The New Princess
Hogwarts Year 1 - Arc 3 - Part 2 - Chapter 32
The Seminar - Part 1
Previously:
"Incoming portkey," Elara warned, recognizing the signs as she instinctively grabbed Mira and pulled her back, shielding her from the magical display.
Shimmering energy and radiant fabric crackled in the air, creating a mesmerizing spectacle that captivated Mira's wide eyes. The vibrant colors danced and twisted, illuminating the dimly lit hall in a kaleidoscope of hues. Three figures materialized, tumbling yet somehow managing to stay upright—one even going into a handstand before twirling back onto her feet to land in a very familiar pose. Their movements were almost ethereal as if they were woven from the very magic surrounding them. Mira gasped, her heart racing as she took in the sight before her.
"Mama!" she whispered, breathlessly tugging at her mother's dress, nearly bursting with joy. "It's… it's them!"
At that moment, Mira felt she was in the safest place on Earth, for just a few steps away, The Guardians had finally arrived!
And now the continuation:
"Stand down! Situation Green! I repeat, the situation is under control!"
Sighs of relief rippled through the room as security staff holstered their wands—almost in unison.
"Are you sure about that, Senior Auror Thorne?" one of the three newcomers asked her voice light but carrying an unmistakable serious edge. She read his name tag with a smirk, her long, blonde wavy hair catching the light as she stepped off the portkey pad like a predator sizing up her prey. Her orange skirt and blue bow made her impossible to miss. "For all you know, I could be a Youma in disguise."
The room froze. Holstered wands snapped back into hands, and in an instant, every one of them was aimed at the three figures.
Behind the Aurors, Elara clutched her daughter tightly, pulling her close with a protective grip.
"Better!" the blonde Guardian quipped, her voice playful yet sharp. "Of course, your little wands wouldn't do much to us even if you tried to curse us." She shrugged, her tone daring them to test her claim.
One Auror's hand trembled as he gripped his wand tighter, his face pale under the harsh light of the chamber. Another wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his gaze darting between the three newcomers, uncertain of what to do.
The second Guardian stepped forward, her short blue hair gleaming under the lights. With a cyan bow and matching skirt, she exuded an authority of calm wisdom. "Guardians and Youma alike are highly resistant—sometimes even immune—to magic. You could throw spells at us all day, and the worst we might get is a nosebleed, or if lucky a bruise."
The third Guardian joined her, brown hair tied back with a pink bow and a green skirt swishing as she moved. Her voice was low and serious, laced with dry humor. "The older the Youma, the stronger it gets—and the more resistant. Most of your spells won't even tickle them. The same goes for us."
One of the Aurors frowned, lowering his wand slightly. "Then what are we supposed to do?"
"Simple," the blonde Guardian replied, ignoring the wands still trained on her. She gestured toward an Auror. "Try a light-based spell—preferably healing magic."
After a moment of confused hesitation, an Auror murmured an incantation. A soft glow enveloped the blonde Guardian, who nodded in satisfaction.
"As you can see, I didn't react negatively. Congratulations—I'm not a Youma. You may now stand down."
Relieved chuckles bubbled through the group as the Aurors began to lower their wands again.
"Or should you?"
The Aurors froze. One, catching their error, groaned audibly and cast two quick healing spells at the remaining Guardians.
The blonde Guardian's grin widened. "Good! Get used to it. The last thing you want is to be caught off guard. Believe me, getting your life sucked out like a human battery - and believe me when I say that is what we are to them - is a horrible way to go. If you don't know healing magic, learn it. Even if you never encounter a Youma, healing spells are invaluable."
The brunette took over, her tone steady. "We have found that healing magic provokes the strongest reaction in a Youma. The more powerful the spell, the stronger their response."
"Even then, it varies," she continued. "No two Youma are alike, just as no two humans are alike. Some will disintegrate on contact; others—a rare few—barely react at all. But every single one will show some response to healing magic. Some startle easily, others develop nervous ticks, others begin to stutter uncontrollably, and others again might fail to function completely."
"You could say they're allergic to it," the blue-haired Guardian added with a faint smile.
The blonde Guardian's smirk turned razor-sharp. "Unfortunately, very few people have the power or precision to harm a Youma with healing magic. In fact, I can only think of two people who can do it reliably—and I'm one of them. But even for the weakest Youma, your healing spell is usually enough to identify them. Use this to your advantage, it might be the only warning you will get."
"It's the espionage-type Youma you need to watch for the most," the blue-haired Guardian explained. "They won't attack unless provoked—most of the time. Healing magic is your safest tool, indeed, your only tool for detection, and then only if you know what to look for."
She stepped forward, her tone hardening. "If they react—whether it's freezing, startling, or something subtle—don't engage. Let them think their cover is intact. Contact one of us immediately. Even if you're unsure, it's always better to be cautious than dead. Please don't give them a reason to attack unless you absolutely must. If you're not one of us, you won't win."
"And if they don't buy it?" an Auror asked hesitantly.
The brunette's smile widened, her voice turning grim. "Then don't sell it." Her tone dropped into deadly seriousness. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear: if a Youma, or worse, Youmai attack, don't be a bloody hero. Run!"
The blonde Guardian's gaze swept across the room, her playful demeanor gone, replaced by unshakable resolve. "Against any Youma, until you're trained properly—run. Every single time."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, her words hanging heavy, pressing down on the Aurors like a tangible force.
She raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief returning to her voice. "Even after you're trained, running like the last three greatest Dark Lords who have ever existed is chasing you might still be the best choice."
Nobody laughed.
"Come to think of it," the blue-haired Guardian mumbled to herself, "the Dark Lords might be the ones running if they had to face the Youma."
The brunette finally broke the stillness with a dry, knowing smile. "Yeah, I get it—no one's in the mood for jokes. Fair enough. But seriously... call us. And keep running. There's no shame in retreating when you're seriously outmatched, with no way to fight back. That's what we're here for. Let us handle the Youma."
For a few tense moments, Guardians and Aurors alike stared at each other, the weight of unspoken uncertainty hanging in the air. The Aurors shifted uneasily. None of them liked feeling this helpless, yet here they were, relying on others to fight battles they were paid to fight, yet could not win. The irony was bitter—weren't they supposed to be the professionals?
Suddenly, the standoff was broken by the actions of a young fan. Myria, her excitement bubbling over, couldn't stand still any longer. Breaking free from her mother's grip, she dashed toward the Guardians.
Elara, her mother, gasped in panic. "Myria, stop!" she cried, reaching out too late. The girl had already slipped past the first line of Aurors, her determination unstoppable.
"Hey, hold it!" one Auror barked as he and his partner stepped into her path, catching her by the arm just before she reached the Guardians. Myria squirmed and struggled, her eyes wide with frustration. "Let me go! I want to meet them!"
The Guardians exchanged glances, surprised at the commotion. Sailor Venus's bemused expression softened as Sailor Mercury leaned in to whisper something into her ear. Venus's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. She turned to face the second Guardian. "Mercury, are you sure?" The second Guardian nodded. "Yes, I am." The first Guardian smiled, then nodded.
"Wait!" she called out, raising a hand to halt the Aurors. "Let her through."
The Aurors hesitated, exchanging skeptical looks, but eventually released Myria, who sprinted forward, her face alight with joy. Elara hurried after her, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. "I'm so sorry," she began breathlessly. "She's just—"
Venus held up a hand, her smile warm. "It's alright. We understand. We're always happy to meet our youngest."
She crouched to meet Myria's gaze, her tone gentle.
"You're very brave to come over here and to risk your mother's wrath like this!" she said, giving her a wink. "What's your name?"
"I'm Myria!" the girl chirped, her excitement barely contained. She glanced nervously back at her mother, catching sight of the stern look on Elara's face, and shifted awkwardly. "I just wanted to see you all up close."
Venus chuckled. "Well, Myria, would you like an autograph?" She glanced up at Elara for permission, and after a moment of hesitation, the woman sighed and nodded.
"Oh YES, I mean, yes, please! " Myria said happily. Her eyes sparkled as Venus pulled out a small notepad and a glittery pen. "But first," Venus said, straightening up, "where are our manners? Let us introduce ourselves properly."
The three Guardians struck dynamic poses, their voices ringing out in unison.
Sailor Mercury stepped forward first, her voice calm and steady. "I am Sailor Mercury, Guardian of wisdom and water. With strategy and ice, I fight for love and knowledge. In the name of Mercury, I'll protect the innocent and freeze injustice in its tracks!"
Next came Sailor Jupiter, her tone bold and electrifying. "I am Sailor Jupiter, Guardian of courage and thunder. With love and strength, I stand against evil. In the name of Jupiter, I'll bring down the storm upon those who harm the weak!"
Finally, Sailor Venus stepped forward, her voice bright and commanding. "And I am Sailor Venus, Guardian of love and beauty. With justice and compassion, I shine light into darkness. In the name of Venus, I'll banish hatred and spread the power of love!"
Their introductions complete, the three Guardians quickly signed the notepad before Venus handed it to Elara. "For when she's earned it," Venus said with a wink.
Myria's face fell, her betrayal evident as she looked between her mother and the notepad. Elara's smirk was devious as she tucked it away. "Thank you," she said, her tone grateful despite her amusement.
Myria began to plead, promising good behavior as her mother led her away. The sight sent the Aurors into fits of laughter, their earlier tension melting away.
As the commotion settled, Sailor Mercury's gaze lingered on Myria's retreating form, her expression thoughtful. For a few brief seconds, her fingers hovered over her eyes briefly forming a visor, but she lowered them again, her lips pressing into a faint, contemplative smile.
Venus clapped her hands, drawing the group's attention. "Alright, everyone," she said, her voice firm. "It's time to inspire the masses. Let's give them a show they'll never forget."
Jupiter grinned. "Who... the fans or the Youma?"
"Take your pick," Venus replied with a smirk.
"Guys, focus!" Mercury interjected. "We have work to do."
"That's gals... no guys here," Jupiter snarked playfully.
"Seriously!"
"Enough! Are we ready?" Venus asked, glancing at her fellow Guardians.
"Ready!" the others echoed.
"Then, let's go!"
With those last few words, they grasped each other's hands and nodded...
With a flash of brilliant light, they teleported away, leaving behind a bemused squad of Aurors and a few stragglers who hurried back to their seats, eager not to miss the show.
A little earlier in the minister's booth—as high as it goes.
In the highest and most prestigious booth of the stadium, Minister Cornelius Fudge was having what he proudly considered a truly remarkable day. Only a few weeks ago, he had been locked up in a Muggle prison for trespassing, breaking and entering, and assault, among other charges. He had wallowed in self-pity and rage—mixed with more pity and some anger, and then even more rage.
But that was then, and this was now. Surrounded by important dignitaries, some of the most powerful figures in the magical world, who were all showering him with praise, Fudge had never felt more significant. One might even say it was the best day of his life.
Hosting a major event like the International Magical Seminar demanded that he invite some of his peers. After all, such an event should be shared, not hoarded. No, that wouldn't do at all. In his wisdom, he had sent out invitations to ministers of magic and heads of magical schools from neighboring nations and several of Magical Britain's former colonies. After all, Britain had conquered a lot of nations in its prime; it was only right to allow them to bask in his glory as well.
Now, if only he could figure out what the foreign dignitary was actually saying, all would be perfect. In his foresight, Fudge had hired an interpreter to assist him. Unfortunately, the interpreter had decided, after enduring a stream of casual inadvertent insults directed at his home country, that his employer was an arrogant prancing peacock unworthy of his services. With a dramatic flourish, he had quit an hour ago, leaving Fudge surprised, flustered, and in a bind.
The dignitary from Uagadou School of Magic—one of Magical Britain's many African "allies"—had just finished speaking, and Fudge, unwilling to admit he didn't have a clue what his guest was saying, nodded vigorously. Surely his enthusiastic agreement would mask his ignorance. At least, that was the hope.
The tall, imposing wizard from Uagadou, his radiant smile betraying an edge of mischief, gestured animatedly with his hands as he continued speaking in Swahili. "Unajua wewe ni mtu wa ajabu kweli." (You know, you are truly an absurd person. All pride and no brain.)
Fudge's eyes followed the gestures, searching for meaning like a man fumbling in the dark for a light switch before finally settling on what he hoped was a confident, "Ah, yes! Absolutely!" His eyes darted nervously toward his aides, none of whom dared meet his gaze. "A most insightful observation," he added for good measure, though he wasn't sure why.
The dignitary from Mahoutokoro, Japan's prestigious school of magic, had caught on to the fun and leaned in to whisper to his neighbor in Japanese, "彼の無知と傲慢さは本当に驚くべきものだ。まるで跳ね回る小さな孔雀のようだ。" (His ignorance and arrogance are truly astonishing. Like a prancing little peacock!)
His neighbor stifled a laugh, prompting a bemused glance from Fudge. "Ah, you agree as well! Wonderful to see such unity here today," he said, oblivious to the joke.
Deciding to join the game, the French Ministry of Magic representative began speaking rapidly in French, her elegant accent masking her playful intent. "Votre arrogance est vraiment quelque chose d'incroyable. Au lieu d'améliorer les relations entre nos nations, c'est incroyable que vous ne tombiez pas amoureux de vous-même chaque fois que vous vous regardez dans le miroir." (Your arrogance is truly something incredible. Instead of improving relationships between our nations, it's amazing he's not falling in love with himself every time he looks in the mirror.)
Fudge beamed, turning to her interpreter, a sharp-eyed wizard who hesitated before translating with a slight smirk, "Minister Fudge, she expresses her admiration for your leadership and the grandeur of this event. She says the seminar will do wonders to improve magical cooperation. After all, if we are to survive, we must unite."
"Ah, wonderful! I fully agree! Please, convey my deepest thanks and appreciation," Fudge replied, puffing up like the overstuffed peacock he was, the bright purple feathers adorned his hat wobbling precariously as if they too were in agreement.
The dignitary from Uagadou, not missing a beat, continued in Swahili, "Badala ya kutenda kama buffoon, vipi kuhusu sisi kujadili kupata baadhi ya portkeys. Kama wakubwa wetu, ni jukumu lako, hata hivyo." (Instead of acting like a buffoon, how about we discuss acquiring some portkeys? As our overlord, it is your duty, after all.)
The French interpreter, now fully complicit in the joke, translated with a straight face, "He appreciates your initiative and patience in reaching out to Britain's allies and wishes to discuss the possibility of acquiring some portkeys during the seminar."
Fudge nodded solemnly. "Of course, I would be honored to supply you with some of our spare portkeys, for a small fee, of course! These things are not cheap!"
The Uagadou dignitary, his smile widening, continued, "Lo, najua nyinyi mnazipata bila malipo, kama bwana wetu...bahili ni mdogo sana unaweza kufanya." (Oi, I know you pricks are getting them for free. As our stingy overlords, it's the least you can do.)
The interpreter smoothly covered, "He says he's grateful and looks forward to receiving them... for a favorable price."
"Of course, of course! I am always fair," Fudge replied grandly.
"Mbumbumbu!" (Bumbling baboon!)
"He says thank you," the interpreter said with a straight face.
Next, the dignitary from Durmstrang Institute delivered his comment in Russian, his tone dripping with mock admiration. "Твоя тупость — это что-то невероятное. Никакого такта, никакого стыда. Осел без мозгов!" (Your stupidity is truly astonishing. No tact, no shame. An ass with no brain!)
The interpreter, his professionalism faltering slightly, translated, "He says your personality shines brightly, much like the Northern Lights—unmissable and unforgettable. He admires the work you are putting into helping others."
"Oh, indeed! Thank you!" Fudge replied, laughing nervously. "One must always make an impression when entertaining our friends."
The dignitaries exchanged amused glances. By now, even Fudge was beginning to suspect something was off. Adjusting his hat nervously, he thought, Why are they being so kind? Surely, my diplomatic skills are impressive, but this feels... excessive.
The dignitary from Uagadou sensing that their fun was coming to an end delivered one final remark in Swahili, his tone almost admiring. "Uwezo wako wa kujitegemea, na kuamini pia, ni wa kushangaza." (Your ability to be self-centered, and to believe it too, is astonishing.)
The interpreter, barely holding back laughter, said, "Minister, he says your presence here today is like a rare eclipse, one that requires special precautions to observe without being overwhelmed."
"Oh, what wonderful... colourful language. What an honor!" Fudge exclaimed. "I shall take all of these... er... compliments as they are given—with grace and modesty."
The dignitaries could barely contain their laughter now, some covering their mouths or pretending to cough. The French representative added another comment, her voice tinged with mock admiration. "Votre capacité à vous vanter est comme un feu d'artifice inattendu. Si vous continuez ainsi, votre tête explosera." (Your ability to boast is like an unexpected firework display. Any more, and your head will explode.)
The interpreter thinking that enough was enough and finally taking pity on the fool, finally leaned in and whispered, "Minister, perhaps you should move on to proceed to the actual matters at hand?"
Fudge, who while still grinning, was also beginning to sweat, simply nodded. 'Ah! Yes, quite right. Um... Let us proceed!' he said, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. The dignitaries exchanged satisfied glances, their amusement barely concealed, as they prepared to move on to the actual matters at hand, leaving Fudge to wonder if he had truly understood anything at all. Something, a nagging feeling, told him he didn't want to know.
Meanwhile in another booth nearby,
Not far from where Minister Fudge was making an absolute fool of himself—inside the luxurious and very private owners' booth known as The Potter's Booth—Aryanna Potter, dressed in casual Muggle attire, was also enjoying life.
Though, admittedly, in a far less humiliating sort of way.
Unlike Fudge, she wasn't attempting—and failing—to impress foreign dignitaries. That was his circus to run. She had no need for that. She had her own way of enjoying the upcoming event.
Reclined on a lounger with a chilled mocktail in hand, Aryanna let out a contented sigh.
" Higher, yes, slightly higher, a little to the left, Oh!, that's the spot!… yes… right there!" she said as the skilled hands of an exorbitantly priced masseuse worked their magic. Portkey'd in just for the occasion, the masseuse—a half-blood who worked in both worlds—had been worth every galleon.
Excessive? Probably.
But did she care?
Not even a little.
After all, when you owned the very building you were lounging in, a little indulgence was simply part of the package.
Fudge might have everyone believe he was responsible and that he had funded the stadium's construction, but that was a lie. Given permission for its construction? Yes. But funding? That had been Setsuna.
Originally, it would have been built to host the upcoming Quidditch World Cup in about three years, but with near-bottomless funds and a passion for innovation, Setsuna had jumped at the first chance to finance the stadium's construction far ahead of schedule—all by herself. It was her project—a glittering jewel designed to showcase her new MagiVision tvs to the magical market and the perfect way to raise awareness about the Youma threat.
That it also put Fudge firmly in her pocket, as her most indebted political ally to date, was just a welcome bonus. His dependence on her now, seeing as he had just lost the majority of his other influential backers like the Malfoys for dealing with "the Muggles," also meant leeway for the Guardians within the British magical community. At least for as long as Fudge remained in power. If letting Fudge take credit for it kept him happy, so be it. It was a small price—for her—to pay.
Not that she or Aryanna expected Fudge's tenure to last for much longer. That clock was ticking. With how fast he was losing support, it was only a matter of time now before some disgruntled pureblood lord got fed up enough with him that they would start to look for ways to 'remove' him.
But for now, Aryanna was content to relax—and to enjoy the show as Fudge embarrassed himself.
"Well, that was fun. Arigatō, Tanaka-san, kanpekideshita. Mōsugu hajimarimasunode, itte mo īdesu yo." ("Thank you, Miss Tanaka, you were perfect. We're about to start, so you may go,") Aryanna said in near-fluent Japanese with a small bow a minute later, smiling at the petite Asian masseuse. She handed over a generous tip.
Miss Tanaka bowed deeply. "Arigatō, Potter-ōjōsama," ("Thank you Heiress Potter") she said taking the offered money before hurrying out of the booth to get to her own seat, eager to catch the event herself.
"Well, someone's enjoying themselves," a young feminine voice remarked from the nearby lounger.
Aryanna smiled. "Oh, I know. They're great. So polite, too."
"I meant Fudge, not you."
Aryanna blinked. "Huh? Oh... oh! Yes, he does seem... quite pleased with himself," she said when she realized that the girl was watching the Minister's escapades on one of the many Magi Screens floating around.
"More like an embarrassment to us all," Hermione muttered from her other side. "Someone ought to stop him. He's giving the magical world a bad name."
"Hey, as long as he's happy and feels appreciated, who cares?" Hannah said from farther down the booth. "I rather enjoy seeing him make a fool of himself."
Susan groaned. "Of course, you'd say that, Hannah. But seriously, I wish he'd get the show started. Wasn't it supposed to begin... what? Five minutes ago?"
"Good question," Hermione said, turning to Aryanna. "Also, aren't we supposed to be the ones teaching?"
Aryanna shrugged as she looked out of their magical one-way shadow-tinted booth. "No clue. When I asked Setsuna, she just smiled and told me that everything was taken care of and to enjoy myself. Whatever she's planned, it's her show now."
"Hmm... maybe she's using her Huntresses?" Hermione guessed.
Aryanna shook her head. "Good guess, but you'd be wrong. I asked Setsuna the same thing. They're helping, but not leading. They simply don't have the power or the necessary abilities."
"Then who—"
"What the—?" Susan suddenly exclaimed, leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the screen. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
"Susan? What's wrong?" Aryanna asked, shifting upright, her tone laced with concern at her friend's sudden change in demeanor.
Susan didn't answer immediately. Instead, she raised a hand and pointed. The others followed her gaze. The murmur of the crowd swelled into an excited roar, punctuated by gasps and scattered cheers as, far below, a trio of well-known figures had just appeared on stage. By all logic, they shouldn't even exist. Each one bore a striking resemblance to the girls' alternate selves when transformed.
Susan's voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "That... that can't be right. I mean... if I'm Venus... then who... who are they?"
Aryanna's eyes widened, then her lips slowly curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Well, I'll be... now that's a twist."
"What? Who are they?" Hermione demanded, her voice sharp with curiosity.
Aryanna reclined back with a grin as the Scryglasses of their Magi screens zoomed in on the trio below. The screen split in two—one part focused on the Guardians, radiating confidence and power, while the other lingered on Fudge in his booth, oblivious to the unfolding spectacle. The crowd's murmur grew into a crescendo of cheers and whispers, the tension palpable.
Aryanna took a sip of her cocktail, her smile never wavering. "Why... don't you know? They're us of course. Just sit tight, Hermione," she said with a sly grin handing her a box of puffcorn. "You're in for a show."
The lights in the stadium dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd as a trio of well-known heroes came to a parade halt on stage. The moment was electric, filled with anticipation. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, as if on cue, all eyes turned toward the Minister's booth, which had suddenly lit up.
Cornelius Fudge, flustered and wide-eyed, stood awkwardly with a nervous grin, then began to shuffle toward the front of the booth. He had only just excused himself from the cluster of important witches and wizards, preparing to address the audience, when he found himself abruptly thrust into the spotlight—quite literally, as the harsh magical light suddenly cast him in its glaring beam.
Suddenly, and entirely unbeknownst to the Minister, his voice rang out, echoing across the entire stadium.
From her private booth, Aryanna reclined with a bemused smile, her green eyes gleaming with mischief. The muffled laughter of nearby dignitaries, amplified by the stadium's acoustics, swelled in volume before cutting off abruptly. The Minister's confusion deepened as he fumbled with his robes, trying to make sense of the situation.
"It's all yours, sir—good luck!" chirped his aide, far too cheerfully for Fudge's liking.
"Ah, good, let me just—" Fudge began, fumbling inside his cloak for his wand.
"No wand needed, sir! Remember? It's unnecessary. Just speak into it," the aide interrupted hastily, thrusting forward a sleek, enchanted microphone.
Fudge recoiled slightly as he reached a small podium, eyeing the device with suspicion. "What's this contraption?"
"It's the new Voice Amplifier, sir! One of Potter's..."
"What? Nobody told me about this!"
"We did, sir. It was in last week's memo."
"What memo?"
"The one we placed on your desk, sir."
"There wasn't any—"
"There was, sir... It's the... uh... oh my..." The aide's voice faltered, and he began avoiding Fudge's gaze as though afraid to say more.
"The what?" Fudge's tone sharpened, his face darkening to a dangerous crimson.
"The one you used for your..." The aide's voice dropped to an almost inaudible mumble.
"Speak up, man!" Fudge barked, now resembling an overripe tomato, unknown to him his voice erupted across the Stadium in a crescendo.
"The one you used for your... 'emergency,' sir," the aide repeated reluctantly, wincing as though expecting an accompanying thunderclap.
A single beat of silence fell over the stadium. Then, like a dam breaking, the audience erupted.
It started with a ripple of chuckles from the common spectators and quickly surged into a tidal wave of laughter. Even the most stoic dignitaries in the VIP boxes couldn't suppress their mirth. People clutched their sides, pointing at the Minister's booth as the laughter echoed endlessly around the enchanted stadium.
Fudge froze, his face cycling through a spectrum of colors before settling on a pale, sickly white. His gaze darted around frantically, as though searching for an escape hatch.
"Oh, Merlin... Did the entire stadium just hear that!?" he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The aide gave a sheepish nod, looking as though he might evaporate on the spot.
The laughter doubled in intensity, echoing through every corner of the arena. Aryanna, still lounging in her private booth, let out a soft chuckle, savoring the chaos as Susan and Hannah erupted into gleeful cackles, while Hermione could only facepalm in exasperation.
A loud magical buzz—like the sound of an enchanted gavel—finally cut through the uproar.
"Er—apologies, folks!" stammered a flustered announcer. "We seem to be experiencing a slight... hiccup. Let's take a quick commercial break!"
The Magiscreens around the stadium flickered, mercifully replacing the live feed with a dazzling advertisement for Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans which then continued into another.
️ Narrator (in a bold, energetic tone):
"Tired of sluggish flights and outdated enchantments? Step into the future with the Nimbus Extreme 'Aurora' 5000 —the fastest, smartest, most reliable broomstick ever crafted yet!"
✨ [The screen transitions to a high-speed chase scene featuring a young witch—eerily resembling Aryanna—soaring effortlessly through a crowded Quidditch pitch. She twists, turns, and dodges bludgers with flawless precision.]
️ Narrator:
"Powered by the revolutionary Lunarlight Charm Stabilizers™ , the Aurora 5000 offers unrivaled speed, agility, and comfort for flyers of all levels."
🌟 [Cut to a breathtaking close-up of the broom's sleek, glowing design, its polished magical oak shimmering under a moonlit sky.]
️ Narrator:
"Crafted from enchanted aged English Oak and imbued with a genuine Phoenix Feather core, this isn't just a broom—it's a masterpiece."
🎵 [Triumphant music crescendos as the witch lands gracefully, her hair cascading as she flashes a confident, knowing smile.]
️ Narrator:
"The Nimbus Aurora 5000 —because flying shouldn't be ordinary. It should be extraordinary. Soar to new heights and touch the stars! Available at your local Potter LunaTech Emporium or by special order only. Terms and conditions apply."
✨ [The screen fades to a shimmering golden tagline, glittering against a breathtaking starry backdrop:]
"Fly Like You've Never Flown Before!
Because you haven't... until you've flown the Potter Original Nimbus Aurora 5000." *
The advertisement ended, leaving the audience murmuring and casting longing glances toward the screen. It flickered momentarily before returning to Fudge, who now appeared thoroughly red-faced and flustered. Aryanna couldn't help but imagine that, if it were possible, steam would be rising from his ears.
"You're back on, sir," a new aide whispered urgently, though the attempt to sound encouraging fell flat. Fudge was too distracted to listen.
Realizing that the entire stadium's attention was fixed on him again, Fudge stiffened, cleared his throat, and fiddled with his hat before reluctantly shuffling toward the podium. His eyes stayed glued to the floor, as though making eye contact with the crowd might cause him to spontaneously combust.
Aryanna leaned toward her friends, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Watch this. Ten Galleons says he's about to say something ridiculous."
"No bet," Susan replied, crossing her arms and clearly unimpressed.
"Twenty?"
"No bet!"
"One?"
"NO!"
"Oh, you're no fun!"
Hermione groaned, her face buried in the palms of her hands. "Honestly, I'd rather not wager on incompetence. This is a disaster waiting to happen."
"No, this is comedy gold!" Hannah countered, grinning as she munched on a generous helping of Popping Puffcorn.
Fudge reached the podium, leaning away from the magical microphone as if it might bite him. "A-hem! Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, and, uh… various magical folk. Welcome to my, um—I mean, the—Youma International Magical Seminar!" His voice wavered when the microphone, seemingly sensing his discomfort, edged a little closer. His forced smile did little to reassure anyone.
Aryanna smirked, whispering, "There it is. He's not even two sentences in, and he's already fudging it up." Susan rolled her eyes at the lame joke.
"As Minister of Magic, it is my honor to, uh… commence this historic event," Fudge continued, shuffling through a set of notes. "We are here to… to…" His voice trailed off as the notes suddenly slipped from his grip and scattered across the podium, a few fluttering dramatically to the floor. "Oh, dear…"
The audience shifted uncomfortably. A few stifled chuckles escaped before being quickly silenced by reproachful glares. Fudge scrambled to collect the papers, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson as the murmurs grew louder.
"Called it," Aryanna whispered triumphantly.
"As I said, no bet!" Susan shot back.
"This is terrible," Hermione muttered, shaking her head.
"Terribly entertaining, you mean," Hannah said, grinning as she happily munched on another handful of Puffcorn.
"How did he become Minister?" Hermione asked incredulously, watching Fudge crouch awkwardly to retrieve the scattered pages.
"Oh, that's simple. Three reasons: one, he's a pureblood; two, he's easily controlled by those with money, making him a great puppet; and three, he's a 'stupid' pureblood—"
"You said pureblood twice," Hermione interrupted.
"Exactly," Aryanna replied dryly. "Because that's all that really matters. Purebloods vote for their own. No half-blood or Muggle-born has or ever has had a real chance. At least not unless sponsored by another pureblood—and those never last long. The smart purebloods either don't want the position or avoid it, preferring to control from the shadows. And let's not even start on how some of the most influential pureblood families are practically inbred. It's no wonder—"
"Aryanna!" Hermione hissed, her face aghast.
"Tell me I'm wrong," Aryanna muttered, crossing her arms. "A pureblood will always get the job first, no matter how underqualified. It doesn't help that some of the most politically influential pureblood families marry only among themselves, keeping their ignorance in the bloodline. That's why Dumbledore always turned down the position. He's too smart for it. If he'd wanted it, he could have had it ages ago."
Hermione, hearing this, looked down in shock before looking up at Fudge with growing anger. "Bloody nepotism. That's so unfair!"
"Yeah, well... that's wizarding cutthroat politics for you," Aryanna said bitterly. "Inbred puppeteers and imbeciles. It's not like the position has any 'real' power. The Minister might like to think he does, and while he does have limited powers, it's the Wizengamot that votes for and makes all the laws. It's the Wizengamot that can remove him from office if they disagree with him."
Meanwhile, Fudge finally managed to gather his notes, though they were hopelessly out of order. Straightening up, he stared at the crumpled mess in his hands. "Blasted papers! Jenkins should've reminded me about the self-ordering charm!" His voice carried clearly through the enchanted microphone, drawing a fresh round of stifled laughter. Fudge glared at the offending notes and banished them with a frustrated flick of his wand.
The audience gasped, collectively wondering what he would do next.
Straightening his robes, Fudge cleared his throat and pressed on. "As I was saying! We are here today to foster international cooperation and magical unity in these difficult times."
The crowd murmured in cautious approval, startled but grudgingly impressed by his recovery.
"For the past few months, a new threat—known as the Youma—has risen to endanger the safety and stability of our world," Fudge continued, his voice growing steadier. "A world I hold dear. A world I will not give up without a fight. When Hogwarts was attacked, we all watched, powerless, as a single Youma ravaged its hallowed halls."
Aryanna stiffened slightly, her eyes narrowing. The memory of that night was still fresh. Beside her, Hermione's faraway look betrayed her own thoughts, while Hannah's grin faded. Susan gave a quiet nod of agreement as Fudge continued.
"Indeed, had it not been for the timely arrival of a few extraordinarily gifted individuals, our children—the very lifeblood of our community—might have been lost… and I'd be out of a job."
A smattering of nervous laughter rippled through the audience, and Fudge seized the opportunity to pause for a sip of water before continuing.
"I am, of course, speaking of the Guardians of Magic," Fudge announced, puffing out his chest. "The very same Guardians who save Hogwarts and the very same task force I was proud to… er… create to combat this growing threat."
Aryanna rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable," she muttered.
"What did you expect? It's Fudge," Susan replied.
"I knew it was coming. Doesn't make it any less… Fudge."
"It was through my planning and foresight," Fudge went on, "that Hogwarts remains standing today, a beacon of hope in dark times!"
Hermione groaned audibly. "He's taking credit for everything we did."
Susan smirked. "As I said, standard Fudge sludge."
"And the crowd's eating it up," Hannah added, gesturing to the cheering audience.
"Ew, bad imagery," Susan muttered, wrinkling her nose.
"Somebody should stop him," Hermione said, ignoring the duo, her voice tight with frustration.
"Who? We can't. It would expose us," Hannah snapped back, equally angry yet resigned.
"Let him," Aryanna said with a shrug. "If it means we get what we need to fight the Youma, who cares if he gets the credit now? The truth will come out eventually. Besides, the people know who truly rescued them."
"But they don't, do they? Not really."
"No, they don't… Welcome to the secret life of a superhero. Undervalued, underpaid... but worth every moment," Aryanna said, offering a wry smile.
Fudge slammed his fist down on the podium for emphasis, startling a few members of the audience in the front row. "But above all, we will do this together! As one! And the next time we see one of these Youma, WE. WILL. NOT. BE. AFRAID. We WILL know what to do. AND... when ready, WE WILL WIN! This, I pledge to you as the Minister of Magic for Great Britain and its subsidiaries!"
Aryanna raised an eyebrow. "Subsidiaries? Did he really just call other countries subsidiaries?"
"I think he did! Apparently, we're all part of the Ministry's corporate portfolio," Susan deadpanned.
"Subsidiaries? Good grief, it's like the East India Company all over again?" Hannah chimed in, taking another handful of puffcorn.
"I think he meant colonies, protectorates, or territories," Hermione corrected, her voice filled with near horror. "That's still bad, though."
The audience erupted into scattered applause, though the few polite claps were clearly just for show.
Fudge continued to speak for a few more minutes until finally...
"And now, without further ado, the time has finally come! To inspire us all, please welcome a member of the Guardians of Magic...er..." He looked for his notes which were no longer there. An aide quickly whispered into his ear. "Please welcome Sailor Venus you will now give you an instruction! Everybody...SAILOR VENUS!" As Fudge stepped back, beet red but visibly relieved, Aryanna leaned over again. "That might've been the most awkward thing I've ever witnessed."
Hermione sighed, finally uncovering her face. "At least it's over."
Hannah grinned. "I don't know. I'm hoping there's a sequel."
"Psst, we're up... I mean... our stunt doubles are up..."
"Seriously?... Stunt doubles?" Hermione deadpanned.
"Ok, fine, Body doubles... but 'stunt' sounded better."
Indeed, at that moment, the camera panned away from Fudge and zoomed in on the grand stage, now focusing on Sailor Venus, who waited calmly at a small altar in the center until eh camera was in place.
"Oh, this is so weird... I'm looking at myself, yet not me. I mean, it's me... supposed to be me, but..."
"Shhh! We get it, that's us down there too... now be quiet and enjoy... it's finally beginning!"
Down far below on the stage, Sailor Venus stepped forward, instantly commanding the attention of the entire audience. A small, floating, 60s-era news camera nearby illuminated her face, its magically powered flashlight flickering as it captured her radiant presence. With a confident smile, she spoke directly into the lens.
"Welcome, everyone, to the Youma Seminar! Can you all see and hear me?" She paused, grinning. "Of course, you can. You're all looking at me through Potter's Magiscreens—the latest and greatest for your home. Our sponsors for tonight made me say that," she added with a laugh, drawing giggles from the audience. "But just in case, if you can't see or hear me, please send up a red spark, or if you're underage, politely ask an adult to do so for you now." She waited a moment, and when no sparks appeared, she nodded approvingly.
"Excellent! Let me introduce ourselves. I'm Sailor Venus, and these lovely young ladies behind me are Sailor Mercury," she gestured to Mercury, who stepped forward with a small, polite wave, "and Sailor Jupiter." Jupiter stepped forward, her stance strong and assured, giving a warm wave before also stepping back. "Together, we will be your hosts for the next few hours. Before we dive into the fun, however, let's go over some preliminary instructions."
Sailor Venus waved her hand, and an image of a small black box with several colored buttons appeared on a floating blackboard behind her. Another 60s-style camera promptly zoomed in to capture the image clearly.
"In front of you, you should see a small black box," she said, pointing to the image. "Each box has several colored buttons. For those unfamiliar, these are known as buttons—very popular in the Muggle world and used daily. They are easy to use and, contrary to some stories, they don't bite... usually. These buttons aren't spelled to bite, so feel free to look at them now, but please don't touch them yet."
After a few nervous giggles from the audience and stern glares from some Aurors from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts section of the Ministry, Venus walked up to the blackboard. She placed a small professor's cap on her head and picked up a wooden pointer. "Hmm, old-school style. Nice!" she quipped, earning more chuckles from the audience.
"Alright, please press the red button here," she said, tapping the red button on the image. "Go on, don't be shy."
A small light lit up on the nearby blackboard, and two numbers appeared. One number grew larger until it stopped after a few seconds.
"Excellent! Well done! Notice how the light on your box lit up? This means you've just asked a question. I also have a light here," she said, pointing to a light on the blackboard. "Beside it are two numbers. The left shows the booth number of the next question, and the right shows the total number of questions waiting." She suddenly adopted a scared look. "Let's try to keep this number manageable, okay?" she added, causing laughter to erupt across the stadium.
"If you have a question during the seminar, press the red button, and I'll get to you as soon as possible. Please remember that I and the others might be busy, so it could take some time. We reserve the right to ignore questions that are offensive, irrelevant, or already answered. Your patience is appreciated; after all, I'm only one person! While there are no stupid questions, answering everything could keep us here all year, and nobody wants that!"
She paused to take a quick sip of water, allowing the audience some more time to laugh before continuing.
"Next, to your right, you'll see a small notebook. This is linked to a master notebook I have here," she said, gesturing to a small table in front of her. "Whatever you write in your notebook will appear in mine. Use this notebook to jot down any questions or observations. While I can't promise we will answer everything, we will do our best to address the most important points."
She gestured back to the red button. "Let's press the red button again, please."
After a few moments, the light on the blackboard switched off, and the numbers returned to zero.
"Great! That number is much more manageable," she said, pretending to wipe fake sweat from her brow, prompting laughter.
"If you're having any difficulty, please send up a red spark. Someone will assist you shortly."
A few red sparks appeared around the stadium, and Venus nodded toward some offstage helpers before continuing.
"Now, let's talk about the other buttons on your box. The green buttons switch your screen to another view. We have several blackboards floating around. Press the green button to change your screen view. You might need to press it a few times to get to the blackboard you want."
She took another sip of water. "The blue button controls the volume. If I'm too quiet, press the plus sign. If I'm too loud, press the minus sign."
"When I'm ready to speak to you, a small light will appear on your black box. To speak to me, press the small black button beside the light. If done correctly, the light will turn red. Speak into the black box, and I'll hear you. Once finished, press the black button again, and I'll answer your question."
With a wink, she added, "Feel free to experiment with your black boxes while we assist anyone with issues."
Her tone shifted as she straightened up, and for the next few minutes, those with problems received help. Finally, she received a nod from someone backstage.
"Thank you all for your patience. I've been informed that everyone can now hear me perfectly and knows how to use their boxes. Excellent! Now, let's discuss something very important: your safety. While we're here to learn, it's crucial to first address a few house rules for tonight's event."
She gestured to the room. "This building has over forty emergency exits. In case of a fire or a Youma attack, remain calm. For a fire, head to the nearest exit. For a Youma attack, let us handle it and follow our instructions. Tonight's seminar involves live fire exercises with real Youma."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Venus raised a hand to quiet them. "I know it sounds dangerous, but every precaution has been taken. Each booth is protected by a rune-based shield strong enough to withstand anything the Youma might try. While these shields won't hold forever, with us here tonight, you're in the safest building in the country. Your safety is our top priority."
Her expression turned grave. "Youma are dangerous creatures that will do everything in their power to harm or escape. If we ask you to do something, comply immediately. Reckless behavior will not be tolerated, and we will take action—even against you—if necessary. Your safety, and the safety of those around you, depends on it."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "Trust us. We're here to protect you, but we can only do that if you do your part. Together, we'll ensure this seminar is both thrilling and safe for everyone."
She offered a small smile. "Now, let's get started."
Back in the founder's booth, Aryanna and the girls watched the seminar's opening phase with rapt attention.
"I still can't believe that's technically me down there," Susan remarked, her voice tinged with wonder. "But I like what I'm seeing so far. She's got my style—knows exactly how to work the crowd."
Aryanna gave Susan a playful nudge, her grin widening. "Good to know you're happy with your better half."
Susan rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile.
"I really liked how she explained the buttons," Hermione said, a spark of excitement lighting her expression. "Breaking it down into simple terms like that makes it accessible. That's the kind of bridge-building we need—demystifying Muggle technology for wizards who wouldn't otherwise give it a second glance."
"True," Susan agreed, her tone thoughtful. "If this weren't an official Ministry seminar, most of them wouldn't have bothered to show up, let alone take it seriously. There's still this outdated belief that Muggles are stuck in the Dark Ages. Setsuna's doing a good job shattering that illusion."
"And giving the sheep a crash course in reality," Aryanna added, her voice edged with frustration. "If we want to survive, we need to work together. Aunty's got large plans to introduce phones and other Muggle tech over the next few years, but it won't be easy. Purebloods have been spoon-fed the same anti-muggle nonsense for centuries—'Muggles are brutes who've only just invented the wheel.' It's no wonder they're scared."
"It's no wonder they're scared," Susan echoed, a flicker of sadness in her voice. "I used to believe some of it too, before... I met you."
"And we're so glad you did," Aryanna said warmly, giving her friend a smile.
Susan returned the smile as Aryanna added with mock drama, "A world without Potter and Bones working together? Unthinkable. Tragic. A true travesty."
"Hey!, You mean Potter, Bones, Granger, and Abbott...right?," Hannah interjected with a grin, lending her support as Hermione gave a curt nod of agreement.
Aryanna nodded solemnly. "That's right."
Hannah's smile faded as her tone turned serious. "Come to think of it, if the ministry had not supported it they'd probably have walked out at the first mention of the word 'Muggle,' never realizing—or caring—how useful this knowledge could be," she said, disgust heavy in her voice.
Susan tilted her head thoughtfully. "When you put it like that, it really does sound grim, doesn't it?"
"Hopefully after this, we can finally start to move forward and learn to work together. If this seminar works, it could completely change the way the magical world sees Muggles," Hannah said, her voice tinged with cautious hope. "Maybe it'll be the start of something bigger."
"One can always hope," Susan replied, her tone laced with skepticism. "But centuries of prejudice don't just crumble overnight. It's going to take more than one seminar to undo all that."
"True," Aryanna said thoughtfully. "But every re-education process starts somewhere. It takes time—usually more than we'd like—but I believe magicals and Muggles can learn to coexist. The Prime Minister is already on our side, so that's one foot's in the door. Now we just need the other side to open theirs. And when they do, both worlds will be stronger for it - strong enough to survive."
"If we live long enough to see it you mean," Susan added with a wry smile, though determination flickered in her eyes. "Still, it's better to start than to do nothing at all."
"We will live long enough and more," Aryanna said firmly, her voice steady despite the enormity of the challenge ahead. "That's why we're here. Why the crystal chose me. The Youma and their masters will try to stop us, of that there will be no doubt. But we'll find a way to defeat them. The alternative is unthinkable."
For a moment, the girls fell silent, the weight of Aryanna's words settling over them.
Onstage, 'Venus' gestured dramatically toward a new projection. A grotesque monster appeared on one blackboard, its misshapen features twisted into an expression of malice. On another, illustrations of scouts and guardians—both familiar and unfamiliar—came into view.
Intrigued, the girls straightened in their seats, their earlier conversation momentarily forgotten as Venus's commanding voice filled the hall once more.