A/N: It's a short and sweet one. Hope you enjoy it :)

Year 9

Spring, 1993

You could hear a pin drop as the friends sat in silence. Only the sound of quills etching furiously on parchment filled the room, the occasional clinking of ink bottles followed by more scribbling.

Arah pressed on, ignoring the cramp in her hand, anger causing the ink to blot and run as she wrote, words flowing onto parchment like all the others.

To the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge...

I write to you with the utmost urgency and concern regarding the unjust decision to send Rubeus Hagrid to Azkaban in connection with the recent Petrification attacks at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This action is not only a grievous miscarriage of justice but also a deeply troubling precedent to set in times when fairness and truth should guide our leadership...

Arah glanced up, admiring the stack of letters they had written so far. All addressed to Minister Fudge in retaliation for his decision to send Hagrid to Azkaban without a fair trial.

It was barbaric. How could Fudge justify sending the most innocent and pure-hearted half-giant to a prison filled with some of the most cruel and vile wizards?

She knew the real reason—Fudge was scrambling to save face. The public wanted action, a villain to blame, and he'd handed them one, gift-wrapped and chained with a cherry on top for the Dementors. But it wouldn't stop the attacks. It wouldn't save anyone.

She turned her attention back to her parchment,

Hagrid has been a dedicated caretaker of Hogwarts for many years, known by students and staff alike for his kindness and unwavering loyalty to the school. To punish him without proof, is not just unfair; it is impetuous.

Arah underlined the last word, nearly tearing a hole through the paper.

Chiara huffed, growling in frustration as she crumbled up the paper and threw it in a growing pile of discarded letters in the corner. The Witch always got a little testy around this time of month with the full-moon near. She buried her head in her hands as Jae turned to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and muttered a few words of comfort in her ear. He always knew how to calm her.

A somber look was mirrored amongst the friends as they hesitated before returning to their work. Arah's gaze flicked toward Alanza and Barnaby, catching the unmistakable chill between them. A stark contrast to the past month, when Alanza had been practically glued to his side—nearly sitting in his lap like a Kneazle.

Arah pushed away the distraction, turning her attention back to the letter...

Furthermore, the recent suspension of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has left Hogwarts in an increasingly vulnerable state. Removing both Dumbledore and Hagrid only serves to deepen the sense of fear and uncertainty among students and faculty. In times of crisis, we should be seeking the truth, not scapegoating the innocent.

I implore you to reconsider.

"Do we really think this will work?" Badea's voice wavered with a mutual weariness, "We've been writing for days. Nearly all the Owls at the post have been sent out to flood Fudge with our letters. He's probably buried up to his neck by now..."

"We have to keep trying," Penny encouraged, her usual perfectly poised hair a frizzy mess as she scrawled with unnerving resolve.

"... how can we be so sure Hagrid isn't behind this?" Merula interjected.

The room froze. Every pair of eyes snapped to her, as if she'd just kicked a Crup pup off a cliff.

"You can't tell me I'm the only one thinking it..." Merula let out a hollow laugh, the heavy silence speaking volumes. "Look, I'm not saying Hagrid's a bad bloke, but… the half-giant has been seriously misled before. Think about it. We all know he nearly got the four of you killed last year with that little pet dragon stunt. The oaf can be delusional."

A few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but Merula pressed on.

"Not to mention he was expelled from Hogwarts in the past. Knowing Dumbledore, it must have been quite a serious offense. All I'm saying is... what if Hagrid does have something to do with these attacks?"

"He doesn't."

Arah's voice cut through the stillness, firm and unwavering. All eyes turned to her, expecting an explanation.

Merula folded her arms. "How do you know for certain?" There was no bitterness in her tone—just curiosity.

"I..."

The truth clawed at Arah's throat, begging to be released. It was moments like this, she wanted to tell them everything. Frustration burned beneath her skin. She wanted to scream. But instead, she swallowed the truth, starting at the floor in defeat.

"I just do."

Merula scoffed. "No offense, but I don't think that argument's going to hold up in court, Annon."

And as much as Arah hated to admit it, Merula was right. She was powerless, even with the knowledge she carried—the memory of the beast slinking through Colin Creevey's mind still coiled in the back of her own. The mere thought of it made her pale.

Her eyes flitted toward Barnaby. He was watching her, brow furrowed in that way he always did when he was deep in thought, reading right through her.

"Why don't we call it a night?" Penny offered lightly, gathering their scattered letters into a neat pile. "We're all a bit knackered and cranky. We can pick it back up tomorrow."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group as they began tidying up—stacking empty takeout boxes, clearing tea cups. Alanza disappeared upstairs without a word. It was unlike her.

Arah scrubbed at the teacups with more force than necessary, letting the rhythm distract her. A simple flick of her wand could have done the job in seconds, but she felt jittery, she needed to do something with her hands, something to keep her thoughts from unraveling. She had come too close to slipping the truth tonight.

"Need a hand?" The warmth in Barnaby's voice cut through her troubled thoughts like a balm. He didn't ask why she was scrubbing dishes by hand, didn't make a joke about her cleaning like a muggle. He just stood there, palm open, waiting. Steady. Familiar. Just like always.

Arah's lips quirked as she placed a dry cloth in his open palm.

They worked in a comfortable silence, grateful for his presence after the distance she'd felt as of late.

"You know something about these attacks, don't you." He whispered, breaking their unspoken silence.

A lie itched at her throat. Arah swallowed, deciding not to care anymore- not with Barnaby. She may not be able to tell him everything, but she could tell him portions of the truth.

"I saw it..." Arah's eyes glossed over at the memory, "Well... more like felt it." She turned her attention back to the dirty dish, scrubbing at the dried tea leaves. "I read the mind of one of the first victims, a first-year. It was horrible." She shuddered.

Barnaby's brows creased, deep in thought. "I take it this was a 'special case' for Magical Maintenance?" he spoke up, eyeing her thoughtfully.

Arah stayed mute, hoping her silence would answer his question as she handed him a clean cup to dry.

"I just...I feel so helpless." Arah sighed, slumping over the sink in frustration. "What am I supposed to do? Who's going to listen to a young woman from Magical Maintenance?"

Barnaby placed the cup down and faced her, "Arah, you could be the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and it wouldn't change a damn thing. The Ministry is corrupt. We've been bombarding their offices for days. Fudge only did what he did to get the public off his back and Lucius Malfoy has half the board in his pocket and probably blackmailed the other half to sign for Dumbledore's leave. We are doing everything we can." He gripped her shoulders, giving a little squeeze.

Arah sniffed, "That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Okay," Barnaby's hands slid down her arms, his voice dropping into that playful lilt she knew so well, "What if I transfigured Cornelius Fudge into a newt? A very small, very ugly one. Would that make you feel better?"

Arah's lips quirked up slightly at this, "A little."

"Alright, it's settled then. First thing tomorrow, I'm turning the Minister of Magic into a purple-spotted Newt."

Arah let out a shaky laugh, pressing her forehead lightly against his chest. His arms curled around her without hesitation, his chest vibrating with that husky chuckle of his. It felt so achingly familiar and safe.

"I've missed you," she sighed, relishing in her best friend's embrace.

"What are you on about? I see you all the time." Barnaby nudged her shoulder playfully.

"I don't know... I guess it feels like we've both been busy." Arah hesitated, before forcing the words out. ".. how are things with you and Alanza?"

Barnaby stiffened.

How could he even begin to explain? His cheeks burned with embarrassment. That whole 'situationship' should never have happened. It was doomed from the start.

The truth of the matter was... Barnaby had used her. He wasn't proud of it, in fact, he felt like utter shite over it.

It all started at St. Mungo's. Barnaby could have sworn he'd caught a flicker of jealousy in Arah's eyes when Alanza had fussed over him. So—like an absolute idiot—he leaned into it, hoping it might coax out whatever feelings Arah might have had for him.

But then… he started enjoying it.

Alanza's attention was intoxicating. She was shameless, bold, relentless. It had been a long time since anyone had pursued him so openly, and in a way, it felt good—especially when his own confidence had been in the gutter. He knew it was selfish. He did it anyway.

At first, it was just harmless fun. But things escalated. Quickly.

One night, he walked into his room to find Alanza already there, a colorful silk robe wrapped loosely around her.

"Alanza?" His voice caught in his throat. "What are you—"

The robe slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Barnaby gawked, his mind stalling as Alanza closed the distance between them.

"Shhh." She pressed a finger to his lips before he could speak.

Then she kissed him. It was all tongue and teeth—rough, desperate. His brain struggled to catch up as her hands roamed over his chest, then ripped his flannel apart, buttons scattering across the floor.

Barnaby jolted back, gripping her wrists. "Stop." His voice was firm, breath uneven.

Alanza froze, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Why?" she panted, lips swollen, brown eyes searching his face.

"I can't." Barnaby ran a hand through his hair, his stomach twisting. "I promise, it's not you, it's—"

"It's because of her, isn't it?" Her voice was sharp, her Brazilian accent thick with anger. "You're in love with Arah, aren't you?"

Barnaby shrank away. He couldn't look at her.

Alanza let out a bitter laugh, snatching her robe and pulling it tightly around her. "I knew it," she said, shaking her head. "A part of me always knew. I could see it in the way you look at her."

Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin. "I guess I hoped I could make you forget. What a fool I was." She scoffed at herself, blinking rapidly before turning on her heel. The door slammed behind her.

They had hardly spoken since.

Barnaby cleared his throat, shoving the memory away. "We decided we were better off as friends." His neck flushed as he busied himself with drying the last of the cups, avoiding Arah's gaze.

Arah frowned, "I'm sorry to hear it didn't work out."

"Don't be." a wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lowered his voice. "Between you and me, she was a bit suffocating."

Arah snorted, "Which part? The way she practically perched in your lap or how she would materialize behind you like a particularly affectionate ghost?"

Barnaby stifled a groan. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Barns, she was like a bottle of Garroting Gas, - but worst."

"Ha, ha," he deadpanned, smacking her arm with the dish rag. "Tosser."

"Git." Arah sneered as Barnaby dodged her next playful swipe.

They turned their attention back to the dishes, each of them smiling to themselves. Barnaby found himself disappointed to see just a few left to clean in the sink.

Arah nudged his arm, breaking the silence. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right call."

Barnaby held her gaze for a second longer than necessary before forcing himself to turn away. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm."

He exhaled softly, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. "Me too."

Arah didn't say anything else, just handed him the last dish to dry. A familiar ease settled between them, one that Barnaby had missed more than he cared to admit. He took his time with the final dish, letting the moment stretch just a little longer before setting it aside—reluctant, as always, to let her go.

A/N: We're going to start jumping a bit further ahead in time to speed things up! We are for sure entering into the land of the unknown since I'll be writing well ahead of Jam City, but I do hope it all feels very authentic and still cannon with the story line!