She found herself again in the house, the air thick with the musty scent of neglect. It was an old, forsaken structure where dust lay like a shroud over every surface, and the damage spoke of years without care. As she wandered through the dimly lit corridors, a chorus of whispers trailed her like an eerie shadow. She felt the oppressive weight of unseen eyes watching her from the decayed corners and cracked walls.

Driven by an instinct she couldn't explain, she navigated the house's melancholic halls. Each room she entered hummed with voices—sometimes they were mere murmurs, other times they crescendoed into a cacophony, yet they always remained tantalizingly indistinct. She descended the staircase to the basement, her footsteps echoing in the silent house, the voices amplifying with each step until they were a deafening roar in her ears. Still, no words could be discerned; it was a symphony of chaos, meaningless and overwhelming.

As she reached the cold, damp basement, the air thickened, and the screams of the voices peaked, clawing for her attention, yet offering no clarity. Suddenly, a creak on the wooden stairs behind her sliced through the tumult. Heart pounding, she spun around.

"Maya?"

The familiar voice cut through the confusion, sounding almost surreal amid the barrage of whispers. Her name hung in the air, a question mark in the dusty gloom.

Maya jerked awake, her breaths quick and shallow, instantly drawing the concerned gazes of her two dads seated across from her on the plane.

"You okay, kiddo?" Babbo's voice was tinged with worry, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of distress.

She nodded, more to reassure him than from any real sense of calm. Ever since she'd confided in him about the inexplicable cold spots and the unsettling words Luna had whispered, his concern had only deepened.

"Just a weird dream," she managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Another one?" Her dad leaned forward his brow furrowed in the same familiar worry that mirrored Babbo's.

Maya sighed, her mind replaying the strange visions that had haunted her sleep. Between the chaos of the Quidditch World Cup, the startling revelation of her necromantic abilities, and the relentless recurrence of the same dream for five straight nights, it was no wonder they were both so anxious.

"It was the same as the others," she started, her voice trailing off as she remembered the startling new element from her dream. "Mostly, anyway."

Her dads exchanged a glance, filled with unspoken questions.

"What was different about this one?" Babbo prompted gently.

"Just before I woke up... Bonnie was there, in the house," Maya explained, her eyes wide as she recalled the vivid image. "I turned around, and she was on the stairs behind me, she's never been in the dream before. Then she said my name, and I woke up."

The plane's hum was a soft backdrop to the tension that crackled in the air, thick enough to be almost palpable. Maya noticed her dads exchanging glances filled with worry—a silent conversation in their looks. She felt the weight of her family's gazes, their ears undoubtedly catching every word she spoke. Without a sound, Uncle Kol slid into the seat next to her, his presence adding an immediate sense of urgency.

"How did Bonnie seem when you saw her?" he asked, his voice low and intense.

"She looked... surprised, as if she wasn't expecting to see me any more than I was expecting to see her," Maya replied, her own confusion mirroring Bonnie's imagined expression.

"And how long have you been having these dreams?" Uncle Kol's voice was steady, probing for every detail.

"Every night since the Quidditch World Cup,"

"Kol?" Her dad's voice was tinged with concern, but Uncle Kol waved him off with a dismissive hand, earning him a scowl. Not that he seemed to notice, his attention not wavering from Maya for a moment.

"I need you to describe every single detail of your dreams. Don't leave anything out, no matter how minor it may seem," Kol instructed, his tone more serious than she had ever heard—reminding her of the chilling discussions about Silas.

Taking a deep breath, Maya launched into her description. She spared no detail, recounting every inch of the house she'd traversed in her dreams, the eerie sensations, the whispers in the shadows. Uncle Kol listened, his eyes never wavering from her face, absorbing every word as if sifting for clues in a puzzle only he could solve. Each word she spoke seemed to thicken the air around them, the mystery of her dreams weaving a web that pulled tighter with every heartbeat.

The plane's steady hum faded into the background as Uncle Kol pondered Maya's detailed account. His thoughtful silence only heightened the tension, drawing a sharp, impatient question from her Dad.

"What does that mean?" he demanded, his scowl deepening.

Uncle Kol's eyes flickered with a flash of insight.

"I believe the spirits are trying to communicate with Maya, possibly even with Miss Bennett as well," he said thoughtfully.

"Their message-sending skills suck then. I can't make any sense of it!" Maya exclaimed, frustration lacing her voice.

Kol's frown mirrored her own.

"Connecting with the spirits requires practice and a lot of patience, especially in the waking world," he explained, his gaze intense. "Given your necromancy abilities, you should be more attuned to these messages. If the spirits are actively reaching out to you through your dreams, the connection should be clearer."

Babbo leaned forward, concern etching his features.

"What's blocking her from understanding them, then?" he asked, trying to read the unsaid words in Kol's analysis.

"It could be an any number of things," Kol replied. "I recommend talking to Bonnie as soon as possible. See if she's experiencing similar dreams. There could be a shared message or a common thread that's trying to surface."

Babbo nodded, weighing the implications.

"It will be late when we land back in Mystic Falls," he noted, his voice filled with the weariness of a long journey yet to end. "We'll reach out to Bonnie in the morning."

The conversation lingered in the air, a mix of unresolved mysteries and the urgent need to unravel them. As the plane cut through the night sky, each member of Maya's family retreated into their own thoughts, the thread of the supernatural weaving a complex tapestry around their destinies.

They didn't have to reach out to Bonnie, she reached out to them. Arriving at the Boarding House early in the morning, with Sheila by her side, both bearing an air of urgent concern. Maya took their expressions to be a silent confirmation that Kol's theory was correct—Bonnie was likely tangled in the same mysterious dreams. Damon did as well, because he invited them both in and sent out a message on the family chat to have everyone come to the house.

None of them mentioned the dreams while they waited for everyone to arrive. Instead, Maya launched into an animated description of their trip around Europe, detailing the myriads of sights, sounds, and smells of each of the countries they'd visited. Her eyes lit up as she described navigating the canals of Venice, the awe-inspiring vistas of Greece and Iceland. She included all the favourite moments, like eating gelato in Italy, ziplining in Greece, the Elven Enclave they'd visited in Iceland, and the tour around the Louvre in Paris.

Her tales wove a tapestry of adventure and discovery, momentarily distracting the group from the undercurrent of supernatural worries. Laughter and questions filled the room, as everyone drew around, momentarily swept away by Maya's vivid recounting, a brief respite from the impending discussions of their shared, unsettling dreams. She was in the midst of giving Bonnie and Sheila a detailed account of the Quidditch World Cup final when her dad, and her aunt and uncles arrived. Dobby brought in tea and biscuits for everyone, and they all settled around the room.

The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably as Sheila broke the ice with her revelation, her voice steady but tinged with a note of urgency.

"Bonnie and I have been having similar dreams for the past week," she declared, capturing everyone's attention. "Bonnie thinks Maya might be experiencing them as well."

Maya's heart raced as she leaned in, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"Are they in an abandoned house, one that looks ancient? And there are voices—you hear them, but can't understand what they're saying, as if they're just beyond comprehension? And it feels like you're being watched, but there's no one there?"

Bonnie's eyes widened, her response coming with an eager and almost relieved haste.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to bridge the gap between them. "Every night for the past five nights, the same exact dream. Only, last night when I followed the voices down into the basement, you were there—"

"—I saw you on the stairs," Maya interjected, her voice a mirror of Bonnie's excitement and fear. "You said my name, and then I woke up."

"Exactly! You disappeared right after I said your name, and then I woke up as well!"

The room fell into a stunned silence as the implications of their shared visions began to sink in. The others looked on, the gravity of the situation drawing them closer together.

As they each took a moment to process the connection, the air thick with unsaid questions and theories, it became clear that these dreams were more than mere figments of their imaginations. They were a call, a plea, or a warning, intertwined with their destinies in ways they were just beginning to understand. The group settled into their seats, tea in hand, bracing themselves for a deep dive into the unknown, each sip a brief pause in their hurried discussions as they prepared to unravel the mystery of their shared dreams.

"I think it's clear the spirits are trying to communicate with the three of you." Kol spoke at last, directing his comment towards Sheila, Bonnie, and Maya.

Sheila, her expression troubled, nodded in agreement.

"Agreed. The issue is that I'm having just as much difficulty understanding the message as the girls." A deep frown crossed her face, "I've tried when awake as well and haven't been able to connect."

"Something or someone is interfering with the spirits then, preventing them from communicating with you." Kol stated, brows knitting together in a concerned frown.

"Are you certain?"

Kol and Sheila both nodded in reply to Elijah's query.

"If it was just Bonnie and Maya, it could be because neither of them have learned to connect with the spirits yet." Kol replied.

"Whereas I've been doing so for over forty years." Sheila added grimly, "Something or someone is definitely interfering, which is why none of us are able to understand the spirits."

"The spirits are all drawing you to the same place in your dreams," Finn observed, a thoughtful look on his face. After Kol he had the most experience with magic of all his siblings. He wasn't as knowledgeable as his younger brother, but he knew enough to make some connections.

"Finn has a point." Kol agreed, looking at Sheila.

"Yes. The house is the main link in our dreams, we've all appeared there."

"If we could locate this house physically, it might provide a direct line to the spirits," Kol theorized. "Being there might enable you to bypass whatever's blocking the connection and communicate directly with them."

"How are you going to find somewhere that's only been seen in dreams?" Elijah queried with a frown.

"I could draw it?" Maya suggested. "I've only seen the inside though."

"Me too." Bonnie said, "I'm always inside the house in my dreams."

"As am I," Sheila concurred.

"It's a start at least." Kol concluded.

"You could have called."

The air was thick with tension and unspoken words as Damon kept a vigilant watch on Maya, who seemed to be marshalling every ounce of her self-control. He was fairly certain the only reason there hadn't been an immediate explosion of magic upon hearing what had occurred in Mystic Falls in their absence, was Caroline's presence. Maya being able to see her and know she was unharmed physically at least, if not emotionally, was the only reason he didn't currently have any broken windows.

He could see the numbers silently ticking off in her head, a method to steady her fraying temper. Caroline's timely intervention, pulling Maya into a reassuring embrace, visibly soothed the young witch. Tyler, initially hesitant, was soon drawn into the fold, his worried expression softening under Caroline's determined comfort.

Damon's gaze shifted back to Mason and Rose as they began to explain the events that had unfolded in his absence.

"We got it sorted quickly enough," Rose said, her tone a mix of relief and firmness. "It was over by the time any of you would have been able to get back here, and Caroline didn't want to spoil your holiday with the news."

Mason chimed in, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Carol's on board now. We managed to convince her not all vampires are evil. I think realizing that Tyler isn't one—and that grandchildren are still on the table—helped sway her. Plus, it gives Liz an ally on the council."

Rose leaned forward, her voice lowering conspiratorially.

"It might help if one of the Mikaelsons talks to her as well. Elijah or Finn—they're the most level-headed and could reinforce the peace."

Damon nodded, his mind racing with the implications.

"I'll talk to them." He promised.

"We're lucky Richard's no longer with us," Mason mused, a shadow passing over his features. "I miss my brother, but if he was still around, things would have gone a lot worse."

"Yeah, and we're fortunate to have those wixen deputies now," Rose added sharply, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and relief. "Or Bill Forbes would have blown our cover to the rest of the council."

Damon raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

"I thought you compelled him?"

Rose's annoyance was palpable as she recounted,

"I did. But he figured out some mental trick to make it ineffective, even without vervain." She shook her head, frustration evident. "Thankfully, the wixen took care of it. They obliterated his memory of vampires and planted a deep-seated aversion to returning to Mystic Falls—for any reason."

The group absorbed the gravity of the situation, each processing the narrow escape from exposure and the complex weave of alliances and secrets that held their fragile peace together. Damon's gaze lingered on the group, a silent acknowledgment of their shared battles and the ever-present dance on the edge of danger in Mystic Falls.

"At least no one died." Damon said at last, his gaze going back to Maya. He knew it would have absolutely destroyed her to return home and find Caroline or Tyler had died in her absence.

Dearest Bambi,

I was relieved to hear you're safe after the chaos post-match. The news reports left me worried, but thankfully, it sounds like you all managed without serious harm. It's truly a miracle no lives were lost in the fires. And about Crouch, like Andi, I can't say I'm sorry to hear of his demise. He wasn't exactly beloved, given his actions during and after the war. The Aurors will certainly have their work cut out for them in pinning down a suspect.

Thank you for telling me what Jasmine said, it means a lot to know that she doesn't blame me for what happened. I've been working with my mind-healer a lot, and he keeps reiterating that I'm not to blame either. Some days I even believe it! I'm getting better, day by day, although I'll remain at the clinic until the end of October. The plan post-recovery is still up in the air, Andi and Cissa have kindly offered to take me in, and while I may stay with them temporarily, I'm also contemplating a fresh start in America. What are your thoughts on that?

It sounds like you enjoyed your holidays. I'm glad you got a chance to meet Moony and Nightshade, though I suppose you'd already met Nightshade, so it was more of a re-meeting It's good to hear you don't harbour any resentment for their absence after your parents passed. Honestly Dumbledore has a lot to answer for, keeping them both away with those wards he put around the property. I know they protected you, but he could have easily added Moony and Nightshade to the wards without weakening them. I must admit, the thought of never crossing paths with him again is quite appealing; I have no desire to return to Azkaban, and at this point I'm very tempted to set his beard on fire, along with the rest of him.

Back to school soon, are you excited? I always loved going to school, seeing my friends again, and getting away from my mother for another year. I know you'd be going into fourth year if you were still at Hogwarts, btu what does that translate to in your schools terms? I know they classify them differently in America. Make sure you study hard, but make sure you prank harder! I want to hear all about what you get up to.

Looking forward to your next letter.

Your loving godfather,

Padfoot.

Bartemius Crouch Senior Dead! Investigations continue. Rita Skeeter.

Rufus Scrimgeour has claimed that his department are following up on several promising leads in their hunt to discover who was responsible for the death of the respected head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation. However, sources close to the investigation have informed me that they are completely stumped. 'Nobody has any idea who might have been behind it. There was no evidence left behind at all.' A Ministry insider quoted when I questioned them…

He sat alone in the dim light of a modest flat, the body of its former owner cooling on the floor beside him, and the newspaper article spread out before him. A smile crept across his face, one of pure, unadulterated relief and satisfaction. He wanted to dance, to shout with glee at the news of his father's demise—but caution held him back. No need to draw attention when he had executed his plan so flawlessly.

The fires he had ignited during his escape were meant to serve as a distraction, to obliterate any trace of his involvement. Perhaps they hadn't wreaked as much havoc as he'd hoped, but they fulfilled their purpose, shielding his exit perfectly.

His fingers drifted to his left arm, tracing over the smooth, unmarked skin where a dark symbol once seared its presence. The Dark Mark of his beloved master had lingered there, long after the defeat handed down by the Potter girl. It had only vanished completely two years prior, confirming the true death of his master and fuelling a burning desire for vengeance. He knew exactly who to blame.

With his father now gone, the path was clear, the first step of his plan beautifully unfolding. He knew precisely whom to target next, his mind alight with the strategies and machinations that would bring his enemies to their knees. The game was just beginning, and he was ready to play.

"I'll need the new moon to perform the ritual. Have you found who we need?"

"Yes. They're ready and willing to help."

"Good, I'll begin preparations."