited words, Neville's body tensed slightly.

It appeared as if the memories of war suddenly came back to him. He barely stopped himself from instinctively checking if his wand was in his robe. Still, he managed to collect himself quickly. His hand traveled back to the armrest after covering only half a distance to his pocket.

Draco thought that, silly or not, emotions and habits weren't logical, so Neville's change wasn't as inevitable as he made it seem. But he kept it to himself. "Still doesn't explain—"

Neville held his hand out to signal for Draco to stop. "I know what you are about to say. It's not so much about me changing, though. I simply respect what you've been doing, what you've sacrificed, more than I dislike what you used to do. And I genuinely think we need you here."

"Okay."

"Okay—as in you'll come with us?" Luna asked, brushing aside her hair. "It is really tiresome to listen to men talking about things that are blatantly obvious. That, and I'm starving."

Draco gazed out the window, suddenly realizing that they must have been talking quite a while. A cloudy sunset melted into misty dusk. Only the candles, though he couldn't recall anyone lighting them, bathed the room in soft, delicate light.

"Yes. But if other people on your team run away, it's on you," the blonde gestured at both Neville and Luna.

"Fine, fine. I can hardly imagine Oliver Wood running from you. At worst, he'll hex you. Let's go," Luna popped up from her chair and was out of the library before they could even reply.

"Huh, what's up with her today?" Neville muttered, shaking his head. "Anyway, see you in the morning."