Chapter Text
June
A fifteen-year-old girl rushed up the stone path of the hamlet, her long brown hair flowing like a banner behind her. She slowed as she neared the small wooden gate of a weathered, run-down cottage. With a calm breath, she opened the gate, her eyes softening at the sight of blooming plants. However, her serenity was short-lived as she froze, noticing a slight crack in the front door.
Taking a cautious step forward, she reached under her tan cloak and pulled out a wand. It felt awkward and too long in her hands, a constant reminder that it had once belonged to her deceased mother. The weight of its history was palpable. She pushed the door open slowly, her senses on high alert. The sight that greeted her was disheartening: the cottage interior lay in disarray, clearly ransacked in a desperate search for something.
Her purple eyes narrowed as she surveyed the chaos. Ensuring she was alone, she let out a small, controlled breath. With a flick of her wand, a light pulse emanated from its tip, revealing three distinct auras that meandered through the house. She hummed softly, her gaze drawn to the aura she was seeking—a light indigo trail that suggested it had been left between two to four hours ago. Relief and frustration mingled within her as she realized her father had vanished before the arrival of the other auras.
She retrieved a small notepad from her purse, flipping it open to a fresh page. With a quill poised, she began to describe the auras. The first was a dull red interwoven with a dull forest green, the second a blend of silver and dull red, and the last one a mixture of brown and silver. Each aura carried a sinister undertone, tinged with the dark arts.
“Well… whoever these three wizards are, they have one thing in common,” she mused, tapping her quill against her lips. Another flick of her wand caused the auras to dissipate. “Their aura is tainted with the Dark Arts.”
She shook her head, moving through the cottage with purposeful strides. If her father had vanished before these dark wizards arrived, he had anticipated their coming and sent her away for a reason. She paused, her eyes falling on a small envelope placed delicately on her bed. It must have appeared upon her entry, untouched by the chaos surrounding it.
“As always, you were prepared for this,” she murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. She carefully opened the envelope, extracting the letter within and reading it with a calm, steady breath.
“Dear my gem,
I’m so sorry. There are many things that I wish I could explain to you but I swore to your mother I’d never speak of what she told me. As I'm sure you figured out, I’m being hunted by Dark Wizards. Due to this, I’ve decided to write to an old friend, the Headmaster of Hogwarts: Phineas Nigellus Black. He should be sending someone to fetch you by the time you finish this letter. We attended Hogwarts together, we both are purebloods, but when I met your mother I decided to vanish from the world, something I’m sure he’ll be very annoyed with to this day. I was very different as a young man than as your father. The only thing I truly can tell you is that your mother and I adore you, and we are so sorry.
Love your father.”
The familiar swoosh of someone apparating drew her attention. A tall, clever-looking wizard with black hair, shrewd, narrow eyes, a pointed beard, and thin eyebrows stood before her. Their eyes met, and she spoke with quiet confidence.
“Phineas Nigellus Black, I presume.”
He gave a curt nod, his eyes appraising her. “And you must be Saphira Morrigan, my old friend’s daughter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well. Let us not dawdle in this… place.” His tone held a note of disdain as he glanced around the cottage. He extended his hand, “You’ll be staying in the Leaky Cauldron as I handle the Ministry.”
She took his hand, and with another swoosh, they vanished, leaving the chaos of the cottage behind them.
◈⬩◈⬩◈⬩◈
Dear Miss Saphira Morrigan,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a fifth-year student.
Terms begins on 1 September.
Preliminary supplies have been collected for you and will accompany you on your journey to the castle.
As you may be aware, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prohibits the use of magic by those under the age of seventeen outside school. However, due to your unique circ*mstances, the Ministry has graciously agreed to allow Professor Eleazar Fig to help you hone your spell-casting before escorting you from London to the castle for the start-of-term feast and the Sorting Ceremony.
Yours Sincerely,
M. Weasley
Professor Weasley
Deputy Headmistress
September
Saphira adjusted her jacket as Professor Fig secured the luggage for their journey to Hogwarts. The professor approached her with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.
“It appears we are almost ready to depart! It's a pity we didn't have a bit more time to spend on spell-casting. I presume you've been practicing the spells we worked on.”
Saphira smiled back, a glimmer of pride in her eyes. “I have, Professor.”
“Well,” he chuckled, a hint of admiration in his voice, “I’m quite sure I’ve never seen anyone take so quickly to a second-hand wand. You'll be a force,” he winked, “to be reckoned with when you get your own.”
Saphira’s smile softened as she carefully tucked her mother’s wand away in her pocket. “Thank you, Professor Fig. I appreciate you working with me before the term-”
Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden swoosh. Saphira’s eyes widened as a man she had never seen before appeared with his back to them. The man turned around, startled, before letting out an awkward laugh.
“Oh! Eleazar!”
He walked over, and Professor Fig stepped forward with a welcoming smile. “George! Glad my rather cryptic description of our location did not thwart your finding us.”
The two shook hands, and George chuckled. “I've Apparated to more vaguely defined destinations than this. Though, I confess I may have miscalculated slightly on my first try.” He laughed, glancing at Saphira. “Gave quite the fright to some theatre-goers in the West End.”
Saphira offered a polite smile, taking a small step back as Professor Fig grinned. “It’s been much too long. When I received your owl, I must say I-”
George interrupted him, his tone suddenly serious. “Best not to speak here, Eleazar, hm?”
“Of course.” Professor Fig's voice held a note of concern. He turned to Saphira. “Why don't we speak en route to Hogwarts?”
Fig looked back at George, who nodded. “We have a start-of-term feast and a Sorting Ceremony to get to.”
Saphira glanced around, feeling a strange sensation as if someone was watching them, but George’s voice drew her attention back.
“Wonderful idea!” He smiled at Saphira. “As long as your young charge here doesn't mind me tagging along.”
He mimicked walking with his fingers, causing Saphira to smile slightly. It reminded her of her father. “Not at all, sir.”
“After you!” Professor Fig gestured towards the carriage as the bell of Big Ben began to ring.
“Ages since I’ve been to the castle!” George exclaimed, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
Saphira climbed into the carriage first and took a seat by the window. Fig settled next to her, and George followed, glancing around before shutting the door. As the carriage lurched forward and began to rise into the sky, Saphira's eyes were drawn to wisps of a dull red aura around a corner. She watched them disappear as the carriage ascended.
Saphira looked out the window, a small smile playing on her lips. Attending Hogwarts had always been a dream, one she had nearly abandoned due to her father’s disapproval. His tone had always been disapproving when he spoke of Hogwarts, yet she now sensed there had been more to it than mere reluctance. From the letters Headmaster Black had given her, it was clear her father had once adored Hogwarts, believing it to be the safest place in the world.
Headmaster Black’s aura revealed much about him—self-absorbed, lacking a love for learning, and never believing himself to be wrong. In stark contrast, Professor Fig’s royal blue aura matched his character perfectly: adventurous yet protective, a steadfast support for those he cared about. Saphira trusted him implicitly. George’s aura was a blend of light blue and orange, indicating strong communication skills, truthfulness, and a joyous connection with friends and family. He seemed quick to make and keep friends, a trait her father had always admired.
Her thoughts were interrupted by George’s voice. “And who is your traveling companion?”
Professor Fig gestured towards her. “A new student.”
“New?” George looked surprised.
“Yes, sir. I’m Saphira Morrigan. I’m starting school as a fifth year.”
“How extraordinary.” George studied her for a moment as Fig smiled.
“It is, indeed,” Fig agreed. “None of the faculty has ever heard of anyone being admitted to Hogwarts so late.”
“Nor have I!” George glanced at Saphira, who looked out the window uncomfortably. Fig gently nudged her arm.
“Of course,” he said, smiling reassuringly, “as the other fifth years will have been honing their magical skills for four years now, the Headmaster asked if I could get Saphira up to speed a bit before the term begins.”
George grinned at Saphira. “Well! You couldn’t have asked for a better mentor.” He winked. “Professor Fig is not only an exceptional teacher, he is also a remarkably intuitive—and gifted—wizard!”
Saphira smiled slightly, nodding in agreement as Fig chuckled. “Mr. Osric is prone to flattery. I dare say it's one of the reasons he's risen so far at the Ministry.”
They all laughed, the tension easing slightly. George then pulled out the Daily Prophet, unfolding it to reveal a headline: "Ranrok’s Goblin Rebellion: Truth? or ‘Gobbledegook’?"
Saphira frowned at the moving photo of a goblin as Fig’s tone grew serious. “I have. Opinions differ as to how great a threat Ranrok really is.”
Saphira glanced out the window, noticing what seemed to be a leathery wing in the clouds before it vanished. George continued, “Although I’ve yet to convince my colleagues at the Ministry, I believe he is a significant threat. And it was your wife, Eleazar, who alerted me to his activities months ago.”
“Miriam?” Fig’s voice was tinged with sadness. “How?”
George sighed, pulling out a cylinder with bronze cones on either side and a rune in the middle. “She wrote to me about Ranrok before she died—wondering what the Ministry knew about his activities. Before I could respond, I received this.” He handed the cylinder to Fig, who studied it carefully.
“It was the last thing she sent me, Eleazar. It came to me via her owl, but with no correspondence. I can only assume-”
“-that she had to get rid of it quickly to keep it safe,” Fig finished, examining the cylinder closely. “Presumably from Ranrok.”
Saphira’s eyes were drawn to the soft whitish-blue glow surrounding the rune. “What’s the glow?” she asked softly.
Fig looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t see a glow.”
“Nor do I,” George added, looking at Saphira with curiosity.
Ignoring the whispers that seemed to grow louder, Saphira studied the magic more intently. Fig held the cylinder out to her, and as she took it, the glow intensified before the cylinder popped open, revealing a single key made of goblin metal.
“Merlin's beard! How did you-?” George was astonished.
Saphira, startled out of her daze, looked back at the key. “I don’t…know…”
She reached for the key, but Fig quickly took the cylinder from her. “Wait! We do not know-”
A deafening roar cut him off as the carriage was torn in two. Saphira’s eyes widened in horror as a massive dragon loomed before them. It had dark, rough scales, ridges along its back, and glowing red eyes.
Fig threw his arm over Saphira to shield her, shouting, “Hang on!”
Her gaze was fixed on the dragon’s metal armor, alive with a silvery-red magic. She heard George scream before the dragon crushed the carriage in its mouth, silencing him abruptly. Looking back, she gasped at the sight of thestrals—bony, horse-like creatures with leathery wings—pulling the remains of the carriage.
The dragon opened its mouth, preparing to unleash fire. Fig shouted, “Jump!” The driver apparated away as Fig and Saphira leapt from the carriage, free-falling through the sky.
Fig grabbed Saphira mid-air, holding his hand out. “Accio!”
In a swoosh, they vanished just as the dragon’s jaws snapped shut where they had been.
