A Marauder's Cub

by Starian NightZz

Dumbledore should have learnt that you can't keep a wolf's cub away from him. An angry Remus Lupin learned about the manipulations that have almost destroyed his life and his best friends, and decided that enough is enough. He soon became what he had been all along. A wolf. A guardian. A protector. A Marauder.

28. The Slytherin Heir

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Slytherin Heir

Three days had passed since the drawing of names from the Goblet of Fire, nearly a week since the disastrous confrontation between Hadrian Potter-Black and Ronald Weasley, and just as long since Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons School have both taken offence towards Hogwarts for how they've treated one of their own.

Tensions between the three schools have lingered like a storm cloud ready to burst since.

Today, however, the Great Hall of Hogwarts had buzzed with the typical activity during the mid-day meal. Students chattered across the four house tables, with the clinking of cutlery on plates ringing through the hall as the scents of roasted meats, fresh bread, and honey-glazed vegetables wafted from the enchanted platters.

As usual, the Gryffindor table was the rowdiest house table, though the usual mirth carried a bitter edge since the infamous duel, with whispers and mutterings aimed toward the Durmstrang students who ignored the Hogwarts students, and only mingled with their own, or with the Beauxbatons students.

Since that disastrous duel, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons have flat-out refused to share the house tables with Hogwarts' students, and extra tables and chairs were conjured by the castle's magic for them at meal times.

Ron Weasley sat at the Gryffindor table, red-faced and busy stuffing his face with that day's meal as usual. Hence, he barely noticed the figure approaching him. His fork clattered onto his plate as he stuffed another slice of bread into his mouth, laughing at something Seamus Finnegan had just said. That laughter faltered as a sharp thwack interrupted the flow of conversation.

A copy of the International Magical Daily was slammed down in front of Ron, silencing the surrounding conversation. Goblets wavered on the house tables. Heads turned at the slight commotion.

Bill Weasley stood behind his youngest brother, fury burning in his eyes.

Hogwarts, as well as Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, have seen the oldest Weasley brother around since the drawing of the names for the Goblet of Fire, with the eldest Weasley being part of the team of curse breakers and rune masters that Gringotts have sent as part of the security measurements. He is a breath of fresh air, as compared to the two youngest Weasley siblings.

Today, however, Bill Weasley looked absolutely furious as he glared down at his youngest brother, with his jaw clenched tight enough that a vein visibly pulsed around his neck. When Ron opened his mouth, no doubt to complain about the ruined drink or the interruption, Bill finally spoke.

"Read it."

Ron blinked. "What—?"

Bill's voice was low and controlled, but it vibrated with such restrained rage that even Professor McGonagall, who had started to rise from the staff table, paused.

"Read the article on page two, Ron. Now."

Slowly, Ron opened the paper. Around him, the Gryffindors leaned in, curious. From the other house tables, they too have scrambled to get their hands on a copy of International Magical Daily. Dean Thomas gave a low whistle as his eyes skimmed the bolded headline.

Honour in the Shadows: The Forgotten Truths Behind Durmstrang's Presence at Hogwarts

The byline read: Emily Macmillan, Special Correspondent.

To the students and even the professors who have paid attention to international news, they recognised the reporter as one of the magical world's foremost authorities on news, and had a strict sense of honour and conduct. Any article written by her would hold nothing but the truth, and she would never embellish any article, unlike Rita Skeeter.

As Ron scanned the words, his face morphed from confusion to rage.

The article was scathing—not of Hogwarts as an institution, but of the recent behaviours exhibited by some of its students. Emily Macmillan, with her signature poise and cutting clarity, had outlined the divide caused by unchecked prejudice, and the disgraceful incident in which a Hogwarts student had cowardly hexed Hadrian Potter-Black in the back during a formal duel, only to be protected by Hadrian's familiar, Mehen.

Though the name of the Hogwarts student wasn't printed, anyone who had witnessed the duel knew exactly who it referenced.

The piece is damning, and doesn't paint either Hogwarts or Britain in a good light.

It even spoke of the insult levied against the late Lady Lily Potter by an unnamed student—a deliberate choice, but no less obvious to those who had witnessed the event. It even detailed the slur and insults thrown at Hadrian's familiar, Mehen, with the article even detailing how the umbra anguis is an internationally protected species, and is considered to be on the grey spectrum, rather than dark, and were generally protectors and guardians.

The article even spoke of the collective anger from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons that followed. The students from both schools had given statements, defending Hadrian and condemning Hogwarts' lack of decorum.

Viviane Krum's words were quoted: "We came to Hogwarts to participate in a competition of strength and honour. What we found instead was cowardice dressed in jealousy."

Even Fiona Evans, in a rare public statement, had spoken: "My cousin's mother died a hero. For someone to speak her name with such venom and insult… It's a stain on Hogwarts' name."

Ilian Rysinov, the head boy of Durmstrang had given a statement as well: "We of Durmstrang respect honour and courage, and it is clear that Hogwarts had neither. For a Hogwarts student to deal such insults to one of our own, and not even make the proper reparations… Well, it is clear his family did not teach him any manners."

Even students from Beauxbatons were quoted, and they were none too pleased with Hogwarts either.

By the time Ron reached the end of the article, his ears were scarlet.

"How dare they!" he shouted, rising to his feet. "How dare they slander me like that!"

Bill arched a brow, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Slander? Every word in that article is the truth, Ron. Unlike your claims to Hogwarts, making yourself out to be the victim when it is your actions that shamed not only yourself, but also your school, and even your family!"

"I never—!"

"Don't lie," Bill cut in, his voice sharp as a whip. "Even if the twins haven't told me and Percy everything that had been happening in Hogwarts since the arrivals of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, I had my own sources. You are the reason why the duel was called for. And not only did you act dishonourably, you even tried to attack your opponent when his back was turned after the duel had ended. You wanted fame, Ron. Congratulations. You're now in an international paper. I doubt this is the kind of fame you actually wanted. I'd say the only reason why Emily Macmillan did not reveal who you are is because unlike Rita Skeeter, and the British press, she actually respects the underage laws. If she had revealed who you are, you wouldn't be getting a day of peace from now on."

Ron trembled, his fists clenched. "They're making me out to be the villain!"

"Because you are the villain in this story," Bill said, his voice cracking with disappointment.

Ron crumpled the paper, his cheeks flushing with anger. "It doesn't name me. It could be anyone."

Bill leaned in, his voice low and sharp. "Everyone knows it was you. You insulted a noble House and shamed your name in front of international dignitaries. And you still think you're the victim? Do you think Percy can keep your name out of it when Aunt Muriel asks him about it?"

Ron sneered. "Oh, come off it, Bill. So Potter's a big deal overseas. Who cares? Aunt Muriel can go on and on about bloodlines and pure customs, but no one listens to her either."

The temperature seemed to drop. Bill straightened slowly.

"You think this is a joke? To you, Aunt Muriel may be insufferable, but she has influence amongst high society for a reason, and it isn't just because of the Prewett name. She understands things Mum and Dad never cared to teach us, and is still considered head of House Prewett. Things that Dumbledore actively encouraged you to ignore. But those 'old ways' you scoff at? In other parts of the world, they're still the law. Still sacred to the magical world as long as you call yourself a wizard. And someday, your ignorance of them is going to destroy you."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. What are they going to do, duel me at dawn?"

A new voice cut through the tension. "They might not. But I will."

Neville Longbottom stepped forward from the Hufflepuff table where he had been seated with Susan Bones, fury etched on his usually calm face. He stared down at Ron with cold, righteous rage.

"I've kept silent for years even as you shamed yourself, insulted my friends, and even insulted my god-brother. But not this time. You not only shamed yourself, but insulted my godmother, threatened my god-brother, and dishonoured a House that I am allied with. You insulted my godmother, calling her slurs and names for her sub-gender and think no one would take offence, and even struck Hadrian like a coward. Hadrian can take care of himself. But he is still my god-brother. If you so much as look at him wrong again, I will invoke the old laws and call for a blood feud. And unlike you, I know how to make it stick."

Whispers started to spread across the Great Hall like hissing fires, even as they looked at the grim-looking Neville Longbottom to the pale face of Ronald Weasley.

The blood feud that the Weasleys had with the Malfoys decades ago is still remembered amongst the various wizarding families, and is also the reason why the Weasleys are still known as 'blood traitors'. But if a prominent family like the Longbottoms declare a blood feud on them as well, there will be nowhere they can run to escape it.

Ron pale. "Neville, come on, mate—"

"We were never friends," Neville snapped. "You just assumed. Don't think that I didn't know it was Dumbledore who ordered you to befriend me in our First Year. You must think I'm as dumb and thick as you if I will fall for your false attempts at friendship after you spent the first couple of months telling me what you think of a 'near squib'." He sneered.

Bill said nothing. He simply looked at his younger brother like he barely recognised him.

"I'd suggest you tread carefully from now on, Ron, like Percy and I told you. Because your next mistake won't just cause you bad press. It might cost you your future."

Bill turned and left through the front doors of the Great Hall, his robes billowing behind him as he did so. Neville left a moment later, giving Ron disgusted looks before he rejoined Susan and the rest of his Hufflepuff friends at the Hufflepuff table.

Ron sat alone at the Gryffindor table even as the murmur of voices slowly returned. The paper remained crumpled in front of him, but its weight lingered in the air like a curse yet to be cast.

XXXXXX

The week following the explosive confrontation between Ron and Bill Weasley saw a heavy tension draping the atmosphere around Hogwarts like a suffocating fog.

As part of the Triwizard preparations, the organisers and even the professors as well as the heads from each school have arranged for mini-competitions between Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons. These mini-competitions were touted as a gesture to promote unity and inter-school camaraderie, as well as encourage friendships between the students of the three schools. However, with everything that had happened since the arrivals of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, the mini-competitions had turned into something far more intense—a visceral reckoning.

And Hogwarts is the unfortunate victim.

The mini-competitions, far from 'proving Hogwarts' superiority', had instead turned into a damning showcase of how far behind their students were, as compared to the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Hosted on the sprawling grounds with spectators from all houses and delegations in attendance, with even Ministry officials and reporters, each contest was a quiet humiliation.

It began with the broom gliding event—an event first suggested by Madam Maxime during the discussion for the Triwizard months ago. Beauxbatons' team had caused jaws to drop with the show of graceful elegance in the air. Sleek brooms carved from enchanted rosewood and ivory streaked through the sky like brushstrokes of artistry.

"Our very best brooms from France," Madam Maxime had said proudly.

Hadrian Potter-Black, however, as Durmstrang's representative, soared.

He flew as though he belonged in the air, as though the wind had accepted him as kin—every twist and spiral drawing gasps from the crowd.

Clad in Durmstrang red and black, the omega's form shimmered in the early morning light, his balance perfect, and his magic humming visibly around his broom like mist. He curved into impossible loops in mid-air, gliding backwards in sharp S-curves, and performing broom acrobatics that could put even professional broom gliding teams to shame.

The other members of the Durmstrang team performed spectacularly as well, but it was Hadrian Potter-Black who stole the show, and everyone present knew it.

The judges awarded full marks to the Durmstrang team the moment they glided down to the ground. Both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang applauded with pride.

From their yearly Inter-School Competitions with Ilvermorny School, Beauxbatons knew that Durmstrang had them beaten when it came to broom gliding ever since Hadrian Potter-Black got onto his school team in his Second Year.

From the stands, Fleur Delacour, seated in between Fiona Evans, and her younger sister, Gabrielle Delacour, offered Hadrian a smile and a small salute. On either side of Fleur, however, Fiona and Gabrielle were not holding back in offering Hadrian their congratulations.

Hogwarts' own participants, however, barely managed the basics. Their sweeps were hesitant, and their movements clunky. The audience murmured. The members of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons who have represented their schools in the broom gliding event looked almost insulted and disappointed at this poor showing.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Mikhail Vasilev wanted to know, looking very insulted.

The whispers amongst the foreign delegates and the reporters whispered about how Hogwarts only learned basic broom control in First Year, and never had any broom lessons in subsequent years after, unlike their sister schools.

Next came the friendly Quidditch matches. In theory, it was supposed to be friendly matches between the schools. The reality, however, was a different thing entirely.

Durmstrang totally decimated the Hogwarts team.

Even without Viktor Krum and Natasha Michaelis—both who were professional players of the National Bulgarian Quidditch team, and hence, are not allowed to compete in school Quidditch tournaments, it is clear that the Durmstrang team were way ahead of Hogwarts.

The match was swift and brutal, with every goal by Hogwarts immediately answered with three more from Durmstrang. The Hogwarts Keeper could barely keep up, the Beaters missed more Bludgers than they hit. And even Cedric Diggory, being the best Seeker in Hogwarts, could barely keep up with Durmstrang's Seeker in the sky.

Fleur Delacour led Beauxbatons' team with grace, gliding like a goddess over cloud banks. Her team played with a style so fluid it bordered on ballet. Against them, Hogwarts only lasted slightly longer before being driven into the ground, both literally and figuratively.

Then came the duelling tournaments, hosted with great formality by Nikolai Kostov, Madam Maxime, and even Filius Flitwick.

It was here that Hogwarts faced its deepest humiliation, though the school was confident in their duelling prowess before the arrivals of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

Durmstrang's duelists fought like warriors from ancient battlefields. Their spells were precise, brutal, and fast—with minimal wand movements. The older students, wandless, and relying solely on raw magic and rune-casting techniques, moved like forces of nature. When Hogwarts' Seventh Years stepped forward with wands clutched like crutches, the difference in calibre was obvious.

Draco Malfoy, paired against a Seventh Year Ravenclaw, disarmed her in three seconds flat.

Hadrian Potter-Black, facing two Slytherin duelists in quick succession, barely seemed to move. Shadows slithered around his feet, and his magic surged from him with the deadly elegance of a serpent. He toyed with his opponents, letting them believe they had a chance. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he shattered their spells mid-cast, rendering them helpless.

Then, there was Trivia Night, hosted in the Great Hall with magically enchanted quiz tables and judge panels.

Hermione Granger, radiant in Beauxbatons blue and silver, sat at the center of her team. Her hair was curled, her lips glossed, and her posture proud. She looked nothing like the scared little girl she was when she was last in Hogwarts as a First Year. Today, she is every bit a proud Beauxbatons student, and as deadly and intelligent as her mentor, Fiona Evans, who watched her mentee with pride from the sidelines.

Hermione Granger did not so much compete as dominate.

Her responses were instant, and her facts precise. Magical theory? History? Runes? Potions? She cut through each question like a blade through silk. When the Hogwarts team stumbled on a question about the Goblin Rebellions, Hermione didn't even look up from sipping her water before answering with chilling clarity.

She took particular delight in correcting one of Hogwarts' Seventh Years on their misinterpretation of Goblin Rebellion Law.

"And this," she said, sweetly, twisting the knife as the room gasped, "is exactly why I left."

The audience had watched in stunned silence.

Michael Fawley and Bill Weasley—Gringotts' representatives have watched by the sidelines together with Percy Weasley.

Unlike the other British Ministry's representatives, Percy was not surprised in the least by the results.

When Percy Weasley first received the news about the mini-competitions being held as part of the Triwizard celebrations, he had an inkling that this would be a wake-up call for not just Hogwarts as a whole, but also the British Ministry which had remained deluded for decades that Hogwarts is the top magical school when the truth is that they no longer held that position within the ICW for a very long time.

The position of the top magical school changes with each year, but for the last few decades, the title of the top magical school was constantly held by Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, or even the Russian wizarding school, Koldovstoretz School of Magic.

"This isn't going to be good for Hogwarts' reputation on the international scale," Michael sighed, seeing the disheartened looks on the Hogwarts students and staff, and even the way the reporters were scribbling furiously into their notepads. "But it might just be the wake-up call they need to catch up with the rest of the world."

By the end of the week, the results were painfully clear.

Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were operating on a completely different level. While Beauxbatons have areas of education where they are better than Durmstrang, the fact is that the students of both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were on equal footing with each other, unlike Hogwarts.

Hogwarts, once thought by the British wizards to be the pinnacle of magical education, had been unmasked as woefully behind.

The next issue of The Daily Prophet as well as the International Magical Daily isn't going to reflect well on Hogwarts.

Rumours began to spread like wildfire after the end of that week after the first round of the mini-competitions when Durmstrang and Beauxbatons have constantly taken the first and second spots constantly, whereas Hogwarts was either in last place or was so over-classed that it wasn't even funny.

The students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons who were in Fifth Year and above had no wands. They didn't need them. Even several students in Fourth Year do not need wands.

They snapped their wands at the end of Fourth Year.

Every other magical school in the world follow that same standard, apart from Uagadou School of Magic which taught wandless magic starting from the First Year.

Hogwarts didn't even teach wandless casting. Half the Seventh Years couldn't manage a Lumos without a wand, let alone some of the more advanced duelling and Defence spells that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are capable of.

This was just the shocking realisation that Hogwarts and Britain are starting to realise—that they aren't as advanced or powerful as they like to imagine they are. That they are wholly behind, and if they don't do something soon, they are going to be left in the dust by the rest of the world.

Because the fact is that Britain and Hogwarts are not ready for the world beyond the British Isles.

XXXXXX

The soft flickering of the hearth fire cast long, warm shadows along the honey-hued stone walls. The cozy, earth-scented room echoed faintly with the rustling of parchment and whispered conversations. The banner of Hufflepuff House hung limp on the wall, and the usual laughter of the house was conspicuously absent.

Cedric Diggory sat on one of the low, cushioned sofas, elbows braced against his knees, with his face buried in his hands.

He hadn't moved for over twenty minutes.

The entire week had been one of a very brutal reckoning for not just Hogwarts, but also Hufflepuff House.

Even Trivia Night—something that Hogwarts is supposed to excel at, had seen them totally outclassed by each and every single question by Beauxbatons. Even the Hogwarts Seventh Years looked like ninnies next to Hermione Granger and the Beauxbatons team.

Ernie Macmillan stood nearby, uncertain, biting his lip. Susan Bones sat cross-legged on the carpet beside Cedric, glancing now and then at her best friend, Hannah Abbott, who was staring into the fire.

"What was I thinking?" Cedric whispered, voice hoarse. He finally raised his head. His face was pale, and his eyes haunted. "Why did I even think I'm anywhere near a match for Krum? Or Delacour? Heck, even Potter far outstrips me! Heck, any of the Durmstrang Fourth Years far outstrips me in everything!" He laughed bitterly. "Every single one of them—even the Beauxbatons students—they all duel with magic I didn't even know existed. Have you even seen the way Potter chains his spells together against his opponent in the duelling competition? I didn't even know that was possible! And he did it like it's as easy as breathing to him! And with the lack of reaction from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, it is clear that it is normal for them! And here I am, flailing with a wand like it's the only thing keeping me standing."

Zacharias Smith, perched on the edge of a chair, scoffed. "Oh, come on. You're an alpha, Cedric. You should be at the top of the pack. This is just a fluke—they probably train more or something. No big deal."

There was a snap.

Hannah's head whipped toward him, eyes ablaze.

"Viktor Krum is an alpha, too," she said, her voice low and furious. "And he wipes the floor with people twice his age. So what exactly is your point?"

Zacharias blinked.

Susan's lips curled, her tone icy. "I'm so sick of hearing people act like being an alpha means you get a free pass to be an arse or automatically win everything. You think that matters when Hadrian Potter-Black, an omega, completely annihilated two Seventh Years in a duel without breaking a sweat? And not to mention that disgrace of a duel between him and Ron Weasley over a week ago." Susan stood, with the eyes of the entire House on the Bones heiress, but Susan didn't flinch. She merely stared at Zacharias. "Hadrian barely moved, Zach. He just stood there and toyed with his opponents. If he had actually been serious in his duel with Ron, Ron wouldn't be standing here today. I grew up with Hadrian, as did Neville, and I didn't even know he could do this!"

Ernie, normally calm, looked tense.

"We need to stop making excuses. They're better because they were taught better. They train harder. They weren't coddled or lied to about being the best just because they were born into some sub-gender."

Cedric groaned again, and leaned back against the cushions. "It's not just about power, either. It's in the fact they barely moved. Like the spells just formed when they want it. Even for the few Fourth Years that still used wands. It's like…instinct to them. They don't even need to think about it. And if mere Fourth Years from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are capable of such things, I almost dread to find out just what Krum and Delacour are capable of once the First Task begins."

Silence fell.

The fire crackled softly.

Susan moved to sit beside Cedric on the sofa, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You are enough, Ced. But you need to stop comparing yourself to them and start learning from them. They're still angry now, sure, due to our school's actions towards Hadrian, but they won't stay angry forever. You're our school's representative. Prove to them that Hogwarts is more than just, in their words, 'a bunch of bigots'."

Hannah nodded. "You can still be proud. But not if you keep pretending that pride and ignorance are the same thing."

Cedric gave a long, shuddering breath.

"Right."

And though the fire still burned low, something had shifted in that room.

The mirror had been shown.

And perhaps, just perhaps, Hogwarts might finally start to see.

XXXXXX

It was long past curfew when the heavy doors of the Hogwarts staff room creaked open, admitting the senior faculty members one after the other. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering lights over the solemn faces that entered.

Unlike most staff meetings, this time, every single staff member was in attendance—even the ones that don't normally attend staff meetings like Hagrid, Professor Binns, and even Professor Trelawney.

Minerva McGonagall stood near the head of the elongated oak table, hands tightly folded in front of her, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her stern gaze swept across the room, watching as Professors Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, Vector, and Hooch took their seats with subdued murmurs of greeting.

The atmosphere was grim, heavy with unspoken frustrations and lingering humiliation from the past week.

The mini-competitions between Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons had been meant to foster camaraderie and friendships between the students. Instead, they had revealed just how far Hogwarts had fallen behind.

McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Thank you for coming. I know it is late, but after this week's…revelations, we must speak frankly."

"Frankly?" Professor Aurora Sinistra, her green robes swirling like storm clouds, arched a brow. "Minerva, our students were obliterated in every category. Even in Astronomy, my own field, the Beauxbatons Fourth Years were charting celestial magic alignments Hogwarts doesn't even teach!"

Professor Sprout nodded, her brow furrowed beneath her earth-streaked hat. "Their Herbology knowledge was incredible. They knew hybrid cultivations and magical grafting techniques I hadn't touched since my own apprenticeship! And wandless plant manipulation! My Seventh Years can barely cast a protective bloom without a wand."

"And the duelling?" Filius Flitwick added, his voice a mix of amazement and worry. "Durmstrang's students disarmed ours with such speed and precision. They were duelling with wandless shields. And it's not just the older students either. Even their Fourth Years were more than of a match for our Seventh Years!"

The murmurs of agreement grew louder until a dry, accented voice cut through them like a dagger through silk.

"Of course they did," said Andre LeBeau from his seat near the end of the table. The Potions Master looked every inch the Beauxbatons-trained wizard: elegant, sharp-eyed, with a crisp navy robe lined in silver thread. His apprentice, Emilie Courbert, stood respectfully behind him, her eyes quietly observing, and her hands folded. "Did you all truly think Hogwarts was still the apex of magical education? That you were still unrivalled in your curriculum?"

Dumbledore finally raised his hand, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses, though the twinkle seemed dimmer than usual. "Andre, I understand your concerns, but Hogwarts has stood for centuries as a bastion of magical learning—"

"That bastion is crumbling," Andre interrupted, his voice sharp. "Hogwarts hasn't been in the top position for a very long time. Not for decades."

A stunned silence fell.

"Durmstrang, Ilvermorny School of Magic from America, and Koldovstoretz School of Magic from Russia have been trading top placement with Beauxbatons for the last twenty years," Andre continued coldly. "Hogwarts is not even in the top five anymore. And you wonder why your students struggle with what I teach in Fifth Year Potions? That is standard Third Year material at Beauxbatons."

The French professor looked around at the shocked faces surrounding him. "Hogwarts is lacking, as I told you when I first came here. You're missing so many core lessons and classes that the other magical schools in the world offer. And you wonder why I taught, in your words, 'such advanced potions' when I first presented my lesson plan. I can tell you now that I am only following what I used to teach at Beauxbatons. In fact, it is watered down as it is, as Hogwarts students simply can't keep up! Our students will not be ready for the world. We are not equipping them with the right tools and knowledge for one."

"And secondly, you are constantly making them believe that their sub-gender is what will get them ahead in the world when it isn't! Apart from Britain, there are protection laws for omegas. Assault on one in any other country is an automatic prison sentence, if not death sentence, depending on the severity. If Ronald Weasley had said and done what he did to Hadrian Potter-Black in France, DMLE agents would already be arresting him by lunchtime. And Bulgaria as well as Norway have harsher laws regarding omega protection."

Emilie stepped forward. "And you have no wandless magic curriculum. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students snap their wands at the end of Fourth Year, and begin rigorous wandless casting. It's not a tradition. It's a test of discipline and magical connection."

"Snap their wands?" Vector echoed in disbelief.

"Yes," Emilie said. "And Uagadou? Their students begin wandless magic from First Year. Africa never lost belief in magic, and their traditions are strong. Hogwarts is still teaching First Year charms as if students have never felt raw magic flow through their fingertips."

"That's because they haven't!" Aurora said, appalled. "We never train them to."

"That's exactly my point." Andre's voice rose, his eyes flashing at his colleagues. "You coddle them. You constrain them with traditions that serve no purpose except to keep them dependent on their wands and the Ministry."

Dumbledore frowned, folding his hands calmly. "Magic is dangerous when left unchecked. It is our responsibility to teach them control. Besides that, wandless magic is a dangerous path. It is volatile, and often associated with…darker practices."

Andre let out a bark of bitter laughter. "There it is again. Your obsession with the word 'dark'. Anything that you cannot control or understand is automatically dark. Is that why you tried to commission me to invent a potion to change an omega's sub-gender, even though it is highly illegal, and could have forced the ICW to declare war on Britain's magical community and wipe us all out if they ever found out about it?"

The room gasped.

Minerva turned to Dumbledore in shock. "Albus, is that true?"

"It was a preventative measure," Dumbledore said weakly. "To help Harry. I feared for his safety—"

"No," Andre growled. "You feared losing control. And now, you see the result of your choices. We are raising generations of magical children unfit for the world stage. Your obsession with maintaining the status quo has cost this school its place. You don't just want control, Headmaster. You want obedience."

There was silence amongst the Hogwarts staff, before at last, Filius Flitwick sighed. "Let's face it: as educators, we've failed our students. We can say that the Board had tied our hands, or it's the Ministry who won't allow us to change things. But can we truly say we've tried our best for our students?" He challenged his colleagues. "Hermione Granger's incident three years ago could have been avoided if we had just controlled the bullying problem. But we didn't, and that is the issue. We've let the rest of the world outpace us, and we didn't even realise it."

"Hogwarts is a laughingstock now," Aurora said, her voice low and vulnerable.

Minerva finally spoke, her voice low and bitter. "I always knew we were stagnating. I tried to suggest curriculum updates, but the Board constantly shut us down. Said it wasn't necessary."

No one in the staff room said that half the reason is likely because if they made changes to the coursework, the pureblood students would never be able to keep up or even pass. As a result, Hogwarts destroyed the futures of the rest of their students just to keep the status quo.

"What should we do?" Pomona asked at last.

"You do your jobs as educators," Emilie said gently, but firmly. "Why did you become teachers? Isn't it because you wanted to help guide the next generation? Remember that passion. Remember why you wanted to teach. This isn't just about your own pride. This is about all your students. You're failing them. You're giving them a false sense of superiority and setting them up for failure when they leave these walls."

Pomona's voice cracked as she spoke. "No protections for omegas. No wandless magic. No studies in magical politics or diplomacy. No coursework in magical healing until NEWTs. We've turned into an antiquated boarding school. It's no wonder Durmstrang and Beauxbatons turned down our offers to let their students sit in on our classes, choosing to hold their own classes over the floo mirrors instead. I thought it weird at that time when we heard, but now I understand."

"Our students aren't safe," Aurora whispered. "And they aren't prepared."

"You're all exaggerating," Dumbledore insisted, stroking his beard. "Hogwarts is just fine. The mini-competitions are just…a case of bad luck, that is all. We're still a fine school."

Andre stood abruptly, his eyes flashing at Dumbledore's insistence to stick his head in the sand. The French professor slammed a folder of parchment onto the table, making everyone jump. "You want proof of everything that I've said? Here. ICW standings. Course comparisons. The number of Hogwarts graduates unable to qualify for international magical positions without remedial training. And don't get me started on Hogwarts graduates attempting to apply for magical universities aboard and getting laughed out of the application offices! You are clinging to old glories, and the sooner you realise that, the better it is for all of us! For the students!"

Dumbledore got to his feet too, his eyes hard. "You speak of Hogwarts as if she is a ruin."

"She is becoming one," Minerva said softly. "And the sooner we realise that, the better it is."

Filius cleared his throat. "We need change. Real change. We need to implement wandless magic. Reintroduce subjects like Ancient Magic, Magical Theory, and Transplanar Studies. We need to revamp our History course too. Many of my muggleborn students have complained that it is centuries out of date. We can bring in new staff if necessary."

"The Board won't agree to it, but I'll take this straight to the Education Department if I have to," Minerva said grimly. "Griselda Marchbanks is an old friend of mine. She'll listen to me."

"We can reach out to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons for exchange programs," Pomona added, with the professors already pulling out parchment and quills and scribbling notes furiously. "Let our students learn alongside theirs."

Aurora stood next, her voice calm but firm. "We start adapting. I propose restructuring our Fifth Year curriculum immediately. Add wandless magic theory. Begin foundational training."

Filius nodded. "I can work on duelling modules. I have contacts in the French duelling league."

Pomona cleared her throat. "I know a few Herbology Masters in Koldovstoretz School. One of them is even the head of their Herbology department. I'll reach out. Maybe we can have an inter-school correspondence program."

"We should start teaching sub-gender legalities too," Emilie added. "Outside of Britain, protections for omegas are taken extremely seriously. Our students need to understand the world beyond our borders, and that their family names alone won't protect them from everything."

Hagrid, surprisingly, nodded his agreement. "I could help with creature studies. Real stuff. Not just textbook learnin'."

McGonagall's heart swelled, both with pride and sorrow. Pride at her colleagues' determination. Sorrow for the years they had all lost to complacency. She turned towards Dumbledore who had a sour look on his face. "You cannot stop this, Albus. We either adapt, or we perish. Hogwarts will not be left behind again."

Dumbledore looked as if someone had torn his very foundation out from beneath him.

Andre LeBeau looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I only have one question for you, Albus. I told you when I first joined the faculty that Hogwarts is behind the rest of the world, and I've told you every year since, but you kept brushing me off. Why do you want to keep the students in ignorance? Why must Britain always lag behind? Why keep the country isolated from world news? You don't even allow international papers to be delivered. Why do you seem to want it that way?"

There was no answer.

Andre exchanged looks with his apprentice, even as the rest of the staff traded uneasy looks. Even without Dumbledore answering, every single person in the staff room knew the reason why.

For now, however, Minerva allowed herself a moment of fragile hope.

It was not too late. Not yet.

Hogwarts could rise again.

But it would take everything they had.

XXXXXX

Lucas Michaelis sat cross-legged, sketching runes into a spell diagram in his sketchbook, a frown on his face. Nearby, Hadrian Potter-Black and Draco Malfoy were chatting quietly with Viviane Krum and Mikhail Vasilev, with an Alchemy textbook opened on Hadrian's lap.

Not far away from where they were seated near the edge of the Black Lake were Viktor Krum, Natasha Michaelis, and Alec Vasilev—with the older students poring over their own books. Just because they were in Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament doesn't mean that lessons still won't go on as normal for them. They still had exams at the end of the year once they return.

Laughter and conversations echoed across the grounds from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students—all of them scattered in loose groups. Not far away, Hermione Granger is with her Beauxbatons friends, with Luna Lovegood and a few of her own friends with them, all of them laughing at something that Hermione had just said. The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were all steadily and deliberately ignoring the sullen stares from many of the Hogwarts students.

Clearly, half of Hogwarts are still unable to get over the fact that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are way ahead of them when it comes to their studies.

Next to Lucas, Hadrian looked up from his Alchemy text. "Still brooding," he muttered as he caught sight of Ron Weasley glowering from a distance.

"He's been brooding since Lucas disarmed him in less than four seconds during the duelling competition," Draco drawled. "I'm shocked he hasn't claimed divine interference yet."

Lucas and Viviane snorted. They both still recalled the fit of the century Ron Weasley had thrown when he had lost spectacularly to Lucas, insisting that 'some lowly omega couldn't have beaten him', conveniently forgetting how he had gotten his ass kicked by another omega (Hadrian) just a week earlier.

As if summoned by their words, Ron Weasley stomped over, his wand gripped tightly in his hand.

"You cheated!" he snapped, pointing one finger at Lucas. "No one gets hit that fast unless there's cheating involved!"

Lucas didn't look up. "Try dodging instead of whining next time."

Ron flushed crimson. "I don't care what you insist you didn't do! I know you cheated!" he accused.

The surrounding Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were starting to get drawn by the commotion, and more than one of them was frowning at Ron Weasley. Even the students of Hogwarts were starting to get drawn by the commotion, as were a few of their professors. Hadrian frowned when he spotted the distinct colour of Dumbledore's robes amongst them.

"So you're accusing BOTH our schools of cheating?" Viviane asked, lifting her chin with an incredulous brow raised. "Do you realise how ridiculous you sound? Durmstrang and Beauxbatons didn't just beat Hogwarts at one event. We outclassed you in everything. Is it really that difficult to admit that we're just that much better, and didn't even have to spare the effort to cheat?"

"How else would we have lost this badly?!" Ron shouted. "Hogwarts is the best. There's no way we'd lose to both your schools unless there was cheating involved!"

Hadrian sighed. "If there's anything wrong, it's your IQ level. Honestly, is it so hard to accept that your school is behind? Hermione's said it. Luna too. You just don't want to listen."

Ginerva Weasley had trailed after Ron, and now stood beside him, her eyes trained on Hadrian. "You're just saying that because they got to you first," she sneered. "You're supposed to be mine."

Hadrian blinked at her. "What?"

"You kept insisting on that nonsense theory that you're an omega," Ginny insisted. "There's no way you're one! You're just wearing that horrible omega collar because they made you! You're just confused. Or maybe the horrible Black family is poisoning you against us."

She would have said more, but Draco got to his feet instantly, his expression thunderous. "Don't you dare insult our family again. One more word and we'll take this to court. Knowing your family, you won't even be able to afford the lawyer fees, let alone the fines you have to pay. Slurs against bonded omegas and noble families aren't taken lightly, especially in Bulgaria."

Hadrian rose to stand beside Draco, offering his cousin his silent support. His expression is one of exasperation. "For the last time, Miss Weasley, I don't like girls. I never have. The only girls I even had any sort of relationship with were Susan and Viviane, and they're more like sisters to me than anything else. And I'm not confused. I'm an omega. Get over it."

Lucas had finally looked up from his sketchbook, his voice sharp. "You keep claiming you're the best, yet your actions don't show it. We came here to compete in a tournament of fairness and honour, not to babysit egos."

The group rose as one, ready to leave. But Ron, in his fury, lashed out with the first spell that came to his mind—the Exploding Curse. From the corner of his eye, Lucas saw the movement and heard the shouted incantation.

Everything around him slowed. Lucas barely noticed that his older sister and her friends were running straight for them, with Alec raising a wandless shield. But it was too late.

The curse sped toward Lucas' back.

And then, the world erupted in flame.

A furious cry shattered the air, resonating with ancient fury.

Fawkes.

The phoenix appeared in a flurry of flames and feathers, his wings alight with golden fire, and screeching with a voice that pierced bone. The temperature around them soared. The spell that Ron had cast vanished midair, consumed by the ferocity of Fawkes' protective flare.

The phoenix landed on Lucas' shoulder, his flames crackling at the tips of his feathers. Fawkes' eyes glowed with incandescent rage. Ron almost stumbled backwards over his feet in fear.

For the Hogwarts students who have only read about phoenixes in their textbooks or heard stories about phoenixes from their parents, they could only stare. Phoenixes are supposed to be protectors of the light. Guardians of all things good.

So why is a supposed 'creature of the light' defending a bunch of Dark wizards?

Lucas was frozen for only a moment, stunned.

Fawkes had come to his family right before he'd left for Durmstrang. From what his father had told him, the phoenix was a willing guardian of Hogwarts because of Aria Michaelis, and because Aria had saved Fawkes from a group of poachers. As his way of repaying the girl who had protected him, Fawkes had willingly stayed to protect the school that she had loved.

But it seems like even Dumbledore's atrocities were too much for Fawkes to tolerate by that point. Unlike popular belief, there is no possible way to bond with a phoenix. They were guardians of Magic, and chose who to follow and who to protect. And it seems like Fawkes had decided to protect the descendants of the one and only human whom he'd ever loved.

"Fawkes," Lucas murmured, stroking the phoenix's breast feathers gently to calm down the irate phoenix. Fawkes' battle cry turned to a gentle trill as he happily nuzzled his beak against Lucas' cheek.

And then, Dumbledore approached them, his expression thunderous as his gaze remained on the phoenix with a look that Lucas didn't like.

"Fawkes! Stand down!" Dumbledore commanded, his voice cold and full of authority.

Fawkes didn't move, and continued nuzzling against Lucas, acting for all in the world like he didn't hear Dumbledore.

"You will obey me."

That was when Lucas turned, his voice laced with steel. "Fawkes is a free phoenix. He doesn't serve you. He never did. No phoenix ever had a master."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed at the phoenix on Lucas' shoulder. "He has always been Hogwarts' protector."

"No," Lucas replied, his voice cutting through the silence like a hot knife through butter. "He stayed for Aria Michaelis. For her. He remained as the school's protector due to her. He left when you tried to use him to enslave a child."

Dumbledore paled, even as whispers erupted from the students—not just those of Hogwarts.

"He tried to use Fawkes to force Hadrian into obeying him," Draco spoke up next to Lucas. "Uncle Sirius and Mother found the number of compulsion and controlling charms on the letter. That's when Fawkes decided to stay with the Michaelis family."

Natasha stepped forward just then, her face flushed with fury. "So, what will you do now, Headmaster? A student from your school just tried to curse my brother from behind. What punishment do you suggest for attempted murder?" Her venom-like glare almost caused Ron to wet his pants.

Dumbledore's expression closed off. "Children make mistakes."

That was it. That was all he said.

Durmstrang and Beauxbatons erupted in outrage.

"Mistake?! He called that a mistake?!"

"That boy tried to curse Lucas in the back and he called that a mistake?!"

"If we had been in Durmstrang, Headmaster Kostov would have expelled that boy before the day was up!"

"And the DMLE called for!"

"He cast an Exploding Curse at Lucas' back! It could have killed him!"

"A mistake?!" Natasha snapped, taking one step forward. Alec held her arm, but even his jaw was tight with rage. "That boy cast an Exploding Curse at my brother's back! If it had connected, Lucas would have died! And you call it a mistake?!"

Ron flinched back at the looks of contempt from not just Durmstrang students, but also Hogwarts students. Only his sister didn't look bothered, but only looked disappointed that the curse didn't hit.

"And what do you outsiders think you can do in our school?" Ginny scoffed.

Natasha's eyes flashed dangerously. "We didn't plan to reveal this until after our father had been to England's Gringotts branch. But he did tell us to play this card if we have to." She exchanged looks with her brother who nodded. "Show them."

Lucas raised his left hand in response.

The Slytherin Heir ring gleamed in the fading light.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Any wizard or witch in Britain would recognise the Slytherin crest. And there, visible on the Heir ring on Lucas' finger, was the true crest of Salazar Slytherin. Not even Voldemort was able to claim the ring and Heir status from Gringotts.

Lucas spoke clearly, his voice carrying across the grounds easily. "You really should have checked on the backgrounds and identities of those entering your school grounds, headmaster." He said the word 'headmaster' like it's a curse. "My name is Lucas Michaelis. I'm the great-great-grandson of Ominis Gaunt and Aria Michaelis. Heir of Slytherin, by right and blood. And through my father, Lord Gaunt, also the rightful Slytherin heir." He hissed something to his elemental viper currently poking her head out from beneath his sleeve, and both Dumbledore and Ron paled, as did half the Hogwarts students.

"To claim the Slytherin birthright, you have to be a Parselmouth, and not deal in Black Magic which would otherwise destroy your Parselmagic," Natasha announced. "That's why the Dark Lord you have could never claim his birthright. The Slytherin Magic would never have allowed it. Unlike popular belief that you have here in Britain, Parselmagic is not dark. It's the lightest magic in the world. The most powerful healing magic in existence."

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Even the most arrogant of Slytherins gawked. Not even Voldemort had ever borne that ring. His claims as the heir of Slytherin are just that—mere claims. He had never done the rituals or gone to Gringotts to claim his birthright.

Now, they understood why he never did.

"That ring…"

"It's the true Slytherin crest. It's the Slytherin Heir Ring!"

"Even the Dark Lord never wore that."

Dumbledore's face was one of fury, even as he is reminded once more of Ominis Gaunt, the man who had stolen the woman he is determined to have, and again, the man whose bloodline allowed the Slytherin bloodline to flourish once more, when Albus had assumed he had ensured that the Slytherin blood will die with Tom.

And that same blood had even stolen his phoenix!

Fawkes trilled low and protectively, his eyes staring right at Dumbledore, like the phoenix was daring him to try something.

Hadrian tilted his head. "Still want to accuse us of cheating, Weasley?"

Ron looked ready to explode, but even he wasn't foolish enough to try anything with a furious phoenix in the way.

The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students turned away, their heads held high.

"Well, this is going to place the bees amongst their bonnet," Draco said the moment they were safe within the Durmstrang carriage. "I'll suggest you let your father know to claim the Slytherin title in Britain as soon as he can. And to prepare for the fallout."

Lucas and Natasha exchanged looks before nodding. "Don't worry, we already know what is going to happen the day Dad claimed the Slytherin Lordship," Lucas assured. "But the way Britain looks at Parselmouths and even anything remotely 'dark'… It's worse than I thought."

XXXXXX

Dusk was already settling over the Hogwarts' grounds, even as Durmstrang students lounged about on the grounds near their carriage, spending the few hours they had before curfew. The commotion between the Michaelis siblings and Ronald Weasley was all that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons could talk about for hours.

Natasha Michaelis had already told her father everything that happened—with Emil Michaelis being the Head Healer for the Triwizard contingent sent by the ICW. No one knows what Emil Michaelis had planned for the fallout, but the claiming of the Slytherin seats and lordship in Britain is likely just one of them.

Viktor Krum leaned against the side of the carriage, his arms folded, with his two best friends on either side of him—with all three older students looking at the small group forming a few paces away. Viviane stood nearby with Lucas, with both of them frowning, while Draco, Mikhail and Hadrian whispered between themselves.

And then, from the direction of Hogwarts Castle, Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom approached with purpose. They are just one of the few Hogwarts students that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons even allowed near them at this point. Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan trailed close behind Susan and Neville, their expressions grim.

The faces of all four Hogwarts students were unsmiling. Susan's shoulders were squared, and her steps were clipped. Neville simply looked tired, and his jaw was tight with tension.

"Looks like trouble," Viktor murmured.

"We have to be back in two hours before curfew," Neville said without so much as a hello. "But this can't wait."

"Ri," Susan said without preamble. "We need to talk. Now."

Hadrian only blinked, while Lucas sighed. Draco however looked as if he wanted to groan. "What happened this time?"

Susan didn't answer immediately. Her eyes swept across the Durmstrang group, noting that none of them were even pretending not to listen. In fact, many of the Durmstrang students had gone silent, clearly intrigued. The Beauxbatons contingent wasn't far behind in their interest. Gabrielle Delacour had even tilted her head from her position in between Fleur Delacour and Fiona Evans, leaning toward them without even bothering to hide it.

Susan took a deep breath. "You need to know what's being said about you. About all of you," she said, her voice low but shaking with frustration. "Ron and Ginny Weasley have been going around the entire castle, telling anyone who will listen that Durmstrang is a school of Dark Art fanatics. That you're all a bunch of killers in training. And Lucas… They're calling you the next Dark Lord."

Lucas' eyes narrowed, a slow exhale slipping from his nose. He said nothing, but his fingers twitched against the fabric of his robes.

A wave of icy silence swept over the group.

Viviane's eyebrows rose, and several Durmstrang students nearby chuckled beneath their breath. But it was the cold amusement of wolves hearing a sheep bleat.

"Idiots," One muttered. "What does that even mean?"

Susan, however, wasn't smiling. Neither was Neville and the other two.

"The entire school was buzzing about it at dinner," Ernie said urgently. "They're all talking about you like…you're a bunch of killers ready to kill us all in our beds or something."

Hadrian snorted with amusement. "I'm flattered, but I wouldn't waste my time killing those wastes of space."

Susan's tone hardened. "This isn't funny, Hadrian. You don't know how Britain sees Parselmouths and You-Know-Who. Having someone who claims to be the Slytherin Heir—especially someone who is also a Parselmouth—will have serious consequences. Not just from those who support the Dark Lord, but from the so-called 'light' houses too."

The silence was immediate and heavy.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes. He knows that Amelia Bones had been preparing Susan for her place amongst the House of Lords in Britain's Wizengamot since she was five, like how Augusta and Frank Longbottom have been preparing Neville for the day he takes on the Longbottom Lordship. So unlike Hadrian, Susan and Neville would understand Britain's politics better than he would.

"Explain."

Neville nodded grimly. "You've seen it yourself, Hadrian. And Sirius and Remus have told you enough times how Britain sees anything that is deemed 'dark'. Any trace of Parseltongue, of 'dark magic', and they assume the worst. The Ministry, and even the Hogwarts faculty—hell, even half the parents in Hogsmeade. They've been conditioned to see darkness in anything they don't understand or can't control."

"And it doesn't help matters that Hogwarts was totally obliterated by Durmstrang and Beauxbatons in the mini-competitions," Hannah added. "This is quickly turning out to be a shitstorm and an international nightmare in the making that even Percy Weasley wouldn't be able to fix."

Lucas exchanged looks with Hadrian. His voice was quiet, but it rang with steel. "I'm not ashamed of my gift. My father is a renowned Healer due to his Parselmagic, and I intend to be a Healer too," he said quietly. "I just happened to be the only one of Dad's children that possess active Parselmagic as my sister was born without the gift. It's why I am named Heir."

"Doesn't matter to them," Ernie said. He ran a hand through his hair. "You know how ingrained the fear is. They hear 'Parseltongue', and think of You-Know-Who. They hear 'Slytherin', and think of Death Eaters. It's a bloody mess."

Neville's jaw clenched. "And people are eating up Ron and Ginny's words like candy. Even some of the professors are starting to believe it. And after Mehen protected you during that duel, Ri? Half the Gryffindors are calling it proof that you're a dark wizard."

"Dark?" Viktor Krum finally stepped out from where he had been leaning against the side of the Durmstrang carriage. His voice was thick with disdain. "Dark, because he survived an ambush? Because his magic responded to danger? Because his familiar protected him, like any decent familiar would? Your people are afraid of shadows."

Ilian crossed his arms, his expression glacial. "To let one man have this much power in your country…" Durmstrang's Head Boy was visibly displeased. "What are your leaders thinking—or NOT thinking, in this case? In Bulgaria and Norway—hell, in most magical nations—we would never allow a single man to hold so many positions of authority. Headmaster. Supreme Mugwump. Chief Warlock. What kind of bloody oligarchy is this?"

"An old man's fantasy," Viviane muttered darkly.

Neville nodded solemnly. "Most of Dumbledore's positions were stripped after everything with Sirius came to light. Letting him be imprisoned without a trial, then trying to kidnap Hadrian when he was barely out of toddlerhood? He's barely clinging to the headmaster position now. Even the Ministry's distancing themselves, from what I understand from Dad. It's Amelia Bones who had the Minister's ear now."

Ilian scoffed. "I'm honestly surprised he's still the headmaster after everything. The ICW are absolutely furious with him since they stripped him of his Supreme Mugwump position. And yet, his shadow stretches across your whole country. As far as I know, Adrick Morozov is still rooting out Dumbledore's supporters from not just within the ICW, but also from the guilds."

Mikhail looked thoughtful. "Yet he still controls so much within Britain. Laws. Trials. Hogwarts."

Draco finally spoke, his voice flat. "Because people let him. He's built himself into a symbol. A saviour. The defeater of Grindelwald. Never mind how many lives he's destroyed in the process. It's why Uncle Sirius and Mother took us from Britain." He exchanged looks with Hadrian.

Susan exhaled slowly, composing herself. "Anyway. Lucas, Hadrian—you need to get your story out there. Before Dumbledore spins it into something darker. And before the British press paints you as a threat. The Daily Prophet isn't the only paper we have in England. The Black family owns the Prophet, so you can still control the narrative from that paper somewhat. But the other papers? That's why you both need to get your story out there first. You especially, Lucas."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, though there was a flicker of apprehension beneath his calm. "What do you expect us to do? Write an op-ed?"

Ernie stepped forward. "International Magical Daily is sending Emily Macmillan tomorrow for the Wand Weighing Ceremony. She's coming specifically to cover the tournament—though only one of the three champions still uses a wand, so it's mainly Cedric. But she'll be there. And you two? You need to talk to her."

Hadrian blinked at the familiar name. "Emily Macmillan? Are you talking about Emmie?"

Ernie paused at the casual usage of his sister's nickname—one used only by close friends and family. "You know my sister?"

Draco nodded, exchanging looks with his friends. "Yeah. She's a freelance reporter, right? She did a piece on the Shadowcloaks a few years ago. Nothing classified. Just what was already public record. That's how we met. Liese introduced us, wanting to know if Uncle Sirius and Mother could introduce Emmie to Lord Crow and Rean."

Viviane perked up. "Emmie? Liese's friend?"

"The same," Hadrian nodded. "She's a trustworthy reporter. One of the best in her field. She doesn't embellish her articles. People trust her articles. She had a reputation for researching and reporting nothing but the truth in her articles."

Ernie swelled with pride for his sister.

"She's coming tomorrow," Susan said. "Talk to her. Both of you." She looked at Hadrian and Lucas. "If it's Emmie, I trust her to report the truth. She has integrity, and people trust her name. Her articles matter. Give her an interview before Rita Skeeter or someone worse paints both of you as the next threat to Magical Britain."

"I'd rather it be Emmie than Rita Skeeter, anyway," Hadrian muttered.

"About Skeeter…" Hannah shifted. "She's vanished. No one had seen her since that article she wrote about your mum. Witch Weekly fired her after Andromeda Tonks threatened to sue. Rumour is that someone made her disappear."

Draco and Hadrian exchanged looks. That sounds like something their family would do.

"Good riddance," Viviane said, folding her arms.

The atmosphere, however, remained tense.

"Still," Susan said tiredly, rubbing her temples. "People are already whispering. They think Mehen is a Dark construct. They think Lucas is hiding something. They think you're manipulating everyone. You need to speak. Be heard. Before they turn you into villains in their heads."

Lucas let out a breath, looking over at where Natasha was standing with Alec and Viktor, with the older girl nodding. "If it's Emmie, I'll do it. But it's not going to stop the whispers completely."

"No," Susan agreed. She knows how Britain is. Most of them believe everything that is in the papers. "But it might make the ones who are listening realise that you're human. And not the monsters that Dumbledore and his golden children want you to be."

Silence fell once more, but it was thoughtful, not tense.

Susan looked at Hadrian and Lucas. "Both of you have power. And even influence. But that doesn't mean the world will listen—unless you make them. This is about more than just your reputations and that of your families. It's about the message it sends. That Parselmouths aren't monsters. That being the Slytherin heir doesn't mean you're another Dark Lord. That Durmstrang isn't the enemy."

Neville's voice was softer, but no less urgent. "If we don't speak out, Dumbledore and the rest will keep controlling the narrative. They'll keep feeding the fear. It's how they stay in power."

Hadrian felt something stir in his chest—old pain, simmering anger, and something fiercer: resolve. He looked at Lucas, who met his gaze and nodded silently.

"Alright," Hadrian said. "We'll talk to Emmie."

Around them, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students straightened slightly. Viktor smirked. Viviane nudged Draco with a small grin.

"About bloody time," she murmured.

XXXXXX

The skies above Hogwarts Castle were grey and heavy with clouds, with the early morning chill sharpening the edges of the castle's silhouette.

Emily Macmillan stood at the top of the hill overlooking the main courtyard of Hogwarts, her wool cloak billowing faintly in the breeze. Despite the cold, her blood ran warm with anticipation for what was to come.

A dozen eyes followed her every move as she descended the hill—reporters from The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, the North American Enchanter's Gazette, and even a few from minor international publications who wore their jealousy and curiosity as openly as their badges.

Emily could feel their gazes, weighted with envy, but she had long since learned how to carry herself like a storm dressed in silk. She walked with the measured poise of someone who knew exactly who she was, and why she was chosen.

At just twenty-three years of age, Emily Macmillan was the lead reporter for the International Magical Daily, one of the most prestigious magical publications on the continent. Her name was already inked on several international journalism awards.

She had uncovered corruption in the Baltic Potion Trade Union, exposed dangerous gaps in international Portkey safety regulations, and—most famously—been the first to break the story of the Balkan Mage Massacre cover-up. She was not simply talented—she was relentless.

And today, she was at Hogwarts to witness the Wand Weighing Ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament. Only, it was already proving to be unlike any previous tournament in living memory, if the recent letters from her little brother were true.

The ceremony was held in one of Hogwarts' unused classrooms, which had been transfigured into a marvel of magical architecture—probably more for the press than anything else. Soft, translucent curtains of starlight hung from the ceiling. A dais had been erected at the far end of the classroom, with three chairs of carved oak set for the champions, though only one of them would be used.

Emily watched as Cedric Diggory—tall, handsome, and nervous—stepped into the light and approached the platform. He was the only one of the three chosen Triwizard champions carrying a wand.

Fleur Delacour, radiant and composed, stood off to the left with Madam Maxime. Her arms were bare, devoid of sleeves or holsters, with her posture serene. To her right, Viktor Krum stood, silent and impassive beside Headmaster Nikolai Kostov, his dark eyes fixed on Garrick Ollivander who was waiting for Cedric.

If truth be told, like any Hogwarts graduate, Emily was shocked beyond belief to learn after her graduation that Hogwarts education is lacking, compared to the rest of the world. She had worked her ass off for years after that just to ensure that she can match up to the rest of her peers, and had even earned herself a reputation as a reporter to the point that Emily doesn't even need to tie herself to any press publication, but could work as a freelance reporter.

She had made it her life mission after that to ensure that Hogwarts and Britain wouldn't be behind, but it wasn't as easy as it seemed. The editor-in-chief at the International Magical Daily had told her bluntly that the Ministry of Magic in Britain and Dumbledore knew just how behind Hogwarts was, compared to the rest of the magical schools. And that they just don't care, as long as they can maintain the status quo, and just so Britain would continue looking up to Dumbledore and following his lead.

Now back in Hogwarts after nearly six years since her graduation, and it seems to Emily Macmillan that Hogwarts hasn't changed at all.

Britain's foremost wand-maker, Garrick Ollivander, with his pale, papery skin and watery eyes, held Cedric's wand as it was presented to him by the nervous teenager. "Ah," he murmured, turning the wand over, and examining it carefully. "One of mine. Twelve and a quarter inches, ash wood, unicorn hair core… Very springy. Yes, I remember this one well."

He raised his eyes and looked around the classroom at the gathered press members, the heads from each school, and even some of the professors present. There were even Ministry officials present, as well as Bill Weasley and Michael Fawley as Gringotts' representatives. There were even ICW representatives present.

"It's a fine wand, truly. One of the best I ever made, I must admit. Yet, I must remark—it is rare these days to see older students still relying on wands, particularly among our international visitors." Ollivander remarked bluntly.

A murmuring ripple went through the assembled crowd, and Cedric flushed with shame.

Emily felt for the poor teenager. He is merely experiencing what Emily herself had gone through as a fresh graduate when she realised that Hogwarts was lacking. In less than a year, Cedric Diggory is going to experience that shock first-hand if he hasn't already—especially if he intends to seek career prospects or advanced studies aboard.

Ollivander's voice was dry, but held a surprising heat of conviction, even as he looked at Dumbledore and the assembled members from Britain's Ministry of Magic. "I have, for years, attempted to persuade the Ministry—and Headmaster Dumbledore himself—that magical education in Britain must evolve. The rest of the world has long begun weaning their children off wand dependency by the time they reach their teenage years. Alas…"

Ollivander handed the wand back to Cedric gently, but the young man looked mortified. Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum have not even brought wands.

Dumbledore's expression was unreadable, but the few Ministry officials present, apart from Percy Weasley, looked furious.

As the ceremony concluded, and the press members as well as their photographers surged forward, Emily retreated toward the shadows, her sharp gaze sweeping the classroom and absorbing the implications of everything that she'd seen and heard so far.

From behind the door, she could hear laughter from some of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, though it wasn't cruel by any means. Still, Cedric stood off to the side, shrinking into himself. Unlike Viktor and Fleur whose headmaster and headmistress have stood by the side of their students even as the members of the press interviewed them, Dumbledore was off speaking furiously with some of the Ministry officials, leaving Cedric Diggory alone to deal with the British press himself.

When the press and the Ministry officials began to leave the room, a shadow passed beside her. "Miss Macmillan."

Emily turned. Nikolai Kostov's tall and imposing form stood at her side. Though his face remained neutral, there was a quiet intensity in his gaze.

"Headmaster Kostov," Emily greeted, dipping her head. "An enlightening ceremony."

"Indeed," he said in his thickly accented English. "I have two students who wish to speak with you. In private. Would you come?"

Emily arched an eyebrow. She knew who he meant.

She had been paying attention to everything happening in Hogwarts since the Goblet of Fire had chosen its champions, and knew of the drama surrounding the three schools competing in the Triwizard Tournament. And like any good reporter, Emily too had seen the tightly woven threads of tension and politics wrapped around Hadrian Potter-Black and Lucas Michaelis.

Her pulse ticked faster, but Emily showed no emotion on her face.

"Lead the way."

They both left the castle in silence, and toward the Durmstrang carriage. A subtle ward hummed as they passed, brushing over her skin like silk drawn over bare nerves. Inside the carriage, however, the warmth hit her like a welcome tide.

Wood-panelled walls glowed softly under enchanted lanterns. Books lined the shelves in what seemed to be the main sitting area, with comfortable cushions and chairs around a table. Light murmurs of voices echoed down the hallway from the rooms of the students.

A little early to be sleeping, but Emily understood why they were sent to their rooms the moment her eyes fell on the four students seated in the main sitting area, waiting for her.

Seated on one of the sofas were Hadrian Potter-Black and Lucas Michaelis. On the surface of the table in front of them was a floo mirror that Emily recognised as Sirius Black's invention that he had patented and sold as part of Marauder Inc's products in Bulgaria. Across from the two omegas were Viktor Krum and Natasha Michaelis, both older students sitting as quiet sentinels.

And on the surface of the mirror, Sirius Black's face came into view, with Liese Pearce beside him.

Emily's eyes brightened. "Liese."

Liese grinned. "Been too long, Em."

"Far too long. I should visit Bulgaria soon, as what is this that I heard about an engagement?" Emily's tone was teasing even as Liese blushed. "But that conversation can wait for another day." She then turned her attention toward Sirius, whose expression was far more serious. "I can understand why you've invited me here. But you do realise that if I agree to interview minors, I need their guardians' permission, and also someone to sit with them as I conduct this interview?"

Unlike Rita Skeeter and several of Britain's reporters, Emily refuses to compromise her values and morals when it comes to interviewing minors.

"I am aware," Sirius said bluntly. "That's why as Hadrian's guardian, I hereby give permission for you to interview him, and while I couldn't be there physically, I will be present through the floo mirror for this interview. Viktor is his betrothed, and of age, and will sit in my place to oversee this interview. Natasha is doing the same for Lucas, and Lord Emil Michaelis has given his permission too."

Emily blinked, momentarily caught off guard with this piece of information that she wasn't expecting. "Betrothed?" she echoed, looking between Viktor Krum and Hadrian Potter-Black. The Quidditch player was already settled behind Hadrian's back, his hand resting lightly on the omega's waist. There was even a betrothal bracelet visible on Hadrian's wrist, with the distinct Krum crest vaguely visible on it when Emily squinted. "How in the Goddess' name did you manage to keep this under wraps?"

"It wasn't easy," Viktor grunted.

Sirius gave a grim smile. "You may include this in your article if you wish."

"I leave this to them to decide," Emily said softly, looking towards Hadrian and Viktor. "This will impact them most of all."

Hadrian glanced at Viktor, who nodded.

"Might be for the best, anyway," Hadrian muttered. "Then maybe Ginerva Weasley and half the girls and boys at Hogwarts can stop throwing themselves at me. Ginerva Weasley in particular."

Viktor's eyes darkened with the mention of the redhead girl. "If she does that next time, I will hex her. Or I'll do something worse," he vowed. "I'm top of my year in Dark Arts for a reason."

Lucas choked on a laugh which he tried to disguise as a cough, but Hadrian wasn't fooled and gave his roommate several dirty looks. "And how is it going with Mikhail, hmm? You told him how you felt yet?" Lucas blushed, and the others in the room laughed at his embarrassment. "As I seem to distinctly recall someone blushing when Mikhail handed him his Charms notes this morning."

Next to Lucas, Natasha hid her laugh behind her hand, giving her brother several teasing looks. "Maybe I should speak to Dad about approaching the Vasilev family for a betrothal contract between you and Mikhail. Though what are the odds that the two Vasilev cousins would each fall for a Michaelis?"

Lucas' blush deepened. "Emily, should we start the interview now?" He asked hurriedly in an attempt to change the subject.

Emily laughed before she settled down in one of the chairs in front of Hadrian and Lucas, and waved a hand to cast a standard privacy and silencing charm that she always uses when interviewing people.

Her expression shifted as she pulled out a Dictation Quill and her parchment. She became more focused. More alert.

Standing by the side of the closed door that would lead to the outside, Nikolai Kostov who is observing the proceedings can now understand how Emily Macmillan gained her reputation.

"All right," Emily said, clearing her throat, looking at each teen, and then towards the mirror at Sirius and Liese. "Feel free to stop me if it's too much for you, and take a break if needed. If you're not comfortable with any questions I will ask, let me know. I will not take offence. I will also let you read the article before I send it for print. Any questions before I begin?"

There were shakes of the head, and Emily nodded.

"Okay," she said, before waving a hand over her Dictation Quill to start jotting down everything that would be said. "The date is the thirteenth of November, year nineteen ninety-four. My name is Emily Macmillan, Special Correspondent for International Magical Daily. With me are Heir Hadrian Potter-Black, Heir Lucas Michaelis, Heir Viktor Krum, as well as Natasha Michaelis, and Headmaster Nikolai Kostov. Also with me are Lord Sirius Black and Liese Pearce, being present via the floo mirror."

Emily looked at the parchment and noted that the Dictation Quill was jotting down everything that she'd just said, before she nodded to herself. She then looked at Hadrian and Lucas with a small smile on her lips.

"Let's begin," she said. "And tell me everything."