Godric's Hollow

The cold was biting even though it hadn't started to snow yet and he was woefully underprepared for the weather. Several visitors nearby cast worried glances at the lonely man but forgot about him as soon as they tried to approach. They always seemed to remember some urgent task that needed to be done.

Before him lay the final monument to Lily Potter, her name carved elegantly into the grave marker. A bouquet of lilies, wilting from the evening cold, lay at its base.

Fighter. Lover. Mother. Potioneer extraordinaire.Were carved on her grave.

"It was you I promised to protect," Snape whispered hoarsely, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes bore into the epitaph as though willing her to appear and stop this cruel farce. "I swore to keep him safe…"

A tremor ran through him as he looked at the next name. A new addition to the graveyard. Oh, how he cursed that name with every fiber of that being.

Harry James Potter.

The Boy Who Lived. Take Away Before His Time. Rest In Peace.

If it wasn't for that cursed child, she would've been alive. If he hadn't been born, she wouldn't have been targeted by Voldemort. And now, the infernal brat…. This selfish, selfish creature didn't even have the dignity and grace to stay alive and fulfill his chosen destiny.

"Burned alive," Snape muttered bitterly, his voice shaking now with disgust. "Burned alive in that wretched house, because I listened to that insufferable, blind...imbecile!"

He whirled suddenly, as if Dumbledore himself might be lurking nearby, bearing the brunt of his anger. "How could you, Albus?" Snape spat venomously. "How could you entrusthim—your precious Chosen One—toher? To that miserable, spiteful woman who despised him from the moment he darkened her doorstep?"

He let out a ragged breath, his chest heaving, his pale fingers clutching at his hair. "You sent Lily's son to live among wolves—because what? You thought love would somehow overcome bloodless malice?"

Then, abruptly, he staggered forward and fell to his knees before the grave. His fingers dug into the soft earth.

"You were my light," he croaked, his voice breaking. "My only salvation. And now—"

"I'm sorry," he gasped into the empty air, though his words felt futile, insufficient. "I'm so sorry, Lily. I've failed you."

Longbottom Manor

Her steely gaze was fixed on him, her expression one of expectant satisfaction.

"So," Augusta began, her voice crisp and cutting, "you've finally come to your senses, Albus."

Dumbledore blinked. "My senses?"

"About Neville," she continued, as though his interjection was irrelevant. "I always knew it. Always suspected. Frank and Alice's boy—destined for greatness. It couldn't possibly have been left to chance." Her lips twisted into something resembling a triumphant smile. "And now, with that unfortunate business concerning young Harry Potter… well, everything has fallen into place, hasn't it?"

Dumbledore hesitated. "Augusta, I must stress that this is but a theory—"

"Atheory?" Augusta scoffed, waving away his caution with a dramatic sweep of her hand. "Nonsense! The signs have always been there. Why, Frank's bravery and Alice's valor alone are proof enough! The Longbottom line is storied, Headmaster. Do you think it an accident that prophecy chose our family? No, no. It was fate."

She leaned forward

"The Potters? Upstart merchants. Nothing more. They may have amassed wealth and influence through Pottery and two-penny hair products, but aristocrats they are not. They lacked thenoblesse obligerequired to bear the weight of prophecy. Blood tells, Albus. The Potter boy perished because his lineage wasn't strong enough. And now, rightly, the mantle has passed to Neville." Augusta lectured.

Dumbledore sighed deeply, searching for the right words. "Neville is a remarkable boy, Augusta, and he has always had the capacity for greatness. However, it is imperative—crucial, in fact—that he not be burdened with knowledge of this hypothesis prematurely."

Augusta raised a thin eyebrow. "Burdened? Hardly! Nevillemustknow who he is and what his duty entails. I shall double his regimen immediately. His practice has been... adequate thus far, but he will need far more if he is to confront his destiny."

"Lady Longbottom—" Dumbledore began, only to be swiftly cut off.

"And his Herbology studies must, of course, expand to include more practical applications. Those plant-based defensive wards can prove invaluable in the field, as you well know. Additionally, I'll have him run drills with Granfinn once a fortnight—"

"Augusta," Dumbledore interjected. "There is no need to overwhelm Neville with such drastic measures. He is still a boy, and whatever destiny awaits him, it would best be approached with care and patience. Security around him should be your highest priority at present."

At this, Augusta let out a bark of laughter, her tone dripping with derision. "Security? What rot! The Longbottoms do not cower behind wards and bodyguards, Albus. We have a proud tradition of confronting threats head-on. Why, it is as natural to our family as breathing! But, then," she added with a razor-sharp smile, "I wouldn't expect a Dumbledore to understand, brilliant as you may be. After all, your family isn't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, is it?"

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, ignoring the jab. "Be that as it may," he said calmly, "I strongly recommend that we proceed with caution. Neville's potential is undeniable, but he will find his own strength best when guided—not coerced. If nothing else, I implore you to let him have a wand that is properly attuned to him. A wand that has chosen him."

At this, Augusta frowned slightly. "What are you insinuating?"

"Magical theory suggests that Neville's struggles may, in part, stem from the fact that he has been using his father's wand," Dumbledore explained, his voice laden with careful tact. "A wand's loyalty is not so easily transferred. A wand that bonds with him uniquely may assist Neville in growing his confidence and control."

Augusta's lips pursed as though she were chewing on the idea, but after a moment, she nodded curtly. "Very well, Albus. You may see to it that Neville is properly outfitted with a new wand." She rose, smoothing her dress and tilting her chin imperiously. "But mark my words: destiny has chosen Neville Longbottom, and I will not allow him to be anything less than prepared. The Longbottom family has carried heavier burdens than this, and we shall triumph."

Hogwarts

Such relentless courage. Such drive for life…..Such hatred…..The sorting hat thought for a brief moment. "Better be Gryffindor!"

For once in his life, he was at ease. When he was a child, he never believed in absolution, paradise, or good. But Hogwarts had quickly disuaded him of that.

Good did exist in this universe! The plentiful,warmfood infront of him was a testament to that fact!

"So…um… …." Jago muttered. "This is all free, right? Like we won't have to pay it back?"

"Of course, jago." Percy responded in bewilderment. "Eat up all you want! Just within reason of course. We don't want you sick in the infirmary on your first day, now do we?"

"No, ," Jago said and got back to munching on steaks and drinks. If this wasn't heaven, and witches and wizards not angels? Then he didn't want to be on the right side of history.

How could a group of people splurge so generously on a destitute orphan like him ever be evil?

He looked up at the roof again and briefly forgot to eat despite his hunger. He had earlier heard a girl mutter about the ceiling being enchanted. The celestial sky winked down at him in its twinkling majesty. Jago took this to be an affirmation of his earlier ideas. Even the "real" heaven agreed with him.

Witches and wizards were angels! And Hogwarts was paradise!

Soon after, the headmaster's speech was concluded and he was guided by their various prefects to their respective houses.

"Jago!" Ron said as he eagerly shook his hand. "Glad you made it! Didn't think I saw you on the train."

"Hehe." Jago chuckled. "I almost missed the train and only found space in the farthest compartment."

Ron nodded sympathetically before remembering. "Oh! Lemme introduce you to the gang."

"This here is Sheamus." A redhead eagerly shook his hand. "Last name Finnigan. A pleasure to meet ya!"

Soon, one by one, he met all the members of his dorm.

Dean Thomas. Seamus. Ronald Weasley. There was another snobbish, chubby-looking kid but Jago forgot his name in the aftermath. Ron had muttered darkly about some nepotist degenarates and then dragged him by the shoulder to the others.

He couldn't wait to share the next 7 years with them. For once in his life, he had a new chance of making friends. No Dudley here to scare them away from him. No poor clothes making him out to be a pariah, or atleast the uniform.

"You are wrong, Harry Potter. You will never be one of them. No matter what mask you wear, they will always sniff you out for what you are: A butcher of men." An all too familiar voice inside him said but Jago quickly shoved it down.

As far as he was concerned, the lads here were all right. As Jago got in his bed, he could barely sleep in excitement about his first class.

First Day

"Did youseethat?" Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms up. "Turning into a cat and back—wicked! She didn't even blink!"

"Sheisbrilliant," Jago agreed."Do you reckon we could ever do that? Transform into animals?"

Dean furrowed his brow thoughtfully, shifting his textbook under one arm. "It's called being an Animagus, isn't it? Sounds like something we could try, but it's supposed to be dead complicated. Proper advanced magic."

Seamus snorted, "Lads! With our collective smarts, we can nail it before the third year!"

"Hear, hear!" Jago chimed, laughing as he raised an imaginary goblet in Seamus's direction.

The group broke into a chorus of chuckles as they turned down the corridor, the excitement of their first Transfiguration class still buzzing through them. However, the mood quickly shifted as they arrived at the dimly lit door to the dungeon, their steps slowing as the air turned cooler.

"So," Seamus said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Jago, "what've you heard about Snape?"

Jago shrugged, though his brow furrowed slightly. "Dunno. Just that he's supposed to be... tough."

"Tough?" Ron muttered. "More like terrifying, from what Fred and George said. He's already got it in for me just for being a Weasley."

Dean frowned. "Can't be that bad, can he?"

Seamus exchanged a glance with Ron. "Better keep your head down, mate," Seamus muttered. "I've heard Snape's not exactly the forgiving type."

Jago was the first to enter the dungeon classroom to find Malfoy lording over it already.

At the center of the room stood Draco Malfoy, his pale face adorned with a smug grin, as though he were the undisputed king of the dungeons.

"So, Granger," Malfoy sneered, his sharp, pointed features contorted in mock pity, "do you think your little flukes from transfiguration class will help you here? Potions isn't just waving a wand and hoping for the best. A talentless fool like you doesn't stand a chance."

Hermione didn't say anything.

"I would be worried if I were you." Draco said. "Professor Snape isn't as coddling and biased as McGonagall is. He will set you straight."

"Back off, Malfoy," Hermione snapped. "I don't need lessons fromyou."

"Clearly, you do," Malfoy drawled. He reached out and snatched something from her hand—a vial of ink—and held it aloft. "Not that it'll help. Maybe you should stick to cleaning cauldrons. Heard that's more your kind's speed."

"Leave her alone,Malfoy!" Jago's voice rang out

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his sneer widening into something crueler. "Well, well. Did Granger find herself a boyfriend already? Not surprising, really, considering how loose Muggle women are."

YOU'RE A FREAK POTTER! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK!

Jago's hands clenched into fists, fury boiling in his chest. "I said,back off," he growled.

Malfoy let out a harsh laugh, then abruptly hurled the vial of ink across the classroom. It shattered against the stone wall, spraying black liquid everywhere. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed, doubling over as though it were the funniest thing they'd ever seen.

Without thinking, Jago grabbed the nearest object—a long-handled spatula—and hurled it at Malfoy's head. The metal clanged against the side of Malfoy's chair, missing by inches, but his laughter died instantly. His face darkened, and he drew his wand in a single, fluid motion.

"Big mistake," Malfoy hissed, his voice cold as steel. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Get your wands out. Daphne, Theo—back me up."

"With pleasure." Daphne laughed before pulling her wand out of her sleeve.

"Jago…" Dean whispered, tugging at his friend's sleeve. "We should wait for a professor."

"No way," Jago muttered, his heart pounding as he drew his own wand, followed swiftly by Ron, Seamus, and Dean. "We're not letting him get away with that."

The duel was over before it truly began. Malfoy's side, faster and more experienced, unleashed a torrent of curses and hexes that the Gryffindors could barely deflect. Ron was knocked down by a jelly leg jinx, while Seamus's wand flew from his hand as he tripped over a spilled cauldron. Dean managed a weak shield charm before being hit by a tripping jinx, sprawling onto the stone floor.

"Pathetic," Malfoy sneered, aiming his wand squarely at Jago's chest.

"Enough!" A voice icily said and Snape strode into the room. With a flick of his wand, he undid the hexes and curses afflicting Jago and his friends, though his lips curled with distaste as he did so.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape demanded.

"Professor," Malfoy said, feigning innocence, "they attackedus. Jago here started it, throwing things at me completely unprovoked."

"That's not true!" Jago blurted, stepping forward. "Malfoy was bullying Hermione, and—"

"Enough, Mr. Sevatarion," Snape interrupted. "You will not speak unless asked to do so." He turned his gaze back to Malfoy, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Mr. Malfoy, you and your companions may take your seats. I trust you will not allow yourselves to be provoked again."

"Yes, Professor," Malfoy replied smoothly, casting a smug glance back at Jago as he and his cronies moved to their desks.

"But—" Jago started, only for Snape to fix him with a glare that silenced him immediately.

"Detention, Mr. Sevatarion," Snape said curtly, "for instigating a disruption in my classroom. That goes for the rest of you as well," he added, his gaze sweeping over Ron, Seamus, and Dean. "And 6 points from Gryffindor."

Snape's lips than turned into a sneer. "Each."

A groan went through the Gryffindors present which Snape took in with a sadistic relish.

Snape turned to the class. "Now, if the theatrics are concluded, we can begin brewing today's potion. Open your books to page sixteen, and dotrynot to embarrass yourselves further."

The potions lesson began, and the nightmare only worsened.

As Snape turned to the blackboard, chalk moving at a relentless pace, he listed the ingredients for the Cure for Boils potion. His clipped tone left no room for questions, though his delivery was so fast and curt that half the class was scrambling to take notes.

Jago frowned, trying to scribble down the instructions, his quill scratching furiously across the parchment. Beside him, Ron leaned over and whispered, "Did he say clockwise or anti-clockwise for the stirring bit?"

"I think clockwise," Jago muttered, though he wasn't sure either. He glanced back up at the board, only to realize Snape had already erased part of it.

"Mr. Sevatarion!" Snape's voice rang out like a whip crack. "Is there something fascinating about Mr. Weasley's notebook that you'd care to share with the class?"

"No, sir," Jago said quickly, lowering his head.

"Then perhaps you could redirect your limited attention span to your cauldron before you render yourself, or worse, your classmates, utterly useless." Snape moved on with a disdainful sweep of his robes, pausing only to glance approvingly at Daphne Greengrass's work.

"Miss Greengrass," he murmured, his voice suddenly rich with uncharacteristic warmth. "Excellent consistency. A rare talent."

Jago clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Nearby, Ron grumbled under his breath, "Yeah, bet he wouldn't say that about our cauldron even if it won first prize at a potion fair."

Despite their best efforts, Jago and Ron couldn't catch up. Snape swept around the room like an ominous shadow, offering advice only to Daphne, Draco, or occasionally Theodore Nott.

"What is this?" Snape sneered as he stopped beside Jago and Ron's workstation, his dark eyes narrowing at their bubbling concoction. He gave their cauldron one look, his lips curling with distaste. "If I wanted incompetence on display, I would have brought in flobberworms to mix potions."

"We followed the instructions!" Ron shot back, unable to restrain himself. "Clockwise stirring, just like it said!"

"Clockwise," Snape repeated mockingly, arching an eyebrow. "Perhaps you missed my clearly stated correction, Mr. Weasley. Anti-clockwise. But I suppose reading the board is beyond the two of you."

Ron's face turned as red as his hair, but Snape had already drawn his wand.

"Evanesco!"

Their potion vanished in a puff of grey mist, leaving their cauldron sparkling clean but empty. Jago's heart sank as Snape straightened up, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve as though the mere sight of their work had offended him.

"Out of pity, I'll mark your…effort… a single point. One out of ten. And that," he added, his voice dripping with disdain, "is generous."

"Welcome to Snape's class," Ron said darkly once they were out of his earshot. "Better get used to it, unless your surname's Malfoy or Greengrass."

Jago could only groan in response.

DADA

Jago's mood was irked…. To say the least. He was having trouble in paradise to say the least. The repeated exposure to Potions class had left him traumatized. He quickly mutterd affirmations under his breath.

It was only one professor. The rest were amazing. Even in muggle school, there was one bad teacher. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

Jago and Ron slumped into their seats for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, still sore from their earlier encounter with Malfoy and his gang. Jago rubbed his shoulder where one of Theodore Nott's hexes had hit, grimacing slightly as the faint sting lingered.

"We need to learn some good spells," Jago whispered under his breath, pulling out his quill and parchment. "Something to wipe the smug look off Malfoy's face."

"Tell me about it," Ron muttered, glancing toward the front of the room where Professor Quirrell was fumbling with a stack of books. The man looked perpetually nervous, as though even standing in front of a group of students was a Merlin tier task.

Quirrell finally managed to stack the books on his desk but flinched when one slid sideways and thumped onto the floor. Several students snickered at the site.

"R-right, c-class," Quirrell began, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper. "Today… today, we will, uh, begin with... the i-importance of recognizing threats."

Jago perked up slightly, hoping for something useful, but Quirrell's lesson soon devolved into assigning an interminable reading list.

"You will, uh, read chapters one through five of your textbooks," Quirrell continued, wringing his hands nervously. "And… and, uh, perhaps... write a summary? Yes, a-a summary of, uh, defensive postures."

He finished by shuffling behind his oversized desk and retreating into near invisibility, occasionally peeking out to check that no one was approaching.

"This is theworst," Ron muttered, tossing his quill onto the desk in frustration. "How are we supposed to learnanything? He's afraid of his own shadow!"

"At least Snape actually teaches something," Jago agreed, though his tone was laced with bitterness. He leaned back in his chair, glaring at the assigned chapters as though the sheer intensity of his look might set them alight.

When the class mercifully ended, Jago lingered as the other students filed out, waiting for Quirrell to gather his courage and approach him.

"P-professor?" Jago called out, stepping closer to the desk. Quirrell's eyes widened slightly as though startled by the sound.

"Yes, M-Mister S-Sevatarion?" Quirrell stammered, his voice high-pitched and strained.

"I was hoping you could give me some advice," Jago said. His tone was polite but firm. "We've had some trouble— and I uh. I want to learn defensive spells, but the textbook doesn't explain them well."

Quirrell's face tightened for a moment, and he glanced nervously around the room. "T-trouble, you say? Perhaps, uh… perhaps you should s-speak to someone in the d-discipline office. Minverva? Yes, yes, quite a s-sensible approach."

"Oh, come on, professor?!" Jago pleaded.

"I – I – I can't entrust spells to young k-kids, Mister Sevatarion!" Quirrel said.

Jago frowned, opening his mouth to protest, when a sudden burning sensation flared on his forehead. He winced, lifting his hand instinctively to touch the spot, feeling it throb painfully beneath his palm.

"Professor?" Jago groaned. He looked up to find Quirrell staring at him, his own expression a mix of discomfort and panic. The professor clutched his turban-covered head as though staving off a headache, his narrow eyes fixed on Jago.

For a brief, flickering moment, the nervous façade slipped. Quirrell's eyes narrowed, and something darker seemed to flicker within their depths. "You… seem rather p-persistent, Mister Sevatarion," he said, his voice quieter now, almost calculating. Then the stutter returned. "M-maybe you should t-treat this as, uh… a project!"

Jago blinked. "A project?"

"Yes, yes!" Quirrell said quickly, nodding so forcefully it looked painful. "The l-library. There are, uh, plenty of excellent books on, uh… defensive spells. S-seek them out. D-do the reading, and p-practice—outside of c-class, of c-course."

Quirrell quickly jotted down a reading list and pushed it in Jago's hands.

Jago studied the man's face, trying to ignore the dull throbbing on his forehead. Quirrell was weird—it was obvious—but there was no point in pushing him further.

"All right," Jago said reluctantly. "I'll try the library."

"E-excellent idea," Quirrell replied, practically shoving Jago toward the door. "Good luck, M-Mister Sevatarion. Truly."

As Jago rejoined Ron in the hallway, the dull burn on his forehead slowly faded, but unease lingered in the pit of his stomach. "That was weird," he muttered.

"What was weird?" Ron asked, already walking toward the Great Hall for lunch.

"Quirrell," Jago said simply, glancing back over his shoulder. "Something's not right about him."

Vindication?

The four boys huddled together in an empty classroom on the second floor, desks pushed against the walls to give them enough room to practice.

"Right," Jago Sevatarion said firmly, holding his wand aloft, "we're trying the Jelly-Legs Jinx again. If we can get it down, Malfoy and his lot won't know what hit them."

Ron groaned, wiping his forehead. "I've been sayingLocomotor Wibblyfor the past hour, and the best I've managed is making Dean's leg twitch."

"Well, your aim's rubbish," Seamus said bluntly. "No offense, Ron, but I don't want to be standing in front of you when you try anything riskier."

Dean let out a dramatic sigh, slumping onto a desk. "What's the point? We don't even know if we're doing this right. Meanwhile, Daphne and Theodore probably already know how to duel like professional aurors."

Jago glanced over at him, frowning slightly. "Whydoyou think they're so good at this? They're only first-years like us."

"They're loaded, that's why," Ron said bitterly. "Families like the Greengrasses and Notts? They've probably had private tutors teaching them fancy spells since they could hold a wand. Kids like Malfoy? Same deal. All the privilege in the world. The ministry doesn't bother them about underage magic."

"Great," Dean muttered, tossing his wand onto the desk with a clatter. "So we're basically doomed. We're not going to catch up in time, are we?"

"C'mon, Dean," Seamus said, though his tone was weary. "Let's not pack it in just yet. Maybe if we all chip in and—"

"What's thepoint?!" Dean snapped, cutting him off. "We're wasting our time! We'll just embarrass ourselves again, and Snape will love every second of it!"

Seamus hesitated, looking ready to agree. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Jago.

"You're cowards," Jago spat suddenly. "All of you! Cowards and weaklings!"

The room went silent, all eyes turning to him.

"Giving up because it's hard? Because it'll take time? Pathetic!" Jago continued, his knuckles white as he gripped his wand. "Do you think Nott would let up if the situation was reversed? If it were him who lost, do you think he'd be whining about how hopeless it all is?"

"Mate," Ron started cautiously, "we didn't say we—"

"I'm not done!" Jago snapped, cutting him off. He stepped closer to the group. "I'm not going to let him push me around! I'm not going to let anyone push me around! I don't care if I have to learn these spells a thousand times. Even if it kills me! Death is nothing compared to vindication!"

The room was silent for a moment.

"Uh… where did that last part come from?" Seamus asked hesitantly, scratching the back of his head.

Jago blinked, a strange haze lifting from his mind. He frowned, shaking his head as though to clear it. "I don't know," he murmured. "It… it doesn't matter." Straightening his shoulders, he raised his wand again. "What matters is we keep practicing. If you're serious about this, stop whining and get to work."

There was a moment of hesitation before Ron slowly raised his own wand. "Fine. But if I accidentally jelly your legs, don't blame me."

Ambush Predator

"Why exactly did we have to ditch our shoes?" Ron whined.

"Because shoes make noise," Jago replied not bothering to turn around. "And we can't afford noise right now."

"How do you even know about this stuff?" Dean asked. "All this sneaky... spy business? The moon shadows, the timing?"

"I studied them," Jago said. Not bothering to delve further into this.

"What?" Seamus asked.

"Shush!" Jago snapped sharply, turning back to glare at him. The group froze momentarily, tension crackling in the air as Jago's eyes scanned the corridor ahead. Then, the sound of a door creaking open broke the silence.

Hogwarts kitchens swung outward, and three figures emerged. More like prey as far as Jago was concerned.

"Enjoying hot chocos" Seamus sneered at them.

"Take aim. Wait until they're clear of the door, then hit them."

"Is this really necessary?" Dean asked hesitantly, his wand aimed but trembling slightly.

"Necessary?" Jago hissed. "After what they did to us in class? After the humiliation? You think I'll let them walk around Hogwarts like they own it?"

"But!" Ron started but Jago cut him off.

"They're the ones who started it," Jago muttered, tightening his grip on his wand. "And if you don't hit your mark, Ron, Iwillmake you clean this up."

Dean bit his lip but didn't lower his wand.

Ron and Seamus exchanged nervous glances but followed Jago's lead. All three wore their bacalavas and stood ready.

"Now!" Jago commanded.

In an instant, wands flashed, and the air was filled with the bright light of several incantations.

"Locomotor Wibbly!"

"Locomotor Wibbly!"

The two spells connected in rapid succession, first hitting Daphne and then Theodore. The pair's knees buckled as their legs seized under the force of the Jelly-Legs Jinx. They crumpled to the ground, their cups of hot chocolate spilling across the floor.

Draco froze at the sight of his friends collapsing, too stunned to react. That was all the opening Jago needed.

"Stinging Hex!"

"Stinging Hex!"

The spells tore through the air, stinging Daphne and Theodore relentlessly. Their faces contorted in pain, yelps escaping them as they desperately tried to defend themselves, but they couldn't rise, their legs locked by the Jinx.

"Get them!" Jago barked, and Ron and Seamus jumped to action, each firing their own stinging hexes at the defenseless students.

Daphne let out a strangled cry and Theodore swore.

"Son of a - " he swore before the curses pelted him. "Ow!"

They were helpless, writhing on the cold stone floor, but neither of them could manage to get back on their feet.

Draco, now seeing his whole crew incapacitated, raised his wand shakily, trying to retaliate, but his movements were sluggish. Jago gave him a swift kick between the legs and Draco howled in pain as he fell on the floor.

Stepping forward and grabbing Draco's galleon pouch from his robes with a smooth motion.

"Thanks for the contribution, Malfoy," Jago said coolly, turning his back on Draco and the rest of his group as they struggled.

"Stop! Get it off me!" Daphne shrieked as picture-perfect blonde hair was ruined by spilled cocoa.

Ron, Seamus, and Dean followed, hurrying down the corridor as Draco's impotent curses echoed behind them, each one becoming more desperate as their footsteps faded into the distance.

Once they were safely out of sight, Seamus let out a long breath. "Blimey, that was perfect. We actually did it."

Ron, glancing around, shook his head in disbelief. "We – we – we did it!"

Jago, his hand hovering over the pouch in his pocket, didn't answer immediately. The burn on his forehead had come back, but he didn't acknowledge it.

A tense silence followed as they looked at each other.

Ron was the first to laugh and Seamus joined him. Soon they all were bellowing in laughter at the night's events.

Fraternity

Jago, eyes half-focused on his notes, scribbled a few answers to a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. His quill scratched sharply across the parchment as he leaned over his work.

Seamus's sudden entrance made him jump.

"Hurry up if you want to finish before curfew," Jago said without looking up, his voice laced with the faint annoyance of someone who had been entrenched in homework for far too long.

Seamus, however, didn't seem concerned in the least. He casually waved his hand dismissively. "Already done," he replied, grinning widely. He walked further into the room, his pockets looking suspiciously lumpy. "You lot can sod off with your homework. I've got something way more interesting to show you."

The other three, now fully distracted, abandoned their assignments and gathered around Seamus, who dropped his heavy-looking bag onto the floor with athud.

"You had something done all day?" Ron asked skeptically.

Seamus gave a smug little nod, all too pleased with himself. "Yep. No way I'd let you lot down with something as lame as homework. Gotfarmore important stuff to do."

Seamus reached into his bag with exaggerated drama and pulled out four sleek leather holsters. They were a deep shade of dark brown, finely crafted with intricate stitching that made them look expensive—way more than the money they had "borrowed" from Malfoy.

"There," Seamus said with a wink, passing them out one by one. "I got us all something cool since you lot voted for me to go shopping with the galleons."

Jago took his holster, running his fingers along the smooth, supple leather, admiring its weight and craftsmanship. "This is... impressive," he muttered, turning it in his hands. "Very impressive."

"Bleeding hells." Ron muttered. "And they say money can't buy happiness."

"Nice work, Finnegan." Dean muttered.

"I think this is just the beginning," Seamus replied, grinning. "Now that we've got our gear sorted, we should think about the next step."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Seamus," Dean chuckled. "We're going a bit overboard. We should get back tohomework."

Seamus didn't listen to him. "Nah, listen. Now that we've gotourselvessorted, we need something more—something to call ourselves. We're a gang now, right?" He beamed proudly, waiting for his friends to catch on.

"A gang?" Ron sounded unconvinced. "Really? We're inHogwarts,mate, not some street corner in Diagon Alley."

"No, wearein Hogwarts," Jago interjected firmly. "Which means this matters more."

"How about we think up a symbol first?" Seamus said.

"You got something?" Ron asked.

"Oh yeah. The coolest thing ever." Seamus said before pulling out a switchblade and carving into his leather. Thedrawingwas of a sharp, angular bat with jagged wings spread wide. Above the bat, curved horns or spikes point upward

"Blimey, mate, I like it. Powerandclass." Ron said.

"A bit too overboard….." Dean muttered.

"It's perfect!" Jago overruled him.

Seamus stared at the symbol, now looking more excited. "So—now we need aname."

"I'm not going to say 'Nox' again," Dean muttered, but no one paid him much mind.

"No, that sounds... too simple," Ron said thoughtfully. "We need something strong, something heavy, like that symbol."

Seamus shrugged. "What about 'Deathbringers'?"

"A bit much,don't you think?" Dean said.

"Jago, your two knuts?" Ron asked. Jago sat silently for a while before declaring it.

"Night Lords," Jago said in a voice that would brook no further arguments. Several others repeated the name, finding it to suit their tongues.

"Night Lords it is then," Dean muttered, carving the name into his holster.

Fin

Author Notes: Read and Review!