The following week brought a flurry of classes, exams, and the kind of camaraderie that only shared stress can forge. Ezzy and his friends huddled in the library, surrounded by teetering stacks of books and half-eaten Cauldron Cakes.
"Why do we need to memorize twelve uses of dragon's blood?" Ron groaned, forehead thudding against Magical Drafts and Potions. "It's not like we're opening a apothecary!"
"Thirteen," Hermione corrected, levitating a quill to underline a passage. "And because Professor Snape will skin us alive if we fail."
Jane, practicing wand motions under Suhi's watchful eye, accidentally set Ron's parchment on fire. "Whoops. Lightning affinity's a bit… sparky today."
Ezzy chuckled, coaxing a nearby potted fern to grow a vine that doused the flames. "At least you're not Neville. He turned his History of Magic essay into origami doxies."
Neville blushed, holding up a crumpled bat-shaped paper. "Professor Binns said it was 'innovative.' I think he was asleep."
By Saturday, the group traded ink-stained hands for scarlet-and-gold scarves, filing into the stands under a crisp autumn sky. The pitch buzzed with energy as Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's rookie Seeker, soared onto the field, his easy grin belying his sharp focus.
"Diggory's only a third-year?" Harry gaped as Cedric executed a flawless Sloth Grip Roll to avoid a Bludger. "He flies like he's part broom!"
The match was a masterclass in agility. Ravenclaw's Chasers weaved intricate patterns, but Cedric anticipated every move, darting through the fray like a golden snidget. When the Snitch finally glinted near the Hufflepuff hoops, Cedric feigned a stumble, then shot upward in a blinding spiral, snatching victory with mud-streaked elegance.
"Merlin's pants," Ron breathed as the crowd erupted. "He's good."
Hermione nodded, grudgingly impressed. "And he didn't even gloat. Unlike some Seekers."
Harry elbowed her, grinning.
Later, while searching for a quiet spot to debrief, the group stumbled upon a door that hadn't been there before. Inside, the Room of Requirement had transformed into a whimsical lounge: floating beanbags, a self-refilling snack table, and walls lined with enchanted mirrors that reflected their magical affinities.
"This place is brilliant!" Jane whooped, summoning a fireball that morphed into a glowing phoenix.
Suhi conjured a water vortex, laughing as it danced with Jane's flames. "Steam sauna, anyone?"
Neville timidly tapped the floor, sprouting a meadow of buttercups that sang in harmony with Ezzy's vines.
AstraLuna appeared mid-mirror, their reflection split between stars and shadows. "This room holds memories of every witch and wizard who's needed it. Look closer."
Ezzy pressed a hand to a mirror, which rippled to show an ancient tapestry of Hogwarts, the four Founders' relics glowing at its corners. "The Cup, the Sword, the Diadem, the Locket… they're tied to the castle's magic. If the blight corrupts them—"
"—Hogwarts falls," Harry finished grimly.
Undeterred, the group channeled their nerves into magic. Ron and Hermione fused fire and light into a disco ball that projected runes onto the ceiling. Ezzy and Suhi grew a jungle gym of sentient plants and water slides, while Rain and Serena staged aerial acrobatics.
"Watch this!" Jane yelled, launching himself off a vine swing. His lightning affinity electrified a cluster of Grindleflies, turning them into living sparklers.
As night fell, the group collapsed in a heap of laughter and sugar crashes. Cedric's earlier brilliance and the room's secrets lingered in their minds, but for now, they savored the calm—a mosaic of magic, friendship, and the quiet thrill of growing power.
The next day dawned crisp and bright, frost etching the castle windows as students shuffled to morning classes with renewed vigor. In Potions, Snape's usual sneer faltered when Hermione's Shrinking Solution turned out perfectly, evaporating a stubborn cockroach cluster into nothingness. Ron, inspired, managed not to melt his cauldron—a personal best.
"Progress, Mr. Weasley," Snape drawled, though his lip curled as if the words tasted rancid. "Do try not to regress by tomorrow."
Transfiguration was livelier. McGonagall tasked the class with turning a wooden log into musical snuffboxes. Jane's attempt produced a tiny jazz pianist mouse toy that tap-danced across desks, while Ezzy's snuffbox sprouted vines that played melodies like wind chimes. Even Draco's silver snuffbox (engraved with the Malfoy crest) earned a rare nod—until it hissed, "Potter stinks," in Lucius Malfoy's voice.
At dinner, the Great Hall buzzed with chatter until Dumbledore rose, his robes shimmering like starlight. "As the first snow graces our towers," he began, eyes twinkling, "I hereby announce that Christmas holidays will commence in one week. Prepare to reunite with loved ones… and perhaps rediscover the magic of home."
The Hall erupted—Gryffindors cheering, Ravenclaws debating travel plans, Hufflepuffs already drafting gift lists. Only the Slytherins feigned indifference, though Pansy Parkinson's whispered "Finally, a break from this plebeian circus" carried across the table.
Draco smirked at Ezzy's group. "Enjoy your muggle holidays, Frost. I'm sure your author aunt will write you into one of her little fairytales."
Suhi's water goblet froze mid-air. "At least his family's stories aren't ghostwritten by Death Eaters, and also Ezzy I think we need to apply for a restraining order, why is he always creeping around us? Shooo!!! You creepy little gnome!!!"
Draco's face flushed, but a warning glance from McGonagall silenced further sparring.
Ezzy just shrugged "Harry, Ron—come stay at my place. Aunt's making her famous treacle tart, and Serena's been plotting a 'secret Yule mission' with Rain."
Ron's eyes lit up. "Will there be actual food? Not that I'm dissing Hogwarts, but—"
"—you're dissing Hogwarts," Hermione finished, though she smiled.
Harry hesitated. "Your family won't mind?"
Ezzy shrugged. "Aunt Emily will be thrilled have you all around —she has drafts of her new book. Says we're 'inspirational muses.'"
Liam, lurking near with Frank, snorted. "Aunt Emily? The one who wrote Wizards Wear Prada? Bet she'll turn you into a tragic orphan for drama. Fitting, since your parents didn't stick around either."
The space around chilled. Ezzy's mandle flared, a fusion of green (plant) and blue (water) swirling around his fingertips. Before McGonagall could intervene, he flicked his wrist.
Liam yelped as mushrooms sprouted from his ears, armpits, and—most painfully—his groin. "WHAT THE—GET THEM OFF!"
Frank gaped. "Episkey!" he cast, but the mushrooms multiplied, turning neon green.
Ezzy sipped his pumpkin juice. "They'll vanish in an hour. Unless you keep talking. Then they'll sing."
McGonagall pinched her nose. "Mr. Frost, detention. Mr. Winter, stop squirming—you're shedding spores on the food."
Ignoring Liam's sputtering, Ezzy turned back to his friends. "So, treacle tart, snowball fights, and sight-seeing some muggle and wizard places. In?"
"In!" Ron said, throwing a crumpled napkin at Liam's mushroom-covered head.
Harry grinned. "Better than Privet Drive."
Hearing Harry, Ezzy went into a deep thought, how he could help Harry. Then that rat came into his mind, disgust turning to rage, many plans came up in his mind. Fixed his mind to just keep it simple.
The common room fire crackled ominously as Ezzy cornered Scabbers on the hearthrug. The rat squeaked, darting behind Ron's sock-clad ankle.
"Give it a rest, Ezzy!" Ron snapped, shielding the trembling rodent. "He's just a ruddy rat!"
"A rat who's lived twelve years," Ezzy countered, mandle flaring green. Vines slithered from his sleeves, boxing Scabbers against the wall. "Animals talk to me, Ron. Birds gossip, cats complain—this thing just… screams. In a human voice."
Hermione's eyes widened, "What do you mean?"
Harry froze, then asked. "You think he's… someone?"
Ezzy trapped Scabbers in a conjured bamboo cage lined with clover-shaped runes. "Let's ask someone who knows better than us."
Alexander Riddle's office smelled of ozone and old parchment. The elemental professor leaned back in his chair, steepling fingers as Ezzy explained.
"—I don't know what it is but it is not a rat…"
Riddle's grey eyes hardened. He waved his wand over the cage. Symbols flared—crimson for deception, black for betrayal.
"Revelio Animi."
Scabbers shrieked, morphing into a squat, greying man with a silver hand. Ron stumbled backward, knocking over a jar of lightning bugs.
"Peter Pettigrew?!" Prof. Riddle hissed. "You should be dead! Blown up by Sirius—!"
"A lie," Riddle shouted, petrifying Pettigrew mid-transformation. "One that cost an innocent man his soul." He seized the cage, storming toward the door. "To your dorms. Now."
By morning, the castle was in chaos. Owls flooded the Great Hall, dropping copies of the Daily Prophet with headlines screaming:
"SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT! PETTIGREW'S 12-YEAR CHARADE EXPOSED!"
Ministry in shambles as Hogwarts professor uncovers Dark Lord's spy masquerading as Weasley family pet! Where was the Magic King when justice slept? (Page 3: "Conspiracy of the Silent Throne")
Liam, reading over Ezzy's shoulder, paled. "You—you knew?!"
Ezzy shrugged, spreading treacle on his toast. "I know mushrooms. And liars."
Ron stared at his empty rat cage, queasy. "I… I slept with him. In my bed."
Harry's hands shook. "Sirius… Poor guy, he was innocent and they locked him up for nothing."
Dumbledore's announcement at lunch was uncharacteristically grim. "While justice begins its tardy march, let this remind us: truth often hides in plain sight. Even in… misplaced loyalty." His gaze lingered on Ron, who sank lower in his seat.
Draco, ever the opportunist, drawled, "Congratulations, Weasley. Your rat's more famous than you'll ever be."
Jane's lightning affinity sparked. "Keep yapping, Malfoy. I swear I'll turn you into a ferret."
As the hall erupted in arguments, Ezzy slipped out, the celestial map burning in his pocket. The chalice symbol now glowed alongside a new shape—a crown.
Magic King, he mused. Founder's heir? Or something older?
AstraLuna materialized beside him, their breath frosting the air. "The crown is a warning. Kings rise when kingdoms crumble."
Below, in the dungeons, Professor Riddle burned the Prophet's front page, watching Pettigrew's face blacken to ash.
"I'll come for you, brother," he murmured to the flames. Somewhere, a Dark Lord's shadow stirred.