Time slipped silently into late April like a whisper through the castle corridors, and the spring term at Hogwarts was drawing to a close without anyone truly noticing its passage. When the young witches and wizards emerged from the cool shadows of the castle to play on the green lawns, they became gradually aware of subtle changes in their surroundings. The sunlight reflecting off the Black Lake's surface grew ever more dazzling, which made them squint and shield their eyes. The trees of the Forbidden Forest had unfurled their leaves in green, and the castle's many windows were open allowing breezes to drift through classrooms. Bright weather had become the dominant theme, pushing away the grey dreariness of winter like a memory best forgotten. The second task of the Triwizard Tournament had concluded in late February, on a day that many wished they could erase from their minds. This competition had not been as exciting as people had anticipated; rather, due to certain 'known reasons', it was rarely discussed openly. Even at Hogwarts, where gossip typically spread faster than a Summoning Charm, most students were reluctant to talk about what had happened that day. The story behind that prematurely interrupted match was simply too heavy, so heavy that most people preferred not to face it, and chose instead to bury it beneath daily routine and forced normalcy. The next task of the Triwizard Tournament was scheduled for June, leaving a full four-month gap that for the students was like an endless corridor. For the young witches and wizards who were accustomed to the adrenaline and drama of the competition, four whole months without anything to make their blood race and their hearts pound was an unbearable torment. So Quidditch, that widely beloved sport with its centuries of tradition, raised its head once more like a phoenix from ashes. The lack of official matches wasn't much of a problem as the resourceful students never ones to let rules stop them could organize "amateur" games themselves. Starting from late March, when the grounds had dried enough for safe flying, almost every weekend saw small groups arranging to compete at the Quidditch pitch. The professors, recognizing that their students needed outlets for the tension and anxiety that had been building since February, were happy to see the children release their pent-up feelings in relatively harmless ways. After merely reminding the students to stay safe and after Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping extra stores of Skele-Gro(heals bones tastes disgusting) on hand, they didn't interfere much with the informal matches. It was another sunny weekend, when the glaring golden sunlight streaming through the tower windows woke Harry. He had stayed up late the last night to finish the last of his homework which was a very boring essay on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century for Professor Binns. For more chapters visıt 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⚑𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⚑𝕟𝕖𝕥 The teenage boy, sprawling diagonally across his four-poster bed with his covers half on the floor, rubbed his bleary eyes with the back of his hands and sat up groggily. His black hair stuck up at even weird angles than usual, and his mouth felt dry and cottony. In the dormitory, everyone had already disappeared into the sunshine except for Ron, who was still snoring away in his own bed. Harry yawned widely enough to make his jaw crack, kicked off the blanket tangled around his legs like a determined snake, and stumbled out of bed in a daze. His bare feet found the cool grounds as he held onto his bedpost for balance, making his way unsteadily to the window. He pushed it open with both hands, letting the refreshing breeze sweep into the dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. Eager cheers and excited shouting could be faintly heard riding on the fresh air. The distant noise piqued Harry's curiosity instantly, cutting through his sleepy haze. He walked back to his bed, grabbed his round glasses from the nightstand where they sat beside his wand and once his vision cleared and the blurry world snapped into focus, hurried back to the window with swift steps. Leaning out slightly and shading his eyes against the brightness, Harry could see that the commotion was coming from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Even from this distance, he could make out tiny figures zooming through the air on broomsticks. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was quite unexpected that someone had already organized a match so early in the morning. Usually, the weekend games didn't start until after lunch, when people had properly woken up and eaten. "What's wrong, Harry?" A weak, sleep-roughened voice came from behind him, followed by the creak of bed springs. Harry didn't turn around as he replied, but still watched the distant match with interest, "Someone's playing a match. I think we could go watch, Ron. It looks like it might be a good one." Ron squinted as he fumbled around his bedside, searching blindly for his shoes among the scattered socks and discarded chocolate frog cards. He muttered a few times, his voice still drowsy and dense with drowsiness, "But isn't today a Hogsmeade day? Hermione arranged to meet us. She said she needs to buy some new quills." Harry blinked rapidly, and the realization stroked him like a splash of cold water. His hand flew up to run through his messy hair. "I forgot about that. Hurry up, Ron, I think Hermione must be waiting for us downstairs already!" His voice had a tone of urgency mixed with resignation as they both knew how Hermione felt about punctuality. Harry immediately found a clean set of clothes from his trunk or at least, cleaner than the ones he'd worn yesterday and changed quickly. Then he rushed into the bathroom they shared with the other Gryffindor boys to handle his hygiene, splashing cold water on his face and attacking his teeth with his toothbrush. The mirror above the sink showed his reflection looking significantly more awake, though his hair remained as untameable as ever. By the time he had finished everything and emerged back into the dormitory, Ron was still dawdling, pulling on a faded orange T-shirt with half-closed eyes moving with all the urgency of an anaesthetized flobberworm. "You need to pick up the pace, Ron." Harry sat on the edge of his bed putting on his trainers while complaining, working the laces with his fingers. "Is dating Lavender really more exhausting than dodging Dungbomb practice?" He couldn't resist the grin that spread across his face as he said it. "What are you talking about, Harry!" Ron was startled and flinched as his eyes flew open wide, and immediately snapped awake as though someone had cast an Enervate charm on him. His face turned bright red all the way to his ears. After hastily pulling on his clothes with jerky, embarrassed movements, Ron stammered, "I already told you when I borrowed the Invisibility Cloak, didn't I? I just hadn't eaten enough at dinner and wanted to go to the kitchens to ask those hospitable house-elves for some food! You know how they always have leftovers!" Harry stood up and stamped his feet twice on the floor, testing the fit. His trainers were getting a bit tight, pinching at the toes; he'd need to buy new ones soon, maybe in Hogsmeade if they had time. "So that was house-elf hair stuck on my Invisibility Cloak when you returned it—those long strands. I thought it was Lavender's hair!" His voice dripped with exaggerated innocence. Ron gave up trying to defend himself against Harry's knowing look. He pulled up his collar defensively and hung his head, not daring to look at Harry's amused expression, before huffing and puffing his way into the bathroom, muttering something unclear under his breath about best friends who didn't understand anything. After the two boys had finished getting ready and rushed out of the dormitory, jumping down the spiral staircase two steps at a time and nearly colliding with a group of second-years coming up, they found Hermione sitting prissily on the sofa by the old chest of drawers after some searching around the common room. "We're not too late, are we, Hermione?" Several younger students were playing Exploding Snap near the fireplace, and the portrait hole kept swinging open as people came and went. Harry waved apologetically and asked, slightly out of breath. Unexpectedly, Hermione didn't fly into a rage immediately. She kept her head down reading the newspaper spread across her lap, the pages rustling slightly, completely ignoring them both. "You've only missed breakfast and lunch, but that's no big deal. We can still look forward to dinner, can't we?" Only when Harry and Ron came sheepishly to her side, looking properly remorseful, did Hermione give a light sniff of disapproval and say sarcastically, finally glancing up at them with raised eyebrows. This level of criticism had long since stopped to truly bother Harry and Ron. Ron shrugged fearlessly, vaulted over the back of the sofa, and grabbed a piece of toast Hermione had thoughtfully brought up from the Great Hall from the coffee table. "Is there some bad news?" He stuffed it in his mouth and said unclearly while chewing vigorously, "After Dumbledore lost his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has he lost some other title?" "President of the International Confederation of Wizards," Hermione said calmly, her voice level and unemotional. Ron's chewing suddenly stopped, his jaw frozen mid-bite. He stared at Hermione in shock with a pale face while Harry unconsciously dropped the fruit pie he had just picked from the plate. It hit the table with a soft thud, and his voice came out sharp and distorted with disbelief: "They actually did it?! They removed him?" Hermione closed the newspaper and said calmly, though her fingers gripped the pages a bit too tightly, creasing the edges. "But if Dumbledore continues to insist on telling people the truth about You-Know-Who's return, Harry, it's only a matter of time. The Ministry is putting pressure on every organization he's part of." Ron swallowed the bread with difficulty as the dry toast was scratching down his throat, and glared at Hermione resentfully. "You're scaring us, Hermione?" Harry wasn't as optimistic as Ron. He knew from years of experience that Hermione's deductions were always frighteningly accurate. His gaze fell on Hermione's folded newspaper with a touch of gloominess darkening his green eyes, but when he saw the newspaper's title, he blinked in confusion. "The New York Ghost. I thought you were reading the Daily Prophet, Hermione. Why are you reading a newspaper from New York? Since when do you get American papers?" Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin line and her cheeks reddened slightly, but she didn't explain Harry's confusion or meet his questioning gaze. She simply stuffed the newspaper into her bag, brushed aside the chestnut curls blocking her eyes with an impatient gesture, took a steadying breath, and said in an artificially cheerful voice, "Let's go. I can't spend the whole day at Hogsmeade. The homework Professor Viktor assigned this week is two inches longer than Professor Snape's Potions essay, and you know how particular he is about detail. I need to spend time finishing it tonight." Due to the time constraint and Hermione's insistence that they not waste any more daytime, Harry and Ron persuaded her to use the secret passage behind the hump-backed witch statue on the fourth floor to reach Hogsmeade. The passage was narrow and musty-smelling, sloping down in darkness broken only by their wandlight, but it was much faster than the regular route through the main gates. Flume, the cheerful owner of Honeydukes with his eternally flour-dusted apron didn't notice Harry and his friends sneaking out of his storeroom. He was too busy explaining to Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, both looking disappointed and confused, why a large bag of Pepper Imps now cost two silver Sickles more than last month. "Children, you may not realize it, but everything's getting more expensive lately—the sugar, the pepper extract, the packaging. It's bloody ridiculous! I'm barely making any profit anymore!" Hearing this complaint, Hermione looked thoughtfully at the shop owner, before following Ron out the door. "Has Sirius written to you recently, Harry?" Hermione asked as they walked past Gladrags Wizardwear, where a new display of dress robes filled the window. Harry shrugged unhappily, his shoulders slumping slightly. "After Voldemort came back, he wouldn't let me write anymore. He said using owls would risk exposure, that the Ministry might be monitoring owl post, or worse, that Death Eaters might intercept the letters." The three soon faced the same predicament as Ernie and Hannah, discovering that the economic troubles Flume had mentioned weren't limited to his shop. They bought the stationery and supplies they needed at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where even basic quills cost more than Hermione remembered. They had lunch at the Three Broomsticks where Madam Rosmerta apologized for the increased prices while serving them butterbeers and sandwiches and looked at the latest joke products at Zonko's Joke Shop, where Dungbombs and Stink Pellets had all gone up in price. Ron looked particularly pained when he saw the new cost of Hiccough Sweets. Walking through the zigzagging cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, past shops with signs and windows full of mysterious and wonderful things, every few steps they could hear villagers and shopkeepers complaining about the recent price increases. Hermione took all these voices while Ron only wailed dramatically about his dwindling pocket money and how he'd never be able to afford the new Chudley Cannons merchandise he'd seen in the sports shop window. Regardless of their concerns, it would be too wasteful not to spend some time enjoying themselves in Hogsmeade on such a sunny day during an open weekend, when the sky was perfect and the air smelled of spring flowers and magical sweets. The three friends helped each other climb up the hillside adjacent to the Shrieking Shack. They settled on the hilltop covered with lush green grass that was soft as carpet beneath them. Facing the pleasant southwest wind that carried warmth and the distant sound of birdsong, they laid out the sweets and snacks they'd bought: Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Pumpkin Pasties, and several bottles of butterbeer on the ground for an impromptu picnic. Harry and Ron discussed energetically the technical details of Krum's recreation of the Wronski Feint at last weekend's amateur Quidditch match, their hands gesturing passionately as they debated whether he'd pulled up too early or if it was perfectly executed. Meanwhile, Hermione pulled out the copy of The New York Ghost she'd been reading that morning from her bag and continued reading, occasionally glancing up to roll her eyes at the boys' heated debate. Time slipped away in the pleasant atmosphere like sand through an hourglass, the afternoon passed in a golden haze of friendship and sunshine. The rising sun that had been hanging in the eastern sky gradually shifted its position toward the western horizon, beginning its slow fall. Harry and Ron, having exhausted their discussion of Quidditch tactics, started rolling around on the grass fighting over the last pack of Fizzing Whizzbees, their struggle was half-serious and half-playful accompanied by laughter and mock threats. Hermione watched them helplessly, shaking her head at their childishness. She was about to tell them to grow up when— A clear, unusual sound came through the howling wind, not far behind the three of them. The sharp noise of Apparition was unique and obvious. The instant they heard it, Harry and Ron, who had been wrestling and playing around just seconds before, immediately sprang up from the grass with quick reflexes. Their hands flew to their wands, their bodies tensing, all traces of playfulness vanishing. Meanwhile, Hermione had already drawn her wand a step ahead of them, her hair lashed around as she turned around to point it steadily at the figure that suddenly appeared in the hazy air! A young girl stood in front of them, looking about Percy's age. She had beautiful chestnut hair and brown eyes that were currently wide with surprise. Her facial features showed a striking beauty and she wore robes that seemed foreign. The moment she shook off the disorientation of Apparition, steadying herself, she immediately noticed she was being pointed at by three wands. Just as she was about to make a move, the green-eyed boy opposite her immediately shouted sharply: "Don't move, or we'll attack immediately! Who are you, and why are you here?!" 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