Scala ad Caelum

by GRND

Ages ago, a wizard known as Herpo the Foul defied Death and doomed the world and those who were yet to be born. His ambition was put to an end, yet briefly, for the events of the past are bound to happen again as the ages come and go. It is in the present age, as Voldemort's reign of terror is deemed as over, that the Wizarding World would understand the story had yet to finish.

28. Chapter 24 - Pride

Chapter 26 is out! First of all, I wish you all a happy New Year and Merry Christmas! I wanted to post one more chapter before the end of 2021, and seems like I made it on time.

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Scala ad Caelum

Chapter 25: Pride

Ronald Weasley POV

Saturday 19th February 1993 (Slytherin Dormitories, Hogwarts) – After lunch

'If I remember correctly, you told me a few days ago that a duelling club was being held today, right?' Riddle wrote in the black diary.

It was a nice day, one of the first in many weeks. Most of the students tried to make the best of it by getting out of the castle, just as his friends did; but not him. Ron wanted to know more about Riddle and his interesting life. In fact, the former student showed him some of his memories from his time at Hogwarts. He was a bloody genius! The redhead could not help but compare him with Percy, but even his brother's talent—despite having similar marks—paled against Tom.

'Yeah, but this time I don't think Lockhart will be running it,' Ron explained. 'I think the Aurors are the ones to do it. I'm pretty excited, not gonna lie. Especially, since we've been told that a few magical creatures will be brought for us to practice against them. As a preparation for the Monster of Slytherin, if that's even possible.'

'Woah, that is impressive. We didn't have those kinds of activities back in time; it makes me a bit jealous.'

'Come on, don't be like that. You'd have destroyed everyone! I've seen what you were capable of. I don't think any of the older students from my time would be able to pull out the kind of magic you performed.'

'You flatter me. But let's not talk about the past. Tell me about you and your mates. Who is the best student from your promotion? Is there anyone whose talent managed to surprise you?'

That was a pretty easy question to answer. 'I'd say the best is Hermione; she's just good at everything. However, if I needed to name one student who surprised me the most, it would be Theodore Nott.'

"Nott? I knew one of his predecessors. Maybe it was his grandfather.'

'No idea, but this one ain't good on the head. His mental stability is nonexistent; sometimes he is normal, and the next second he snaps at everyone with a murderous look. That being said, he's on another level in terms of duelling and combat magic. Let's say I've fought him almost a dozen times and I have yet to win a duel. I think I only managed to make him take me seriously once.'

'That's interesting. What about Potter? He saved the world from a Dark Wizard; he must be special, right?'

There it was once again that special curiosity Riddle had about Harry. 'He is good. At my level, I'd say,' Ron admitted. 'I think I would win in a duel, but that is because he doesn't train like I do. One time, we fought a troll—long story, don't ask about it—and he managed to cause it as much damage as I did. The sad part is that everything he did was thanks to his incredible instincts or by imitating what I did, while I, who had been practising magic for some weeks, couldn't do it by myself...'

'Don't be too hard on yourself. If you hadn't been there, your friends wouldn't be alive,' Riddle comforted him. 'I have a question, though. Why would a first-year like you start to train at such a young age? From what you've told me, despite liking combat magic and duelling, you don't want to be a professional at it or something like that... It just strikes me as odd.'

Nice move, Ron! You've talked too much once again. It was time for the ever trustful excuse. 'I wanted to be more than just another Weasley. I've already told you all about my brothers; you know how awesome they are. That's also the main reason why I got sorted into Slytherin, despite all the problems it caused me. Back during my first classes, I experienced firsthand how incredible it was to perform magic others couldn't; how they looked at me with envy or admiration. It felt so damn good that I couldn't stop there; I wanted more of it. That's why I started training so young.'

It took Riddle a few seconds to answer. ´That's really admirable, Ronald. For a moment, I thought you were talking about my first-year self... There aren't many people as ambitious or dedicated as you are. That makes you incredibly special; even more than most of your brothers. I know you admire them, but tell me, would they've been able to impress Nott like you did? Would they've been able to fight a troll in their first year? Would they've been able to take the hard path and join Slytherin if that was what their heart told them? Tell me, because I have my doubts about it.'

Could he be right? It was something Ron had asked himself again and again; hell, even Gerd had recited those exact words many times to cheer him up. But that was what a friend like her would do to raise his spirits... Riddle was speaking his mind there. He actually believed it. 'Do you really believe that?' He asked back. 'Do you really think I did something they wouldn't have done?'

'Whether they would have or would have not ain't the matter here. I'm telling you they couldn't; it's very different. I think you are your greatest enemy, Ronald. You lack pride. You've archived way more than most of your year mates, yet, you act as if they were at your level. Act like the talented and hardworking wizard you are, don't let them think they can compare themselves with you... Show them who Ronald Weasley really is.'

Who Ronald Weasley really is... That sounded so awesome. Ron really wanted to keep the conversation alive, but he needed to go. 'I'm sorry, but I need to go. I'll tell you how the club went as soon as dinner is finished!' The redhead put the diary in his vault and secured it under lock and key.

When he walked into the common room, his friends were already waiting for him at their usual spot. "Did you have a nice nap?" Daphne asked him. For once in their lives, the blonde didn't sound as if she was teasing him for falling asleep. "You look way better than other days. In terms of sleep and these sorts of things, of course; don't get the wrong impression."

"To be honest, I feel nice," Ron admitted as he caught up with them, making their way outside. "It must be because I'm pretty excited for the club. The last one was incredible, and this time, we won't have to stand Lockhart and his stupidities."

"We won't see him getting blasted away by Snape, though," Blaise piped in. "It truly was one of the year's best moments..."

When they made it to the Great Hall, almost everyone was there. This time, each year had its own scheduled time, so it was not as packed as the last club. It seemed the prospect of watching magical creatures in action and how to stop them was a rather interesting activity to assist. "Shouldn't some jails with the monsters be here?" Tracey asked while waiting for the Aurors to begin.

The old, grumpy veteran was sat atop of the Professors table with his eyes closed, smoking from some kind of pipe. The other two were not far from him; Thomas Greene talking with some first-year girl from Hufflepuff while the blond woman walked in circles nearby. "She doesn't look eager to start," Daphne pointed out. She was right. The young Auror was a bit pale and blatantly avoiding eye contact with the students.

"She must be thinking about the best way to start the class," Blaise said.

"Wow, so kind on your part," Daphne rolled her eyes. "You only say that because you like her."

"I mean, I have eyes in my face," the black boy defended himself, as if that solved everything.

He did not lack reason, though. The young woman was really pretty. However, if the redhead were to say that aloud, Daphne would probably glare daggers at him. Because of that, he just nodded in silence.

"Can you all listen to me?" The female Auror asked aloud, making everyone shut up. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes. First of all, my name is Jessie Sweeney, and along with my friend here, Thomas Greene, and my superior, Henry Fawley, we'll try to teach you a bit about magical creatures and how to act in case of an encounter with them."

"The purpose of this club is no other than learning a bit of the outside world," Greene continued the explanation. "It was an idea the Ministry proposed to the Board of Governors and the Headmaster. It was accepted practically unanimously, especially, given the extraordinary circumstances we find ourselves in these days. Just in case someone thinks this will be all you need to face the Monster of Slytherin, it won't. For starters, we don't know a thing about what kind of creature it is, so please, don't think otherwise."

"However," Sweeney went on. "Some of the tips learned here could help you in the near future. From what we've been told, the little about personal defence you know is in situations of wizard against wizard. That is not bad because if you ever need to defend yourselves it will most likely be one of those scenarios; not as if you will need it since this is a very safe country, of course. Anyhow, the first and most important lesson today is that fighting against a wizard is not the same as facing a magical creature. Can anyone tell me why?"

"Because they aren't humans," Nott answered without even raising his hand.

"Care to elaborate on that, boy?" Fawley asked from his seat at the end of the Hall, a raised brow appearing on his face.

"Sure," Nott said. "It's true that some of them, like werewolves and vampires, can use our magic and even have the audacity to wield wands, however, they didn't receive a proper formation on it, and so, they tend to use magic in combination with their beastly skills. To expect a werewolf to duel like a wizard could be the worst mistake anyone can make; they are beasts, and they need to be treated as that. On top of it, they usually have a way greater resistance to magic than us; another proof of us being different."

The veteran Auror could not suppress a snort as he smoked from his pipe, volutes of white smoke coming out from his mouth and nose. "Theodore Nott, eh? Shouldn't have expected anything else," he shook his head. "Your words are quite extremist, but they don't lack reason. Vampires and werewolves are the most common magical creatures within our society. In fact, those who get past the Code of National Security and Integrity in Regards of Magical Creatures can live as if they were one of us. Not many of them can say they did, though."

"Excuse me, sir," Hermione raised a hand in the air. "What would the reason for it be? Werewolves and vampires are classified as Beings in our law: creatures that are intelligent enough to understand our law and bear part of the responsibility in shaping those laws. Shouldn't they be more openly accepted? Most of them share with us the only factor that makes us individuals from the magical race: a magical core."

"That's only because they were humans once," Fawley replied. "Humans who got transformed into beasts. What's your name, girl?"

"Hermione Granger, sir! A second-year from Gryffindor!"

"They aren't accepted because they can't control their new nature, and so, they represent a danger to the society," the Auror explained. "Just judging by the innocence of that question, I'd say you are a muggle-born. Well, let me welcome you to the politics of the magical world, Mrs Granger. The ideal world lots of people dream about does not exist. If you try to divide the society into good and evil people, then, you are clueless. It's better to divide it into people who make good actions and those who make dark deeds. When someone is under the curse of a werewolf or a vampire, they tend to join the latter group. Because of that, they need to be regulated."

Bloody hell, this man is lecturing both Nott and Hermione. I never knew you could laugh at two totally opposite opinions like he's doing right now. The entire Hall could do nothing but look between the two students and the Auror. Nott was sending one of his pissed glares, while Hermione had blushed and looked at the ground as if it was about to swallow her. Whereas, the Auror kept smoking from his pipe.

"Well, thank you for the explanation, Henry," Sweeney cleared her throat, trying to get everyone's attention back. "Ehm, let's get back to the club's purpose, shall we?"

"We would love to give you some insight on how to fight the Monster, but that's just not possible," Greene said. "However, a piece of advice that will never fail you against an unknown creature is to always run away from it; trust me, it is the best. This doesn't mean you have to lower your wand and run as if you were a scared dog. Please, step back as much as you can, here begins the practical demonstration."

What is going to be? The students instantly stepped back; some of them nervous, but the great majority wore exciting looks in their faces. The male Auror just tapped his wand in the air, right at his left. Out of nowhere, a metal cage appeared. Inside of it, there was a very creepy-looking creature with long, sharp nails that could be used as claws. It resembled a lot to a domestic-elf, but it was staring at them with a predatory look.

"This nasty creature here is an erkling," Greene said as his wand tapped the top of the cage. The beast tried to stab the Auror with its claws, but he just stepped back to dodge it. "This bastard is a very dangerous creature, even if it looks like some sort of elf. Do not be tricked by its appearance, it is the perfect example of the kind of beast you need to run away from the second you spot it."

"Aren't erklings famous for..., well, devouring children?" Anthony Goldstein asked, creating a general muttering after the words came out of his mouth.

"That's the whole point about running away from them at first sight, smartass," Fawley snorted from his spot in the back.

"Don't worry about it, we came prepared," Sweeney calmed them down as she unsheathed her wand out. The blond woman stood in front of the students, there, she drew some strange symbol in the air; a very faint symphony came with it.

As soon as she finished, the air around Ron felt different; warmer and cosy. What the hell was that? By his side, Daphne and Tracey started to mutter, but it was Blaise the one to ask what everyone was thinking about.

"That was a ward, wasn't it?" The black boy asked, becoming the new spotlight.

"It was an Elemental Ward of protection," the Auror confirmed. "Now the beast won't go after you. Unless it becomes too bloodthirsty, that's it. But don't worry, it won't get to touch you."

"Will he attack you if we are out of reach?" Hermione asked, as curious as ever. "I know nothing about erklings, but if they are said to eat children... I mean, will he attack adults if there is nothing around?"

"This bastard is famished, and we are the only piece of meat around; he'll come," Greene told them as he pointed his wand at the cage. "Alohomora," the moment the charm worked, the nasty creature kicked the cage open.

For some seconds, it stood there, eyeing them. You better don't come here, nasty shit. Fortunately, the wards worked, because it leaped at the male Auror; the closest human to him. "Arresto Momentum Duo," Sweeney chanted as her hand went forward. The creature was hit by a very faint wave of blue magic, incapacitating it midair.

"Wow, that wave was barely visible," Ron whistled as the creature struggled to get back in movement.

"What do you mean?" Daphne sent him a weird look. "I saw nothing."

"Me neither," both Tracey and Blaise echoed.

What the hell? However, the boy did not have time to ponder about it since the Auror had already resumed his explanation. "Now that our helpful volunteer is on a more collaborating mood, I'll show you what to do when running from a magical beast," Greene said. "Jessie, if you are so kind," the female Auror terminated her spell as her friend asked. The erkling let out a very acute growl as it leaped once again towards its prey.

This time, Greene just ran away from it.

Is he crazy or what? Just when the erkling was about to get him, the Auror pointed his wand at the floor as he kept running. "Fumos," he chanted. A very thick smokescreen appeared in the Hall. The creature jumped through it, landing at the other end of the room with a confused look on his horrid face. Meanwhile, Greene appeared just by their side, near the warded area. "As you saw, a simple Smokescreen Charm can save your life if well executed."

The erkling scratched the floor with its claws as the smoke disappeared. It looks furious as hell! However, much to the redhead's surprise, the creature changed its objective. With a high-pitched cackle, it jumped to the wall, just to instantly jump once again with incredible force. This time, it went at Fawley's.

"Oh, come one, I thought we agreed I'd do nothing," the veteran Auror groaned.

Out of a sudden, he became invisible.

A multiple gasping was heard in the Hall. "Was that the Disillusionment Charm?" Hermione asked as her eyes were about to pop off.

"Yep," Greene replied with a kind smile. "However, I don't recommend it to you—not as if you could do it, either way. Many magical creatures have inferior senses when compared to us; let it be sight, smell, or hearing. In exchange, they have a superior sense to detect magic than us—often, way better. If you ever decide to hide the way Fawley did, you better have a very polished Disillusionment Charm."

The erkling got tired of his search and looked at them with bloodshot eyes. "Talking about inferior senses," Sweeney piped in as she took a few steps towards the magical creature. "This one right here happens to have a bad sight, especially, when bright lights are involved." The nasty elf jumped at her with claws upfront, but the Auror stood there. When she was about to get hit, some very bright sparks of various colours were born from the tip of her wand.

A precise sidestep was all she needed to dodge the attack.

With one hand protecting his eyes, the erkling kept lunging at her with the other one's claws. A tiny step to the left; a little jump backwards; one to the right... The Auror seemed to dance with the beast, her wand constantly pouring out the bright flares. "Blind it and run," Sweeney lectured. "Trust me, it is one of the best things you can ever do."

As the Auror toyed with the beast, one thought persisted in Ron's mind. So this is what an elite wizard can do... They don't abuse flashy or powerful spells but use the basic ones to their fullest. The club ended and the students were escorted back to their common rooms. Why could I see the Auror's wave of magic while the others couldn't? The redhead had many questions on his mind, and he knew the perfect person to answer them.

'Hello, Tom. Something really curious happened at today's duel,' Ron wrote as soon as his roommates went to sleep. 'There was an Auror who cast some spell; a really basic one. What caught my attention is the fact I saw a very, very faint blue wave while my friends couldn't. Do you know why it happened?'

'Oh, dear Ronald, that is another proof that you are much better than them. When a skilled wizard—like Aurors should be—cast a spell, their magic tends to be that way. It is proof of their magical mastery, and it allows them to have better survival skills in duels or extreme situations.'

'Why so?'

'An inexperienced wizard usually casts the spell without much thinking and control. For example, I bet when you cast a Disarming Charm it is of a red colour, right? Power and quickness replace control. Here, because you are in a stage in which you know nothing about what the true control of magic truly is. If someone adept at magic practised for enough time, their spells become more precise, don't sacrifice power for control and the flow of magic becomes silent.'

'Okay, that is a lot of information, but it doesn't explain why you think I am better than my friends.'

"Because you are way more familiar with magic than them. You were able to barely see the spell because your magical instincts are way sharper. The better they become, the better you can feel magic. As if-'

'As if I was observing the world with different eyes?' Ron interrupted him. It was one of the many great quotes Gerd had used to help him understand what they were doing during the training. That one had struck with him, and now, after what happened in the club, the redhead finally understood what it really meant.

'Yeah, that is a pretty good way to define a sharpened magical sense... Who came up with it? Was it you? Because that is a very advanced understanding of magic, Ronald.'

'No, it wasn't me.'

'Then, was it the dead woman you talked to me about?'

After a few seconds of hesitation, the quill was moved by his wrist. 'Yeah, it was her.'

'Oh, I see... She strikes me as a very interesting person... Say, will you ever tell me a little more about her?'

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Gerdnyaram POV

Friday 25th February 1993 (Scala ad Caelum) – After lunch

The ever colourless and soundless beach disappeared as the new scenery replaced it—the present vanished as the past embraced her with open arms one more time. All of that in search of a better future.

As every other day, the Agora roared with life.

Women carried out the household's groceries while their children looked at the exotic and colourful posts with awe in their eyes. The scent of fresh fruit filled everyone's noses as the soft wind seeped through the narrow corridors of the market; the reward of a great harvest. A few soldiers patrolled around, their poor-manufactured spears scratching the pavement as their wooden ends were dragged along with each step; their foul tongues cursing their superiors for making them work so much with so little rest.

Gerdnyaram walked through the crowd, her mind paying attention to every conversation. "My son just pronounced his first words this morning," a proud mother told her friend. "The best bread of Athens is mine! Come and take a look!" A dark-skinned merchant exclaimed at the four winds from his small but successful post. "Athena and her wisdom will always show us the light! She will protect us from the heathens!" A priest rambled at the centre of the Agora as dozens of people nodded at his words.

Gods, he says, the young witch grimaced. Muggles had the bad habit of trusting their whole existence to those superior forces they called Gods; let it be Athena, Poseidon or Zeus. Hell, even some of Gerd's people, the magical race, had started to follow the path of faith. Why would someone with magical powers ever believe for a superior force to be everything that pulled from the strings of fate?

The existence of the three Moirai—Lachesis, Atropos and Clotho—was supposed to justify every single event which took place in a person's life. Didn't that make life a very poor thing? What was the point of every decision a person could take if it greatly paled against the authority of the three Moirai? A rich man enslaves the people from a poor district and gets killed for it; cruel Atropos, who cut the thread of his life—as if his vile actions hadn't sentenced him. A warrior finally loses a combat in the arena in front of the biggest crowd ever, condemning him to an eternal oblivion; cruel Lachesis, who punished a man due to his ever increasing fame as a demigod—as if his cockiness hadn't guided the hand which lost the sword during that final clash.

No, humans were free to choose their own path, and only their decisions could interfere with it. However, it didn't matter how many times Gerdnyaram repeated those words in her mind, a little part of her always snorted at them; that was a cruel joke, indeed! There she was, a witch whose entire existence had been ruled by the gifts of the Great Sight, trying to convince herself that it was her who took most of her life's decisions.

She had to step aside so a pair of horses, mounted by two full plated soldiers of superior rank, could make their way towards the Temple. One of them practically struck her down with his stare as they passed by her side. Gerdnyaram understood that her attire—a very elegant, pristine, white dress that was long enough to cover her legs as the winds made it dance—wasn't the proper one for a commoner like her. Still, as the horse walked away, the man acknowledged her presence with a respectful nod; such was the power of the correct clothes!

It is funny how a simple piece of cloth carries more power than a fine sword, she thought. In this society, not even the bravest warrior or the most skilled artist will ever be able to hold more power than those with money to buy them. What is a sword or a paintbrush against the gold that subjugates them? It just didn't make any sense for her.

More than a hundred people made their way upwards, to the Temple, by the large stairway. It was made of white rock in a futile attempt to resemble the elegance of marble, but the countless footsteps from the commoner's sandals had darkened it to a point in which grey started to dominate the whiteness. Thousands of steps to reach one of the highest points of Athens, where the priestess of the Great Temple, built by the favour of Athena, accepted the prayers from soldiers, farmers and merchants alike.

However, Gerdnyaram didn't take that path.

A witch like her wasn't bound to walk through the manmade structures—even though their ingenuity had amazed her plenty of times. Why should she remain with her feet on the ground when the winds belonged to her? Once the witch was out of the muggle's sight, she turned herself into an eagle; her second, and probably, favourite form.

Not many wizards attempted to develop their animal form; not as if everyone could, to start with. However, those talented enough in the field of Transfiguration—like she was—didn't consider it a very valuable power. Gerdnyaram totally understood why. The magical race had just won the War for the Dawn against the Nightmares and the many magical creatures which fought by their side.

Ploughing through the winds as an eagle was freedom, not survival in hard times. Because of that, in the past years, wizards and witches alike had focused all their time and efforts into developing their combat magic. After all, survival always came before freedom; you couldn't have the latter without the former.

There, up in the clear, blue sky, muggles looked like ants. Yet, their works of architecture—like the Great Temple, the Agora, or the huge statue of Athena—looked incredibly formidable. With her gaze set in the Temple, Gerdnyaram descended towards its roof, where a man, clothed in white robes with an azure cape over his shoulder, waited for her; the soft air ruffling his long, grey hair.

As always, he saw her coming. "I must thank you for hearing my pleas, Gerdnyaram," Herpo said as soon as the eagle landed at his side. "I know it was a long journey back to Greece, but it was necessary."

Gerdnyaram embraced her human form back. "I needed to come here for some business of mine, so it wasn't a problem," the witch replied. The first seconds after the transformation, she always had problems accustoming to her new sight—let it be to the eagle's far superior one or the human's. "Why are you so serious, Herpo? Even I, who never took part in the War like the rest of you did, can't help myself but to feel blessed and thankful for our victory. You dedicated a great part of your life to fighting the Nightmares, now it is time for you to rest."

"Look at them, Gerdnyaram," Herpo ignored her questions as he pointed at the muggles below them, who strolled down the Temple's square with their own worries in mind. "They have no magic; their wars and disputes are far greater in number than ours; the rich govern over the poor just because of the importance they give to that golden metal... Yet, I can't help myself but admire them. How is it possible for them to have a way more structured and developed society than us, those who were blessed with magic?"

"We won the most important war of our history," Herpo continued. "Yet, the Alazthi remain as independent as ever, with their blood elitist mentality. Yet, many of us still live in solitude, developing our magic in secret and keeping our discoveries for ourselves. Yet, we still loathe those half-creatures who were also blessed by Magic like us—even those who helped in the War for the Dawn."

Men like Herpo were meant to have great aspirations in life. For them, greatness, fame and success were things they didn't pursue, no, they came at them thanks to their talents and efforts. For the leader of their organization, the Order of Precursors—in which Gerdnyaram was the seventh and last member—there will always be a next step in life.

In his case, all Herpo has ever dreamed of were two very specific goals: one, to create a magical society in which magic could be developed to its limit, and then, after archiving that, Herpo himself would reach the Ascension, the hypothetical union between a wizard and Magic itself.

Those were the reasons why the old man created the Order; with the sole purpose of honouring magic. "They don't have the powers we have, and because of that, they feel the need to form a more cohesive society," Gerdnyaram replied to his unanswered question. "If they knew about our existence, we would be treated as deities."

"Circe did that," Herpo pointed out. "That woman's ambition and ego were so big that she decided to reveal her powers to the muggles. Nowadays she is considered as an immortal Goddess. I can't approve of the way she printed her name in the history of this world, but I understand her."

"Some followed her example," Gerdnyaram said with a grimace on her face. "Rumours about wizards and witches taking part in muggle's conflicts are reaching every single of Greece's corners. Fortunately, they have always believed in the existence of demigods, and thanks to that, the secret of our existence is safe." She paused for a moment to look at Herpo, who kept staring at the crowd below them. "I know why you summoned me here, Herpo, but I can't help you."

"Has the Great Sight remained silent all this time?" Herpo questioned. "The future and prosperity of the magical race is in our hands, the Order of Precursors. We, the Seven Founders, must use all of our talents to honour magic as best as we can. For that, I need you to use the Great Sight, Gerdnyaram. Say, will we ever achieve what we seek?"

"I don't control the Great Sight," Gerdnyaram sighed. "It shows me what it wants, when it wants. It has been silent for many years since we defeated the Nightmares. I'm sorry, but I do not have the answers you seek."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Herpo suddenly asked, with evident disappointment in his voice. "I think all we lack to form a united society is a purpose; a reason to leave our differences aside. If one of us manages to archive that tiny and yet important bit we lack, I think our race will greatly benefit from that. I don't know when my time will come, Gerdnyaram, but before that happens I swear that I will reach the Ascension. That will be my way to show the rest of our race what incredible feats we can accomplish..."

As Herpo's voice faded away, the colourful world began to disappear. First, it was the noises, then, everything decolorized faster than a strong current of water carried logs and little animals alike. When she opened her eyes, there was no one at the beach. It had been a pretty risky gamble of hers, but Gerdnyaram had always been more powerful in that post-mortem world than in the real one. If she wanted to know what the hell was happening out of her sight, she needed to act in a desperate way.

For that, a perfect understanding of the past was as important as what the future had in store for her. She didn't know why, but that memory felt so important today, enough to revive it in the middle of Scala ad Caelum. The place also came with other advantages too. For starters, it felt nice to have her real body back—if it could be considered as so—rather than the little and pathetic form her soul adopted around Ronald. However, not everything was good about it. I hate this dress, the Essentia felt a shiver down her spine as she looked at the pristine, white dress she wore the day of her death, more than two millennia ago.

"I can't feel the presence of Kayle around," Gerdnyaram muttered to herself. She rarely had the opportunity to hear her real voice, but when she did, it was time to talk aloud as much as possible. "It must be one of those few times when she abandons this empty world." Out of her three comrades, the half-elf was, by far, the one to roam Scala ad Caelum the most—for many years, one could say she was the only one. Despite that, there were a few times each year when she felt the need to appear in the real world.

On the contrary, Kadir and Niklos were the total opposite.

Gerdnyaram had many doubts about them... Firstly, she did not know whether they were aware about her being alive or not. For her, the first one to die by Herpo's hand, it had been too easy to put her soul into an endless slumber to regain as much power as she could; just as the Great Sighttold her to do. But for them, who died days after her, the post-mortem revelation must have been an endless sea of possibilities.

Because of that, the two of them left Scala ad Caelum long ago.

Kadir had been her tutor for many years; she knew him and his ambitions very well. Hell, it should have been very easy to guess his future... He was supposed to look for Herpo, their killer, and the reason after their new existence. Yet, the man she had always idolized had joined a foolish wizard who tried to revive the so-called Lord Voldemort.

Why?

The Great Sighthad been greatly weakened during her slumber, but from the few glimpses she caught before creating the Link with the boy, her former master was now an enemy. Kadir, among all people, should have been the one to oppose Herpo's Heir the most... Could he be faking that allegiance to turn his back on them later? If so, why was he protecting Voldemort from her Sight? Did that mean he was aware of her existence? Or was it because he distrusted another one of the Founders?

Many questions and no answers; such was the price of putting herself to sleep for two thousand years.

However, it had been necessary to create the Link with Ronald; to show him the Future—to prevent the end of mankind and the world she loved so much. The boy needed to act as the Guardian he was meant to be. Gerdnyaram did not have much faith in him, and it was not just because of how slow his training went. No, it was not even his fault. To place such a burden on the shoulders of a thirteen-year-old boy... who could be so cruel?

For that question, the answer was very simple: the Great Sight.

When the little piece of soul she used to befriend the boy met him, back then when the Link was yet to be created, that negligible part of her kept doubting about everything... What was her purpose in the world? Why was Ronald brought to Scala ad Caelum? Why did she lack so many memories? In the present, all those unsolved mysteries had found their truths. All the knowledge came back to her when the boy was shown the event which started everything; the day Herpo took the step to become the First God.

However, the Great Sight had been silent since then.

What is Kayle's purpose and why did she spend so much time here? What was Niklos doing in that forest? Were the others also reborn as Essentias? More questions wandering her restless mind. Ronald had started to question her about her constant disappearances, what should she tell him? How could she incite the boy to work harder without him noticing? More and more questions...

Gerdnyaram hated the impotence of not knowing what to do.

Why did she fail to stop Herpo? Now, that one had a very obvious answer. "Because I got scared of the Future," Gerdnyaram admitted. "I let my emotions get the worst of me, and because of that, I sentenced the world." It was the hundredth time those words came out of her mouth, but it helped her to move forward—it was both her sin and punishment. "I won't commit the same mistake again. It doesn't matter how much time it takes, I was reborn to end Herpo and his legacy. Let it be his anchor to life or his heir, Lord Voldemort."

Yeah, that was her purpose.

Gerdnyaram would fulfil her destiny no matter what. Damned be those who opposed her. She did not care how many obstacles were on her way. "Wizards from the present and comrades from the past will be shattered if they dare to help Herpo," the Essentia swore. An oath in Scala ad Caelum was something she would not ever betray. "It does not matter to me how far I need to go. This is the reason why the Great Sight was bestowed to me."

For an instant, a little part of her soul screamed inside her. What is this? That was not supposed to happen, not since the Link was completed. Gerd was dead; it was an instrument to control the present. Gerdnyaram was the real one, who had the power to save the world.

A voice disrupted her thoughts. "Gerd?" The Essentia was pulled back to the real world.

---

Ronald Weasley POV

"Gerd, are you there?" The redhead asked for a second time. It had been more than a week since he last talked to the Essentia, and even though he knew how busy she was—well, not really, to be honest—he could not help himself but to worry about her.

Gerd usually meditated around that place; not far from the boundary of the Forbidden Forest with the castle, but deep enough to not get interrupted by random students. The rays of sun seeped through the thicket as best as they could, illuminating the little clearing with a cut log in the middle of it; the seat he often used to take a few recovering breaths mid training.

"I'm here," a familiar voice answered him. It was Gerd, who glided down in his direction from atop of the tallest tree in the clearing. "Do you need anything from me? Wait, don't tell me the Heir finally struck again? We need to act now!"

"Damn," Ron whistled, quite surprised. "There was none of that. I just wanted to talk to you a bit."

"Oh, so it was that," the Essentia tried to smile at him, but it came out weirdly.

"Did I interrupt something important?" Ron asked. The way his long-time friend acted made him believe so. Not to mention how she had been acting for a long time. To be precise, since their encounter with He-Who-Shall-No-Be-Names, back in the fight for the Stone.

"Well, I was trying very hard to remember an important event of my past life," she explained. "One that I've had many problems with for some time. But don't worry about it, my efforts didn't look very promising so far; you interrupted nothing."

Now, that sounded like the Gerd he knew. "I'm sorry," he sent her a soft look. "It must be hard to not remember your life. Anyhow, I wanted to ask you about the Heir. We just don't understand his behaviour, and it's driving us crazy. Why would he stop the attacks when he had the school totally terrified? Is it because of the Aurors? I don't think so, but Neville and Tracey support that idea."

Gerd looked quite thoughtful for some moments. "To be honest, I don't have any idea," the Essentia said. "All his attacks had something in common: the victims were isolated objectives. I've kept an eye on those Aurors who came here, and that blonde girl sure spends a lot of time patrolling the castle. Moreover, both the older students and the Professors multiplied their watches. I don't buy it, but maybe, the Heir really is under more pressure now."

"Still, I think each day without an attack is good for us," Gerd continued. "The more time he spends in the castle, looking for the best opportunity to strike, the better chances of us to capture him. Most of the time, when people have a goal, inaction leads to desperation. That is when they commit fatal mistakes, Ron. I experienced it firsthand the day I died; I know what I'm talking about."

Yeah, that sounded like a plausible explanation. "I see," the redhead hummed. "Say, do you want to do something? I have a free period, and I don't mind training or talking for a few hours. It is up to you."

Gerd descended until she floated right in front of his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I'm so tired today," the Essentia apologised. In her defence, she sounded totally defeated. "I've been trying to remember a certain memory for the whole day, and so far, it feels as if I have done nothing. No matter how hard I try, the memory doesn't come back. I really appreciate you worrying about me—just as I'm glad to see that you are doing fine these days—but I need some time for myself."

Even if he understood her, it still disappointed him a bit. Then he felt angry at himself for that childish reaction. If it was otherwise, Gerd would respect it with a smile on her face. "Okay, I get it, really," Ron smiled at her as best as he could. "Just tell me when you are ready. Sometimes, I really miss the good, old times between us. At least, there weren't psycho Heirs or memories which are impossible to retrieve back then."

"Yeah," she gave the hint of a smile. "I also miss them."

When the redhead began his walk to the forest, he did not expect to come back to the castle so early. Because of that, he made his way to his favourite spot in the whole school: that solitary, tall tree atop of a hill with views to the Great Lake. There, he sat to enjoy the rays of sun hitting him in the face.

In theory, students were not supposed to roam the castle's outsides unless there was a special reason for it, but now that the weather was getting warmer and warmer, the Headmaster had allowed them to go out on Fridays and weekends. However, up there, the redhead found enough calm to get Riddle's diary out of his old bag. Today, it had been his intention to introduce Gerd to him—to see what the Essentia thought about their new ally.

Unfortunately, his plans took a turn for the worse. 'Seems like I won't be as busy as I told you,' Ron wrote in the notebook as soon as he checked that nobody was around. 'Now that I think about it, this is the first time I ever talk to you outside my room.'

'We are outside, eh? Why don't you tell me how good the day is? It's been forty-eight years since I last visited the school.'

'For a day of February, it is pretty warm. There are plenty of people around, but don't worry, they aren't close enough to meddle in our conversation. The worst part of this quarantine is how long Quidditch had been suspended, but there are some older students flying nearby; from what I can tell, they are Ravenclaws. I can also see Hagrid from this spot, he's building some kind of fence around his hut; if I recall correctly, he's said something about some wild creature from the Forest murdering his crooks.'

'That is a pity,' Riddle wrote back. 'Every time I think about Hagrid I hate myself even more. If I could go back in time, I'd change the way I acted...'

'We can still help him,' Ron told him. It was a thought that crossed his mind a few weeks ago. If Hagrid was stripped from his wand because of a crime he did not commit, he should be pardoned when proven innocent, right? That was how those kinds of things worked. 'I could even give him the diary so the two of you can sort out what happened in the past. If you want, of course.''

'That would be lovely, but let's talk less about the past and things that can't be undone. Have you given a thought to what I said? You know, to introduce me to that dead woman you are always talking about?'

'I did,' the redhead confessed. 'In fact, that's the only reason why you are here. Unfortunately, Gerd told me that she was too tired today to do anything.'

'Gerd, eh? Is that her name?'

That was a piece of information he was not supposed to reveal, but it was a bit too late to change it. 'Yeah, that's her name,' the boy hoped for his writing to not give away how much he hesitated to write those words. 'But not as if it matters since you two won't meet for another week or so. Anyhow, do you know my birthday is in three days?'

'I didn't know that! Are you expecting any special presents? Maybe a brand new broom or a set of books about duelling?'

That would be lovely, indeed. However, they lacked the money to even think of it. 'We are poor.' Much to his surprise, the words came out very easily—hell, his wrist didn't hesitate a bit! In fact, Ron could not understand why their financial status ashamed him so much when he first came to Hogwarts. I guess I'm not worried anymore of people mocking me because of that, he came to a realization. Malfoy did it in the past, but now, no one has made a comment on it for more than a year... Neither Blaise nor Daphne ever mocked me for it, from what I recall.

'Are you there, Ronald?' Riddle's elegant writing pulled him out of his thoughts.

'Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't expect for those words to come out of me so easily. I've always had some problems with our lack of money, you know?'

'Don't worry, I've also experienced that sensation... You can't imagine how much I hated that people always mocked me because of how little money I had or because everything I had was bought with gold that didn't belong to me. It didn't matter how hard I tried in class; how good my magic was; how kind I was to them... No, they always used that topic to get me. Luckily, I grew it up after a few years, so they stopped using that against me as soon as I smirked at their futile efforts to rile me up.'

'Really?' That was something Ron didn't expect to read. Riddle always looked so strong and composed... Yet, what he just said was totally related to what the redhead used to feel. Deep inside of him, he still resented his parents a bit because of that, especially when he fidgeted with his wand. Children were supposed to buy their wands in Ollivander's, accompanied by their parents, not in a cold wandmaker's workshop lost in the middle of a mountain.

'Of course,' Riddle went on. 'I mean, my case was a bit different because I had always lived in a muggle orphanage. Thankfully, the school had a fund for poor children like me. They bought me everything; books, ingredients for potions, a cat for a pet and even my precious wand. You don't know how scared I was when I realized that I had no money to buy all the things I needed. I almost cried when I realized that my magical life was in danger because of how important a wand was for a wizard!'

'I totally feel you. Can you believe my parents couldn't afford to buy me a wand? I was so pissed and sad that I started to run away from them as fast as I could!'

'You can't be serious! But, say, weren't you expecting that? I mean, since you have a lot of brothers and all of that, you must have seen plenty of times how they also had problems getting their wands, didn't you?'

That touched a nerve inside the redhead; a wound that he believed to be closed. 'They all got their wand,' he wrote with a grimace in his face, even if his friend could not see it. 'It was me the only one who almost attended Hogwarts without his. It turned out that my parents wanted to buy my brother Percy an owl... Don't get me wrong. I love my brother, and now, after more than a year, I understand why they did it. Percy has always worked his ass off so much—trust me, you can't imagine—and most of the time, he was mocked by his siblings because of it, I included. He deserved his reward.'

'That's nice of you, but don't try to hide how you feel with me, Ronald. I know you still hurt from that. I'd also.'

Ron knew there was a world in which, had he not met Gerard, he would have attended Hogwarts with his uncle's wand. That angered him. It didn't happen, that's what really matters, he told , he had his own wand—one that allowed him to shine in class! There was no reason to worry about the past. 'Maybe, but I'm happy now, so there is no point to ponder so hard about it.'

'You are also right about that. I'd say your results in class shut everyone up, eh? Those who mocked you because of your family's lack of money, and those who would have done it because of a second-handed wand. Trust me, I know how good it feels to prove them wrong.'

'Yeah... It certainly was one of the things that pushed me to work harder. It might sound wrong, but it felt so good to have everyone's eyes on me... I didn't even care about their envious looks. For once, I was the centre of attention.'

'That's how you should feel, Ronald. I've always told you this, but you lack pride. I think it is about time for you to embrace that trait. Be proud of what you've archived, but don't get too content with it; that's for lesser men. People like us, who earned all they have with hard work and effort, should always strive for greatness.'

---

Daphne Greengrass POV

Thursday 1st March 1993 (Hogwarts) – Middle of the morning

It was a rainy day. From her desk, Daphne heard how the raindrops impacted against the windows with sharp noises, as if they were trying to take part in Flitwick's monologue. With her head resting on her hand, the blonde looked around. There were some people, like herself, who weren't excited enough to listen to the Professor with open ears and avid eyes; who cared so much about the explanation? In the end, the whole point of the class was to perform the spell; there was no need to do it flashier or faster when others were better than her. Besides, she had always been quite good at finding the balance between good results and low effort.

On top of it, she had the incredible skill to pay attention to multiple things at the same time. After all, she had been receiving private classes since she had a memory. "Oh, that is a very interesting question, Mrs Davies!" Flitwick happily complimented. It made Daphne focus back on the class. "Come on, say it aloud!"

Tracey cleared her throat with a reddening face. "Well, I had this question about the different versions of some spells," the brunette said, getting more comfortable as she went on. "Since we saw a different version of the Slowing Charm in the club of magical creatures, that's it. I just wanted to know the reason behind it and if it was such a common thing."

Flitwick silently encouraged them to clap at Tracey before answering—some did it, others didn't, but it was enough to make the Professor smile at the students. "It is indeed a very common thing," he finally explained. "Lots of spells were invented many centuries ago. I don't want to elaborate much about this—I'm sure Professor Binn will provide you with a magnificent explanation—so I will give a specific example: the Fire-Making Spell. Such a useful and easy spell, don't you think? Come on, who can tell me something about it and its different versions?"

That was something Daphne could do quite easily. "There is the Duo version, sir," she replied, her hand rising in the air faster than anyone. "We learned it in Herbology because we might need a stronger spell to burn different kinds of slugs and plagues."

"That's Pomona for you," the Professor nodded at her words. "Tell me, Greengrass, do you have any idea about why this advanced version was created?"

For a few seconds, she really tried to think about it. "No," Daphne said with a shrug of her shoulders. It was useless to ponder so hard about things she didn't know.

"Well, up to this day, nobody knows if it was created on purpose or by accident," Flitwick told them as he jumped on his table to look at them eye to eye. "Maybe, there was once a wizard who needed to burn a very nasty plague of slugs, or maybe he needed it to save his life. However, that is not important. Magic is always changing and developing, mostly, because of us, the magical race; the ones who interact with it the most. If one of you, someday and for any reason, creates a new spell or a different version of an existent one, it will be given a Meaning."

"Now, what is this Meaning thing I'm talking about?" The Professor went on. "It is the process Magic has to allow us to 'rewrite' it. Magic is nothing but raw energy, and we can manipulate it thanks to our magical cores, the only factor which distinguishes us from non-magical people. When a new form of magic is given a Meaning, it becomes a new spell or curse. Most of the time, that process is done in extreme situations, and that new spell is something that will never be repeated. Why's that? Because the wizard who created it did it unconsciously; with the sole reason to save his life. He won't know how to cast it again, and because of that, it will be considered as a spur of accidental magic."

"But that doesn't happen with these versions we were talking about, right?" Ron asked, looking quite immersed in the class. "I mean, so far, the different versions of simple spells we've already seen are pretty much known by everyone."

"Correct," Flitwick nodded quite fervently. "Because they were created by someone—let it be an investigator or a simple farmer—with a specific purpose in mind, and so, they had all the intent to cast it again in the future."

"I might be changing the topic a bit too much, but isn't the Shield Charm a very weird exception?" Nott cut in. "I mean, there literally are thousands of different versions—let it be based on the duelling style or the situation's requirements. The duellists are perfectly able to cast them again and again, but some of them can only be cast by the wizard who invented it; what is the reason? Didn't you just say that when a Meaning was given the new spell it was…, let's say, accepted?"

"When I was younger, there was a theory called the Theory of Affinity," Flitwick said as his entire face lit up like a candle. "It didn't have a big acceptance because it kind of elaborate on why wizards would never exert a total dominance over Magic, and many people's ego were hurt because of it. Personally, I loved it! Anyhow, to apply it to your example, yeah, those new versions of the Shield Charm had been given a Meaning, and the creator is perfectly able to cast it because he knows all the requirements needed for it. Now, why would a random person like you and me cast it? We know nothing about how that wizard directed and manipulated his flow of magic, what he went through to invent it or even what kind or emotions he used to fuel it."

"So, let me get this straight, sir," Nott said as he massaged his temples. "From what you just said, I deduce that you support that theory about certain wizards feeling affinity for, not only certain types of magic, but even for certain types of spell, isn't it? Because of that, let's imagine there are two very advanced versions of the Shield Charm, one even more complex than the other. I might be able to cast it—after knowing all the requirements, of course—because, let's say, it fits better with me and my magic?"

"Totally," Flitwick nodded. "Mental Arts; Dark Arts; Healing Magic; Transfiguration; general use of Charms and Spells," the Professor enlisted. "There are many fields of magic, and some people have an affinity for one of them, some even have for multiple, and a great minority might even have an affinity for magic as a whole. In my case, I'm an Elementalist myself: a wizard who has an affinity for Elemental Magic. Moreover, it has always been easier for me to manipulate water and wind, rather than earth and fire."

A huge silence fell upon the class after the conversation suddenly finished. What was that? My head hurts. Many of the students looked like her; open eyes and awestruck gestures on their faces. Others, like Nott or Ron, looked way more thoughtful, as if they had understood something the others didn't. But it was Tracey, the one who started it all, who asked the question that was in everyone's mind. "Ehm, that was very interesting and all of that, sir," the brunette started. "But…, what does it have to do with the Fire-Making Spell and its different versions?"

Flitwick looked at her for a few seconds, as if he really had problems understanding the question. Then, he almost jumped out of his seat atop the table. "I'm so sorry!" He squeaked. "It was such an interesting conversation that I completely lost the flow of it and got too immersed! I'm sorry! Did I talk too much about too complicated stuff? Oh my, but you were asking such interesting and good questions that I felt the need to push on!"

"I can't talk for others, but don't worry about it, sir," Ron piped in. "It was extremely interesting, and I'm sure it will be so useful for our future. Besides, I think we already know enough about the Fire-Making Spell. It has two simple variations that we should be able to cast without many problems: the Duo version, of green flames, and the Tria version, of blue flames."

He said blue flames? Like the ones Hermione used to get rid of the Devil's Embrace when we went after the Stone? That muggle-born bookworm really was a dedicated witch. Well, there is a reason why she is the top student of our promotion. Everyone was free to spend their time as they pleased. However, was it worth it to spend so much time with your nose inside a book?

Daphne understood very well the need to get complimented and to receive attention. Hell, due to one reason or another, she had always been pretty much the focus of attention in the pureblood meetings, even though it came naturally due to her name. How far Hermione and Ron were ready to go in their search of recognition truly left her speechless. The bushy-haired girl wanted to prove to everyone who doubted her that the purity of her blood—more like the lack of it—didn't entail a lack of affinity towards magic, while the redhead wanted to make a statement about him being more than just another Weasley.

Freaks, that's what they were. Utter and complete freaks who, in secret, Daphne wished she could resemble a bit more to them. Damn, what would my father say if he could hear my thoughts right now? Maybe, if she shared a few more traits with her not-so pure-blooded classmates, her father wouldn't have given her the cold shoulder that past summer. Why can't life be easier? I just want to live without so much pressure while keeping the easy life I've had until now. Daphne knew that was an ideal world; one impossible to happen. But what was the point of ideal worlds if not to dream about them?

Everyone around her stood up, and she managed to imitate them in time. The class had ended and she hadn't realized it, too lost in her thoughts to pay attention to her surroundings. "I can't say this was what I had planned for the class, but it turned out to be more interesting, or so I think," Flitwick said as he waved them goodbye. "This was the last class to revise spells from the first year. We'll learn how to properly cast the Skurge Charm in the next one!"

What a boring spell, yet, she smiled at the Professor as most of her classmates did. Once the lecture ended—nowadays the atmosphere was far calmer, so they didn't need to be escorted back by the Aurors or prefects—they made their way out of the classroom, yet, that complex topic didn't abandon them. "Honestly, I was about to lose my mind there," Tracey said, her point emphasized with wild gesticulations. "It was supposed to be an easy class of reinforcement, not one to hammer a bunch of ancient lore about magic in our heads!"

"Well, you were the one to start it all," Blaise pointed out, as sharp as always. "It was interesting at first, but then, Flitwick lost himself in it and I lost track of everything."

"It wasn't so hard to understand," Ron sent them a weird look. "I think you three lost track of it because you weren't interested in it at all." There was no intentional pun in these words—or so the blonde thought—but it wasn't common for the redhead to talk like that. "Sure, there were some tricky parts to understand, especially since the conversation wasn't meant for some second-year students like us. However, I and Nott didn't have so many problems, and we ain't no geniuses. We just put a little effort into it. Unlike the rest of the class, who stopped listening as soon as the Meaning was brought."

For a few seconds none talked.

Tracey looked really thoughtful about Ron's opinion, while Blaise just raised his brow in a curious and silent inquiry; maybe the boy was too surprised to comment how weird those words sounded, just like Daphne was. That was harsh, it was the first thought that came to her mind. It was also correct, though, came next. She was about to ask the redhead about it when two of her less favourite persons appeared at the end of the corridor.

Fred and George Weasley, with their signature smiles plastered on their faces, walked towards them with hands in their pockets. Fortunately, Daphne had yet to experience one of their infamous jokes, but she had seen firsthand, many times, how one of her fellow housemates was pranked by the twins—they could be as cruel as they were ingenious, and that was no short thing.

"Look at that, Gred!" One of them said as his arms opened wide over his head. "Isn't that our dear Ronnie? Accompanied by his snaky group of friends!"

"I don't think we share the same definition of that word," Blaise muttered in a low voice.

"What do you want?" Ron groaned. They were family, but it didn't matter. When the Weasley twins were around, problems were bound to happen—sharing blood wasn't a protective card.

"Oh, come on, why are you so mean?" The other twin lamented, failing pretty miserably at containing his smirk. "Can you believe it, Forge? As soon as they grow we ain't family anymore! Hell, we just wanted to congratulate you on this very special day, dear Ronnie!"

"What?" The redhead replied, looking as lost as the Slytherins were.

Something sparkled in Tracey's eyes. "Oh, it's March the first!" She squeaked. "Today is your thirteenth birthday!"

What! I totally forgot about it! Much to her surprise, not even Ron himself had realized it until the last few seconds. "Oh, bloody hell," the redhead snorted. Despite that, a smile was now brightening his face; it had been a long time since Daphne last observed one as real as this was. "I was expecting you to pull another one of those diabolical spiders on me! Come on, you can't approach us with those smirks of yours to wish me a happy birthday!"

"Technically, we didn't congratulate you yet," one of them said as he embraced Ron with one arm; rather strongly, if she may add. "Happy birthday, lil Ronnie!"

"Who could have thought that you'd reach our height so soon," the other one laughed as he patted the younger Weasley on the back. "Now, you better don't pull a Percy on us, eh? You can grow taller, but don't ever get as presumptuous as him!"

"Merlin, I have better things to do," Blaise sighed as he walked away when no one looked in his direction.

"Too much happiness for him," Tracey snickered. "Can't blame him, though. The Professors really need to calm down before giving us homework. Hell, McGonagall's essay for this week is absolutely absurd!"

Daphne hummed in response as she looked at redheads. Honestly, their dynamic was still a mystery to her. It didn't matter how many times she saw them interact with each other. One day, they were as good as the scene in front of her showed, but by the next one, it was a spectacle of shouts, curses and pranks. Not to mention Percival, the oldest brother, who had a very nasty relationship with the twins.

Astoria would lose her mind with just a day in the same room as the Weasleys. That scenario made the blonde to shock her head, quite amused at the thought. However, her mirth flew away as soon as she discovered that it had caught the eye of one twin. The infamous prankster walked towards her with a smile plastered on his face. It screamed trouble.

"Pardon my discourtesy, my Lady," Weasley said as he made an exaggerated curtsy. "I believe this is the first time we exchange words. I truly am such a blessed man to have this opportunity!" He passed his left arm over her shoulder—as if they had known each other for many years—just like his sibling did with Ron. "The name's George, madam," then, he looked at Tracey, and his smirk turned into a more believable smile. "Hello there, Tracey! It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Sure," she snickered. Probably, at the blonde's expense; a very cruel thing to do under Daphne's eyes. "Don't you think you are freaking her out a bit?"

"How do you dare to accuse me of such a vile act?" George Weasley gasped as he moved his arm from her shoulder. "It was just a silly introduction, really. It is my duty as the older brother to know each one of lil Ronnie's friends. His purity needs to be preserved!"

"Yeah, I'm not sure about that one with you around," Daphne said as she stepped back from the redhead. "Please, act as if I didn't exist."

"Oh my, that's the famous 'ice queen' facade I've heard so much about!" Whether he was serious or not was something she wasn't sure of. Because of that, Daphne chose to act as her father would do in such a bizarre situation—stare at him with her coldest look, as if she was trying to look through his soul, until the boy got too uncomfortable to keep pestering her.

It always worked, but unfortunately, George Weasley was no ordinary person. "Damn, look at that! Did you stare at my brother like that when you met him back during the first day of class?" He let out a loud guffaw. "I pity him!"

"Listen," Daphne cut in, trying to hide her evident blush, even if her reddening cheeks didn't share her opinion. "I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment, but it is time to stop it."

For the first time in the conversation, George Weasley looked at her with a serious face. Or rather, with a more serious look—he really needed to work on every facial expression which didn't include a smirk on it. "Okay, I might have crossed a line here, but just a bit," the redhead sighed as he dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "I just wanted to measure you up."

"Then, what did you make of it?" Daphne asked, not one to shy away from the challenge.

"To be honest, what I expected," George Weasley replied, a smirk back on his face. "Okay, maybe a bit better. That being said, our dear Tracey here beat you by a large margin."

"You aren't going to forget that snowball, are you?" Tracey groaned. "Come on, it's been months since that!"

"A true knight never accepts defeat," George Weasley recited. "The score is one up in your favour, but next winter, we are gonna repeat that snowball fight with the same teams, and I'm going to slap the biggest snowball you've ever seen in your pretty face. How about that?"

"Then, you better up your game if you don't want to repeat your failure."

"Sassy, I like it."

This conversation doesn't make any sense! Daphne was about to pull out a Blaise when the redhead interrupted her. "Hey, where are you going so soon?" Weasley asked as he stepped in her way. "I have an apology gift for you. It wasn't right the way I treated you. Here, have it." There, on his hand, a very circular, black ball—made of an unknown material—rolled from one side of the hand to another due to the tempting movements the boy did. "Come on, this is one of our exclusive products! Don't let his unique opportunity slip!"

After a few seconds of hesitation, the blonde grabbed it. It wasn't bigger than a regular candy, and yet, it looked terribly menacing. "What is this?" Daphne asked as she rolled the present between her fingers.

"One of our latest products!" George Weasley replied. "We called it a Sickness-Inducing Sweet! This one is chocolate flavoured."

"Okay, but what's the point of it? Why would I ever want to be sick?"

"Come on," the redhead looked at her as if she had grown a second head out of nowhere. "Imagine there is a very nasty class of Potions you don't want to attend, which happens to be a very common event throughout the week. Well, just a little bite of this wonder is all you'll ever need to create the best of the excuses. We tested it on ourselves, so don't worry about it too much... Okay, maybe there are still some secondary effects, not gonna lie here, but it's totally worth it!"

"Oh, I almost forgot it!" He went on. "Here, have this one too. It is the antidote," now, he handed her a very similar ball, but this time it was of a white colour. "Once you manage to fool whoever the hell you need, just take a little bite of this one and voila! You'll be as good as ever," as he talked, the redhead put the white ball on her left hand just to close it after that. "Just don't forget to give us your feedback. It doesn't matter how good our creations are, the best inventors always look to upgrade their products!"

Daphne just stored the two sweets in her jersey's pocket, the one over her chest. "Thanks, I guess," she grimaced. "I'll try to give it…, a good use."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Weasley winked an eye at her as he made his way towards his two brothers.

"What a freak," Daphne muttered in a low voice.

"I think they are incredibly smart," Tracey piped in. "A pair of freaks, yeah, but what they are able to do is incredible."

The two girls waited for Ron to finish his conversation with his brothers. Thankfully, it ended in less than a minute. "Well, I don't know if George gave you any problems, but sorry if he did," Ron apologised as soon as he met the two girls. He didn't sound very sorry at all, in fact, he had a bright smile plastered on his face. "Look at what they gave me," he pointed at some kind of necklace over his shoulders.

When Daphne took a closer look, she realized it wasn't a necklace. His gift was some kind of flesh-coloured cord with two small, fake ears—very realistic, if she may add—at the ends. "Fred called them Extendable Ears," Ron told them. "He said they were perfect to hear conversations you weren't supposed to listen to."

The three of them made their way towards the common room. "That sounds wicked," Tracey pointed out. "But are you sure they'll work? I mean, from what you told me about them, this spur of gratitude doesn't look as something your brothers would do."

"It isn't a spur of gratitude," Ron snorted. "All they want is a volunteer to test their products on. However, since my brother Percy has always confiscated their products as soon as he realized what was going on, they needed to change their strategy. Both the ears and the sweets they gave you had been previously tested by them, but they need proof of them working with other people; with their future customers. There are very few things the twins will ever take seriously in life, but their products and prank items are top priority on that list. Their reputation relies on it, after all."

"How do these fake ears work?" Daphne asked, really curious.

"In theory, all I have to do is put one of the ends in my ear and throw the other one near the conversation of interest," the redhead explained. "Fred also said they placed some charms on them—the kind of wards and spells to make them unnoticeable and to augment their area of effect."

"How can they create something so awesome?" Daphne wondered aloud. From what she knew about the Weasleys, it was Percival the one to be a genius. She had always been aware of the twins' reputation since she first set foot at Hogwarts, of course, but this new facet of theirs really surprised her. It was one thing to be a prankster and to create your own items for them, but it was a whole different thing to invent such useful and creative creations as the Extendable Ears were.

"They've always been very dedicated to the things they liked," Ron answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "My mother always wanted for studies to be that thing, but it was an unwinnable battle. You can't imagine the amount of hours George and Fred spend with their noses under a book. Even I, his brother, was very surprised when I realized how much time they studied. But whatever, the busier they are, the less time they have to prank me. If I can even enjoy their products, it is a win-win situation!"

The two sweets on her chest pocket now felt heavier. Maybe I can give them a good use in the future, who knows? Without realizing, they had reached the entrance at the common door; the ever present snake, carved on the wooden door, staring at them with dead eyes. "Salazar," Daphne recited the password. The door opened from the middle as the two halves of the door were pulled inside the wall through their grooves.

"Have they tested them?" Tracey asked. "The Ears, I mean."

"So they said," Ron replied as he practically threw himself onto a couch. "In fact, they listened to a conversation between that male, young Auror and Professor Sinistra. It seems the Minister in person is paying us a visit in the near future."

"The Minister?" Tracey repeated. "The very Cornelius Fudge himself?"

"Yep," the redhead answered. "I don't know any other Minister, to be honest. What I also don't know is why the hell he would come here in such strange times. It doesn't make any sense at all."

"It does," Daphne corrected him. "The country's elections are getting closer, and Fudge must be feeling very uneasy about them. First, it was the whole scandal about Pettigrew, then, it came the Heir of Slytherin, when the first attacks were leaked to the public by The Quibbler. Now that things are looking quite better, I think he wants to make an appearance at Hogwarts to steal all the glory for his campaign. Hell, in the past days, The Daily Prophet had published a few articles about how the measures taken by our 'great Minister' shooed the Heir away!"

"Wow," Ron whistled, looking really dumbfounded about her explanation. "My parents always said Fudge was a…, let's say, a not so capable leader."

"Mine always said he was a jerk," Tracey added.

"Well, my father likes to call him the dumbest man to ever assume the control of a nation," Daphne snorted. Yet, he also puts up with the Minister's nonsense to fall in good graces with him. Politicians and purebloods were two sides of the same coin, and Daphne really abhorred them. "Anyhow, one thing is very clear here: it doesn't matter what the hell happens, one can't get bored in this school."

---

Harry Potter POV

Saturday 6th March 1993 (Myrtle's bathroom, Hogwarts) – Middle of the morning

A dirty and often flooded bathroom didn't sound as the best place to meet with friends, however, when Myrtle wasn't around, it was one of the best meeting points in the whole castle. Mainly because it was safe from unwanted eyes and ears—who in his sound mind would ever step into Moaning Myrtle's most frequented spot? Well, Harry and his friends did.

"I don't like it," Hermione repeated for the hundredth time as she walked in circles around them. "I don't like it a bit."

"Me neither," Ron sighed, quite exasperated due to their lack of good ideas. "But what else can we do? There is no trace about the Heir; the security measures had been really effective since the Aurors came here; the Mandrakes won't take much more time to be ready... Hell, are we even needed here?"

If you say it that way, it is really hard to not feel useless. Despite how much he hated it, Harry knew the redhead was kind of right. They had done nothing since Christmas, and it wasn't due to a lack of effort—no, it was the results they lacked. Malfoy had been their principal suspect and their all-in card, but that plan failed months ago, and they've been lost since then. "I'm with Ron here," Harry finally said. "I don't see how we can help the adults anymore. We just don't have enough information, not even close to think of a new plan."

"Then, are you suggesting that we should drop everything and look the other way?" Tracey asked as she bit her lip; a fixation the girl always did when nervous or anxious. In fact, that was the third time in five minutes Harry appreciated it.

"No, well, maybe not so literal," Ron replied. "I think we should step aside, that's it. Maybe, the Heir hasn't attacked in a long time because of all the people watching out for him—we, the Professors, the prefects and the Aurors are loads of obstacles to avoid. Look, all I'm saying is we should keep an eye on everything, like we've done for months, but we should also stop being so obvious about it."

"What do you mean?" Hermione piped in, now standing as stiff as a rock.

"You think the Heir knows we are after him?" Neville asked.

I didn't think about that possibility. Just like him, the other two girls looked really thoughtful after Neville's question. "Maybe," the redhead ended up saying. "We know nothing about the Heir, but three months are a lot of time to observe everyone and everything—at least, I'd do it if I was him."

"So, let me get your point," Harry cut in. "You think that maybe, the Heir knows he is in a critical situation, and because of that, he's going to remain inactive as long as the perfect chance doesn't present itself in front of him. On top of that, he might know we are after him... Mmh, it is true that we weren't very subtle about our meetings and all of that, but-"

"Wait a moment," Hermione interrupted him. "You can't possibly propose for us to bait him, can you? That would be so cruel! If what you say turns out to be true, now, more than ever, it is time to increase our activity! The school year will end in three months, this is the last push!"

"Don't put words I didn't say in my mouth," Ron grunted, the point of his ears getting redder than Santa's hat. He took a few steps towards the bushy-haired girl, but Tracey calmed him by placing a hand over his shoulder. The redhead growled a few unintelligible words in a very low voice, but it was enough to calm him down a bit—enough to retake the conversation, at least. "Why should we give so much importance to the fact that school is ending in three months?" He accused her. "Is there something I'm missing? You should share it for us, you know? We ain't as clever as you."

Now it was Hermione's turn to redden. "Because the Heir might be in his last year!" She almost exclaimed. "Think about it. Why has he chosen this year, and not any other, to begin his purge? Because it is much easier to avoid getting captured in one year than it is for two, three or four! It is the most logical answer! He completes his purge and then he's off to continue with his life, safe from the consequences of getting caught!"

It had been a long time since the two of them last argued like that, and the other three couldn't do a thing but to observe them as if it was a tennis game. "Eh, guys?" Neville tried to stop them. "Don't you think this isn't the moment?"

Harry, more used than anyone to those arguments, placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let them," he sighed. "They need to argue like that once in a while. There is no point in stopping them once they are already at it." That and the fact Harry had tried to stop them so many times in the past that he knew how useless it was.

"See, that is the problem!" Ron laughed without any mirth in his voice. "You are too logical, and so are your plans. That's why once your great plan about the Polyjuice potion failed, none came after it! We need to act in a different way if we want to stop that bastard, Hermione—we need to act riskier! You can't win a game of chess against a strong opponent just by playing the most standard game possible and waiting for him to fail. It is time to change our strategy! Even if that means taking a more passive stance! Why don't you listen to me for once?"

For a few seconds, no one talked. Some looked a bit taken aback because of the words, but Hermione looked completely perplexed. Those words weren't thought of in the spur of the argument. They've been on his mind for some time, Harry came to the conclusion. But maybe... He could be right.

So far, since the very first attack on Mrs Norris, all they had done was to play by the Heir's tune. All the plans had been too aggressive, trying to capture him as soon as they could. If there was something Oliver Wood taught him was that in Quidditch, the more initiative a team had, the more prone it was for it to commit mistakes—a reactive style was always safer, but one couldn't call the plays. That could be applied here. Wait for the opponent to miss and strike back at full force. It wasn't a bad plan.

"Okay, this is enough!" Tracey cut in. "Why the hell are we arguing like this? We need to hold ourselves together, just like we've done for the past months!"

"I never said otherwise," Ron replied. "What I said was something which needed to get into your heads, and I don't care if I gotta hammer it into them! We are losing. We've been losing all the time and we are gonna lose if we don't do something about it! There is a reason why the Heir wasn't caught fifty years ago, haven't you thought about it? He managed to escape when others—people much more capable than us—failed to capture him!"

"Okay, I get it!" Hermione also raised her voice, not budging an inch as she always did. "However, I still think taking a more passive stance isn't the way to go!"

Ron was about to answer, but Harry was already too fed up with their argument to let them continue. "Stop it!" He exclaimed as he got up from his seat on the sink. "Do you really think this is the best time to argue? Come on, this is just pointless! You two have completely different points about how we should act, and unless any of you is ready to yield a bit, we can stay here for ten more hours and the result would be the same!"

"It was him who started it all!" Hermione defended herself.

"Of course, the blame is never yours," Ron snorted as he shook his head in disbelief. "Whatever, this is getting us nowhere. I'm out." Much to their surprise, the redhead made his way towards the bathroom exit.

"Wait a moment," Tracey stopped him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what you think it means. We've done nothing for months by following what she did, so don't expect me to keep accepting her plans as if they were the blessing we needed!" Just like that, he stepped out of the bathroom with a loud slam of the door.

"If he's so intelligent, let's see what he plans to do!" Hermione said. She tried to act collected and unbothered by the argument, but tears started to make her eyes glassy. "I'm off to the library! If the Heir doesn't plan to act anytime soon, I'm gonna discover what kind of Monster he controls before it is too late!" She also made her way out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind with as much force as Ron did. "My plans are bad because they are too logical, he says!" Her voice reached them before it could fade away thanks to the distance.

The only sound that broke the silence was Harry's exasperated sigh. "What a bloody day," the boy said as he massaged his temples. "They always give me a huge headache when they do that."

"That looked very serious," Tracey muttered, still looking at the now closed door. "Shouldn't we have stopped them before it got too late?"

"Don't worry about it too much," Neville sent her a reassuring smile. "It ain't the first time it happens. Those two are very hot-headed and stubborn, so it was bound to happen again sooner or later. They always make up, sometimes after a few hours, and others after a few days. This one won't be different, or so I hope..."

"It won't," Harry stated. "Arguments always happen when there is tension within a group. Trust me, I almost lost my head last year, during the game against Ravenclaw, when Wood called a time-out to reprimand the others because of how bad they were playing. Angelina and Fred almost murdered him, and I thought the game was lost just because of how bad the mood was, but we won, mainly, thanks to that confrontation the captain had with us. So, if this helps those two idiots, welcomed be it."

That being said, it didn't mean Harry enjoyed listening to their arguments. "I'm off, too," he let out a tired sigh. "I need a bit of fresh air to cool my mind off," not turning back, he made his way out of the bathroom. "See you!"

The corridors were practically deserted since everyone enjoyed the warm day outdoors. This would be the perfect chance for the Heir to attack me, he thought. Wouldn't that be lovely? Harry almost desired for it to happen. It would be the easiest way to finally confront him! One could play a game of hide and seek for a certain time, but three months had been enough to shatter his patience.

It was a relaxing walk back to the common room. There was no trace of Peeves or Filch, and not even the most annoying wizards from the moving paintings tried to get his attention. It is too silent... Hogwarts doesn't feel right like this. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that Harry almost walked into the Fat Lady. "Hello, Potter," the common room's guardian saluted him with a raised brow. "You shouldn't walk like that. It is important to have your eyes on the road."

"Courage," Harry told her the password, completely ignoring her. The Fat Lady sent him a cold look, but Harry wasn't in the mood for it. As he went upstairs, the laughs could be heard. The few students who didn't go outside were there, playing some game of explosive snap or talking about life and simple matters of it.

"Yeah, as soon as Wood graduates, the Keeper spot is mine," a third-year boy told his friends. His name was McLaggen, but the twins called him McLosst since he was defeated by Theodore Nott in the duelling club, back in December. "I can't wait to lift the trophy under Gryffindor colours."

Man, you are so lucky your friends didn't see how you performed back during the tryouts, Harry snorted. That had been fun, indeed. When he opened his bedroom's door, there was no one inside, so the boy just grabbed his Nimbus and made his way outside.

However, as he was about to reach the common room's exit, someone intercepted him. "Hey, Harry, do you have a moment?" The familiar voice of Ginny Weasley asked.

"Sure," Harry answered. He didn't even try to smile at her. Every time he did it, Ginny's cheeks went as red as her hair, making everything awkward for both of them, especially since the last time they saw each other was on Valentine's day. Just the mere mention of that event made him shudder, but he managed to suppress it. "What's the matter?"

"I..., just wanted to know if you were doing okay, that's it," Ginny replied in a low voice. "People don't harass you anymore with that Heir crap, right? I mean, how could they believe you to be the Heir in the first place?"

"People are stupid," Harry shrugged it off. "Especially when they are scared. But no, I don't lead the bets anymore," nowadays, it even sounded funny, but back then, it really pissed him off.

"Aren't you afraid?" Ginny went on. "I mean, you are Harry Potter! The Heir of Slytherin should have you as one of his main objectives."

"From what we know, the only ones in danger are the muggle-borns," he replied. "Besides, the Heir hasn't shown any signs of life in three months, maybe he just flew away."

"D-D you really think so," Ginny asked with hope. She must have realized how scared she sounded, because the redhead just blushed even more. Then, out of nowhere, she turned as white as marble. "I just want this hell to end," she muttered in a barely audible whisper. "I want the petrified people back... We had a really nice group of friends when..., when Collin was attacked. Nothing has been the same since then."

Before he realized what he was doing, Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "That bastard will pay, trust me," he said. It wasn't a lie to soothe her, no, he really believed it. "Dumbledore and the Aurors won't ever allow the Heir to escape. He will pay for all the damage he caused."

Ginny looked at him with open eyes for an instant. "I r-really hope so," the girl said as she tried to contain a few tears. When Harry tried to smile at her—he wanted to make a nice smile, but it probably came as a very awkward one—she just turned around to run away from him; her fiery, long hair waiving with each step.

I really need to talk to Ron about his sister, Harry thought as he scratched the back of his neck. I can't talk with Ginny for more than two minutes without her turning into a nervous mess. Whatever, it is time to fly. Harry threw his Nimbus over his shoulder and made his way outside.