Epilogue

"You must keep her secret," Elyan begged, his face contorted with fresh grief as his magic finished creating Isolde's headstone. "Our secret."

"Why?" Godric questioned. "If the people knew that Conté was stopped by another Wild Mage, they would rally to you, mourning with you for her loss." By his side, Salazar inclined his head in clear agreement.

Elyan looked up at Godric, sorrow and tears shimmering in his gaze. "And how long before they turn on my family, Earl Gryffindor? Perhaps not in my generation, but eventually, sentiment will turn, as it always does, and my descendants will be left to the nonexistent mercy of a mob." His smile was bitter and angry. "Tristan's actions have destroyed our reputation; it will be centuries before Wild Mages will be trusted again, if ever."

"Your reputation will not be destroyed if you do not hide your sister's actions," Salazar hissed in fury. "You ask us to deny that she helped us, to deny that a Wild Mage's powers can be used for good." Silver eyes narrowed. "Your family cannot hide your magic forever; sooner or later, all will know that your family has Wild Magic."

"Let it be later then," Elyan spat, turning back to his sister's grave. "Swear to me, on her memory, that you will not tell a living soul of her deeds."

"And so we swore the oath Elyan Calvin demanded of us, but I cannot let Isolde's story fade into the mists of time. Perhaps, in time, this diary of mine will see me foresworn, but I trust that when I am gone, this record of Isolde's death will aid her family.

Already, the kings clamor to slay all who carry the same blood as Tristan Conté and the people cry for vengeance, but I pray it will not always be so. Some day, I hope, her story will be a badge of honor for her family instead of a shameful secret…"

Giles read through Godric's words again, his fingers clenching on the diary. Slytherin had been right: the Calvin family's magic had eventually been exposed and two young teenagers stood to lose the most from their ancestor's grieving short-sightedness. But the Auror also breathed a sigh of relief; he wasn't sure what he would've done if the nagging fear in his heart had turned out to be true.

Thankfully, he'd been wrong. Giles stood, working the kinks out of his back and idly straightening the parchment he'd been taking notes on. One finger traced over the griffin rampant on the front of the diary and a sad smile traced its way across the Auror's jaw. Reading Gryffindor's diary, he'd gotten a far better impression of the infamous fourth Hogwarts Founder than he ever would've imagined. That Salazar Slytherin had been Gryffindor's best friend! It boggled the mind, but Giles didn't doubt it, though he did wonder what had caused such good friends to eventually break apart from each other.

The knock on his door drew Giles around with a frown. Wary, he adjusted his wand holster and walked to the door, standing to the side and out of the potential line of fire. He gripped the door with his left hand and threw it open, his right hovering over his wand. Amused silver eyes met his from under a hood; Giles started as he took in the black robes with golden runes on the trim, the shaggy white locks peeking out from under the hood, and the wry half-smile on the older man's face.

"I think," the Unspeakable murmured, "That it is time we had a talk, young Auror."

Alanna drummed her fingers as she wrote down the four chief symptoms of Parkinson's in her notebook, considering how best to deal with each one. It would not be easy and she knew treating the symptoms was not a good long-term solution, but Lance was right. The more time they could buy for Uncle Wordy, the more time they would have to find a real solution. And there was a solution, she could feel it in her bones.

As she finished her final note, she shut down her laptop and tucked it away. Best to leave it off if she was going to be messing around with magic in her room. Once the laptop was safely stowed, Alanna pulled her schoolbooks off her shelf, arranging them on her bed with her Ancient Runes primer in the center. Grimly determined, she flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and sat in front of her books, opening the primer to a page she had memorized.

She checked her pen to make sure it had enough ink, then hunched over her notebook as she started her project with three simple words: Heal Muscle Tremor.

~ Fin

Author note: The end. For this story at any rate. Will the kids be able to help Wordy? Well, we'll have to wait and see. In the meantime, we'll be moving onto "Will to Act" on February 15th, 2019, back in the regular Flashpoint archive.

Any reviews or PMs are very welcome and a big thank you to all of you for taking the time to read (and hopefully enjoy) this story.