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“If we could get back to the matter at hand instead of talking of what may or may not have occurred last week,” Fudge grumbled. “Minister, with all due respect, we can’t just discount the word of Albus Dumbledore,” Quentin objected. They had been going around in circles for the past twenty minutes, yet no ground was being made for either side of the argument. His first international summit was going about as well as he’d imagined, no progress seemed in sight. Fudge had formed a group with the representatives of the Nigerian, Norwegian, Siberian, and Brazilian magical governments opposing any claim for the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So far, they had blocked any progress with all the effectiveness of a bath plug. “We ought to be focusing our efforts on capturing Sirius Black,” Fudge said as if he hadn’t heard Quentin. “She’s a known killer of Muggles and a Death Eater.” “Minister, need I remind you this summit is to discuss the strategy against the rogue terrorist and

Hamish was tucking into some hash browns when Professor Dumbledore stood to make an announcement. A hush descended over the great hall. “I do not wish to spoil your appetites,” he began. “But there are a few things I wish to say before you all head home for the summer. As many of you are aware, an incident in the final task of the tournament led to the passing of one our students. Terence Higgs was a pillar of the Hogwarts community, a proud Slytherin and a good friend to many, and his passing fills us all with sadness. “The Ministry of Magic does not wish for me to tell you this, but I think not to do so would be an insult to his memory,” Professor Dumbledore continued. “Terence Higgs was murdered by Lord Voldemort,” the great hall erupted into furtive whispers. “Who has sadly returned to power. In this hour, I would take the time to reinforce how important it is to maintain the friendships you made this year. “Those of you close to Terence will be aware of the date and place of his

Holly was barely paying attention to a word spoken by Professor Trelawney as she sat in Divination. As usual, the room was stiflingly hot, and Holly’s mind was on the events of the weekend. Ronnie was in a similar state, the pair having tied their hair into a bun in an effort to avoid it sticking unpleasantly to the back of their necks. The pair were slouched in their armchairs. With their shirt sleeves rolled up, the pair were slouched in their armchairs. Holly was minded to think her clothes were becoming a second skin, only the occasional adjustment as she flicked through the deck of cards reminded her that wasn’t the case as it felt as though her shirt was tearing off skin. On the table in front of them were scattered the tarot cards they were supposed to be reading. “So, what do you think it means?” Ronnie asked her, gesturing to her selection. Hmm, wha-?” Holly snapped her gaze away from listlessly staring at the incense smoke. “Oh, er, that Hamish is going to lose a leg?” “Sure,

A cool breeze whipped through the street as he walked, ruffling his hair. He passed several stands selling hot dogs and burgers to any hungry tourists and commuters that might not have had a decent breakfast. Jogging across the road, Quentin stopped at his usual newspaper stand. A few No-Majs were finishing paying the vendor as he grabbed a copy of The New York Telegraph from its stand. “G’mornin’ Mr President,” the vendor nodded as he took Quentin’s money. “Good morning to you too, Xander, how are the kids?” “Oh, they’re fine sir,” he paused as he gave Quentin his change. “Can’t say you’re gonna like today’s headline though.” “None have been good since I came into office anyway,” he chuckled. “Have a good day, Xander.” “You too, sir.” As Quentin came to the revolving doors or MACUSA’s headquarters, he shook his paper thrice, removing the No-Maj edition to reveal the wizarding edition beneath. TROUBLE BREWING IN BRITAIN SPURS FEARS OF IMMIGRANTS He was so absorbed shaking his head at

The shadows were starting to lengthen when the champions were taken down to see the Quidditch pitch, or rather what had become of the Quidditch pitch. A charm had been used to expand the space within it for the growing bushes that would form a maze. “Is this counted as sacrilege here at Hogvarts?” Viktor asked jokingly. “I think so,” Holly replied with a chuckle. It was a good thing Oliver Wood had left already, Holly was sure the sight would cause him to become apoplectic. Ludo Bagman coughed to gain their attention. “As you’ve probably guessed, the third task will be based around a maze,” he began. “Your goal will be to retrieve the TriWizard Cup at its centre, which will be charmed as a Portkey to return you to the entrance.” “What happens to the rest of us when the winner touches the Cup?” Asked Terence, accompanied by curious nodding from Theo and Handan. “I have charmed the bushes so that they will diminish back to their present state,” explained Professor Sprout, gesturing to

It had been a month since the second task and a fortnight since the start of the new term, but Ronnie still wasn’t used to the early mornings. Neither was Holly from the way Parvati was shaking her friend awake as well. “You guys are gonna miss breakfast,” she told them as she closed the door to the dorms. “Not if we don’t shower,” Holly gave Ronnie a sly look. “You haven’t showered in a week Holly,” Ronnie wrinkled her nose. “Which is why I’ve been practicing those cleaning charms Sirius sent me,” Holly cackled. It was true the spells prevented the pair looking too dirty, even if they had to redo them every two hours or so before they wore off. Down in the great hall, Ronnie found they had not missed out greatly on food. The only development that required explaining was the inordinate amount of letters piled in front of Heracles. “Did we get anything in the mail?” Holly asked. “Jus’ yer copy of mum’s newspaper,” Hamish replied. “She thinks ye ought to be informed.” “Probably beats the

It was a tired and gloomy Holly that traipsed back from the library with Ronnie, Hamish, and Heracles to the common room. Despite Terence and Fleur’s best teaching, Holly still couldn’t maintain a Bubblehead Charm for longer than 20 minutes. She had enlisted her friends to the task of finding an alternative, as without air to speak the enchantment, unless she was able to miraculously find her goal in the Second Task, Holly would be as good as dead. To no avail. This was the third night of searching. The only possible lead had been the possibility of performing some Transfiguration on herself. Given her middling grades in the subject, Holly had been less than enthusiastic at Hamish’s suggestion. The common room was empty but for Ginny and some friends playing a game of Gobstones, and Neville reading a book in the corner. He perked up on seeing them approach. “Hey guys, you’re looking glum.” “Well Holly’s probably going to drown, so yeah, a bit glum,” a gloomy Ronnie sighed

The end of the Christmas break and the return of classes meant an end to the relative calm Hamish had enjoyed. Relative, because events at the Yule Ball had prompted a tumultuous sea of emotions within him. Ever since he and Dean had overcome the butterflies and kissed, they had been tiptoes on eggshells around one another. He had been more than happy to spend the New Year’s with Holly and his friends at the cottage in Cumbria. Not only had it given him a reprieve from the painfully awkward interactions with Dean but given him the chance to talk with Sirius about it. “It goes without saying that I won’t tell a soul about this conversation, you’re the one who decides if, when and how to open up about this to your friends and family,” she had said as they collected firewood. “Is it alright if I ask a few questions?” “Aye.” “So, boys in general, this Dean isn’t the first?” Dean was in fact the first boy he actually knew, but Hamish had admitted realising an attraction to several members

Christmas Day dawned slowly, much as the lethargic teenagers gradually persuaded themselves to rise, slowly, and then quickly. The common room was much busier than Ronnie had become accustomed to at Christmas, only first and second years had gone home for the holidays, with a few third years who must have secured dates for the Yule Ball remaining. Hamish suggested they find a quiet spot in the boys’ dorms to open presents. Gathering their presents from the foot of their beds, Ronnie and Holly joined the boys around the stove. “Thanks, Cles,” said Ronnie, holding a book on chess stratagems. “You’re welcome,” he smiled. Ronnie hoped the gifts she had given her friends, a book on magical Polish history for Cles, a broom care kit for Holly, and a Burping Bag from Zonko’s for Hamish, would compare well to the gifts they had gotten her and each other. But no one seemed concerned with the value of her gifts, only that they were heartfelt. That Hamish’s parents had sent them all chocolates was