Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Girl-Who-Lived, Friends, Slay Serpent! Childhood Heroism or Ministry Malpractice?

Rita Skeeter

For those readers just joining us, this past year was certainly a harrowing one for the students and staff of Hogwarts School of Magic, as ancient evils resurfaced once more.

The Chamber of Secrets, long thought to be merely myth until 1941 when it was originally opened by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was opened once more, this year. By who, you might ask? The astounding answer, later.

When last the Chamber was opened, several students succumbed to an anonymous assailant. Some suspected the Killing Curse, but no trace of the Unforgivable was ever found upon the bodies of the victims. Even years later when one such student - one Myrtle Warren - returned as a specter, her testimony proved fruitless in finding the fiend. And so the Chamber remained one of the many mysteries of our time.

Until earlier this year, when the Department of Magical Law Enforcement finally released their report of recent events.

Following four attacks against the students of Hogwarts - puzzlingly petrifications, despite deaths decades earlier - a fifth attack abducted both student and staff member. Minerva McGonagall, acting Hogwarts Headmistress, ordered an emergency evacuation as Aurors investigated a message left behind by the attacker - “Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever”. However, despite Aurors’ attempts to ascertain the location of the Chamber, the one to uncover the unknown entrance to the Chamber was none other than the Girl-Who-Lived herself, Heiress Marigold Potter, with the help of her friends and fellow Hufflepuffs, Heir Neville Longbottom and one Hermione Granger, pictured below.

By the time Aurors arrived on scene, the situation was already resolved. Witness testimony from the three students gave a grim series of events.

The menacing mastermind behind the attacks - and the bombing of the Hogsmeade Express, earlier this year - was in the Chamber with his abductees, acclaimed autobiographical author Gilderoy Lockhart (who tragically perished in the incident) and a student (whom the DMLE has kept anonymous). The Girl-Who-Lived and her friends were then beset by a basilisk - but in a tremendous twist, triumphed!

For their brave acts, all three students were awarded the Pendragon Pentacle by Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, the youngest to receive the reward in several centuries.

But the question remains - who was behind these barbaric attacks? Our editorial staff here at the Daily Prophet urge you, our dear readers, to keep in mind that the DMLE is still in the process of verifying the veracity of such claims, but eyewitnesses say the assailant identified himself as none other than You-Know-Who.

Shocking, to be sure!

Though hard to believe. Likely, a lackey laid in wait since the conclusion of the Blood War, only now making a move.

More pressing, however, is how a Hufflepuff student sniffed out the secret Chamber before a team of trained Aurors? According to their report, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was located in the lavatory, the haunting grounds of one Myrtle Warren - the very ghost killed in the previous opening of the Chamber. The Aurors claim the muggleborn girl guarded her ghostly residence, refusing entry. However, several spells exist which would easily allow Aurors access to the room for investigation. Whether or not Warren was willingly supporting the school's scourge’s sick deeds, does it not speak more to the investigators’ inefficacy?

Truly, this trend of lukewarm leadership will linger on until enough unhappy inhabitants of the wixen world demand dramatic changes from those in charge.

After all, aside from the acclaimed author Lockhart’s tragic demise, there were four more victims - Heiress Solunaster Lovegood, Ronald Weasley, one Kevin Entwhistle and one Collin Creevey, pictured below.

As you can see, all four students are wheelchair-bound - though this is no coincidence, nor a problem prior to petrification. As mentioned earlier, the four students were petrified rather than killed, a result of indirectly viewing the visage of the now-slain basilisk - this queer quality of the beast only now discovered. Some may consider this a mercy in the face of death, but per the diagnosis of Hogwarts’ hospital matron, mediwitch Poppy Pomfrey, while Weasley is expected to make a full physical recovery, the other three victims remain relegated to a life locked by limitations. Worse still, in battling the basilisk, the beast bit the Girl-Who-Lived, who now suffers severe pain from the venom’s alchemical aftereffects. Can her epithet even be considered correct, if this is the life she's left with?

It is anyone's guess as to how Minister Fudge can sleep at night, the weight of these egregious events on his shoulders.

---

Resurrections, Reanimations

All-Gifted

By all accounts, death comes for us all. Yet today we stand face-to-face with the frightening truth: no longer is this a universal constant.

The Cairn Gorm Goat, though ornery and stubborn, is a beast with vast knowledge - a product of its long lifespan. While it has poor manners, it has an appetite for magic that few can match, and as a ruminant, it can digest even the most complex of enchantments, if given enough time. Thusly, even if every head of the Thamesian Hydra claims that writings cannot replace the mind, if the Cairn Gorm Goat disagrees, we must discard common sense, lest we be caught unawares.

Pascal may be deep in debt, but even a stick in the mud can cast a shadow at a right angle.

This is not the first time the Cairn Gorm Goat has bleated an omen of disaster, either. It has already warned us of the parasitic larva of the Nargle King once, now twice. How many more instars must it molt through before the Goat is believed? Can we survive another Nargle swarm, so soon after the last?

Even if we do, what will we have left?

---

Top Nine Throwover Designs: Weaving, Knitting, AND Crochet Patterns You Should Try!

Mai Brown

While it's still spring, soon summer, we at Witch Weekly are thinking ahead! After all, autumn and winter will get here eventually, and for witches that have a heart for handicrafts, there's no better time than now to decide your December decor - and what better place to start than with a classic throwover?

These designs are sure to liven up the lounge - or any location! Be it your bed, across your shoulders - or even stylishly strewn across your lap, sitting in a wheelchair - everywhere and everyone is beautiful! (We're just here to help you show it off!)

This week, we've picked out patterns perfect for practice (or presents!) positively promised to please even the most persnickety of witches. With three designs we've converted to be compatible with crochet, knitting, AND weaving, as well as two designs only for knitting, two designs only for weaving, and two designs only for crochet, that's a grand total of five fantastic patterns for you to peruse. We're sure you'll find a fit for you!

Starting us off, we have a simple (yet elegant) plaid - shown here in yellow and black - though easily customizable to any two colors of your choice! This is a beautiful blanket, best for beginners.

Next, for our second selection…

Chapter Text

Living with the Dursleys had never been an easy task for Marigold Potter. It had gotten easier ever since Professor McGonagall and Hagrid had threatened Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, certainly, but Mary was still on edge, around the clock. Last summer, Mary had avoided conflict with her relatives by simply retreating to her room or leaving the house, otherwise waiting until nightfall to sneak into the kitchen and make food for the next day.

Unfortunately, this summer that wasn't an option. The past year at Smelting’s, Dudley had barely scraped by with a passing grade, and his parents were furious at his continuing decline in academic performance. Mary wasn't sure how enforcing a diet was meant to help Dudley get better grades, but the efficacy of their methods aside, the fridge still had a padlock on it at night.

Dudley was miserable from hunger, Marigold was miserable from having to interact with her Aunt and Uncle to get food, and Vernon and Petunia were miserable from being reminded of their niece’s existence and their son's academics. While Mary had plenty of practice keeping her frustrations to herself, the other three residents of Number 4, Privet Drive did not, instead resorting to daily shouting matches with each other, since using Mary as a punching bag was now off-limits.

Just as when she was the target, many accusations and insults were hurled, though Marigold had yet to hear or see any evidence of things getting physical. Mary tried to tune the arguments out, but shouts of “stuck-up pricks”, “disgraces” and “disappointments”, “bitchy cows”, and “violent pigs” still filtered in through the thin walls of the house. Even being out of the direct line of fire didn't stop Uncle Vernon from blaming Mary - more specifically, Aunt Petunia, for bringing “magic and devilry” into things and “ruining the Dursley family name”.

In Mary's opinion, Uncle Vernon was perfectly capable of doing that all on his own.

After only a few days back, as Marigold was settling down to sleep, there was a tap at the door, so soft that she thought she'd imagined it at first. When the tap came again, she called out softly.

“Dudley?”

“Can I come in?”

Her hips still sore from the train ride back, Mary picked up her wand from her nightstand, and with a few twists, she turned the handle and opened the door from across the room. Dudley blinked in surprise, a slight grin on his face, when he saw her still sitting in bed.

“Did- Was that…?”

Mary nodded. “Magic, yeah. Otherwise I'd have to fuss with my wheelchair, and that's a pain - literally.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “Y-You wouldn't tell-”

He shook his head vehemently.

She sat there awkwardly as her cousin padded his way inside, gently closing the door behind him with one hand, a stack of books and loose paper in the other. He sat silently at her desk for a good minute.

Mary fidgeted. “So…”

“...I need your help.” he whispered, his voice threatening to crack. “If- if I can't cut it next year, Smelting's won't take me back, and Dad-” He cut off, gripping the sides of the chair’s seat.

She winced.

Dudley took a deep breath. “I know I was awful to you. I bullied you and forced you to do my schoolwork.”

“Well, I was the one to offer-” Mary tried protesting.

“Just-” he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please. Just let me…” Dudley sighed. “No one offers something like that unless they’ve got no other choice. I get that now, okay?”

She nodded, not fully understanding where this was going. Based on his books and papers, she’d assumed he was having trouble with the material, but she had never seen him act like this before.

Then again, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had never turned on Dudley like this before. This was completely uncharted territory for everyone.

After a moment, he continued. “I know I've got no right, but… I'm sorry.”

“...Er, sorry?” Marigold echoed.

He gave a bitter laugh. “That's what I'm saying.”

“Right…” she responded, still confused. “But… for what, though?”

Dudley tossed his hands in the air. “Every-!” He cut himself off, quieting back down. “Everything. I beat you up. I got you in trouble. I stopped anyone who even thought about being your friend. I made your life hell, Mary. You- you should hate me. S-so I get it if you don't want to forgive me, ‘cos I definitely don't deserve it.”

Mary nodded slowly at the unexpected apology. He was certainly right that she didn't want to forgive him - hell, she couldn't forgive him.

But…

“Well, it's a start, I guess.” she sighed. “So… You said you need help? Summer assignments, I'm guessing?”

He looked up at her, hopefully. “Y-yeah. I get most of the basic stuff, but past that it's all kinda confusing.”

Dudley pulled out one of the worksheets and opened a textbook, then began explaining where he was stuck.

---

They passed the next few days that way, Dudley getting yelled at while Mary made herself scarce during the day, then the two of them working on moxy subjects in the quiet of night. Marigold had suggested they study during the day, as they had last summer, but after Dudley relayed his father's threats should he find them anywhere near each other, she dropped the subject. Apparently, Uncle Vernon was taking his assertion that Dudley’s poor performance was somehow Mary's fault rather seriously.

Friday came with the publication of a new issue of The Weekly Prophet, and all that it entailed. Generally, Marigold skimmed the headlines, just to keep up with the general goings-on in the wixen world. Seeing herself mentioned in one such headline grabbed her attention, especially upon seeing that Skeeter was using Mary's name to push her own agenda. As much as the not-so-subtle blood purism throughout the article irked her and the blatant ableism disgusted her, at least some good would come from the article.

One trip to Diagon Alley later, Marigold left Gringotts with Griphook’s assurance that this would be the final nail in the coffin for Skeeter. Ever since they'd issued a cease-and-desist for those rubbish adventure books of hers, Skeeter had at least had enough common sense to keep her mouth shut about Mary. It seemed that after a couple of years, however, the warning had lost its weight. Griphook was certain that this time around - especially on the back of Skeeter’s slanderous comments about Mary's quality of life - they would be able to secure a restraining order against the woman, preventing her from ever publishing anything about Marigold ever again.

With that out of the way, Mary decided to stop by a couple of bookstores while she was out. She didn't have anything in particular she was looking for, but left with a few books anyway - mostly texts on transfiguration. Next year, they'd be learning conjuration, bringing them one step closer to true transfiguration. Whether or not any of the books were required texts for McGonagall's class next year, Mary figured that extra reading on the subject couldn't hurt.

---

On Sunday morning, Mary finally got what she had been anticipating most, ever since school let out - her final exam scores. Just as it had last year, the letter containing said information came in an officious-looking envelope, delivered by owl. Carefully, she teased the wax seal off and pulled out the contents. At the top of the letter was the usual header information, as well as a brief paragraph congratulating her on passing all her exams and advancing to third year. Marigold never really had any doubts about that, though. The real question was how much better than ‘Acceptable’ she had scored, and in which subjects. Cautiously optimistic, she read through one line at a time.

Astronomy: Outstanding

Charms: Outstanding

Defense Against Monsters and Sorcery: Outstanding

Herbology: Outstanding

History of Magic: Acceptable

Potions: Exceeds Expectations

Theory of Magic: Outstanding

Transfiguration: Outstanding

Wixen Studies: Exceeds Expectations

Mary felt a disbelieving laugh escape her lips as she greedily tore into the letter from the Ministry. Sure enough, she had been awarded BATs in everything except History, Potions, and Wixen Studies. History made sense, seeing as she had a hard enough time simply staying awake throughout the class. Wixen Studies was just plain difficult for Mary. Potions, on the other hand…

Well, even she could tell Snape held a grudge against her. Mary had a slight insight as to why, thanks to her Mum's journal, but it was still incredibly petty of him to take his anger out on her.

None of that really mattered, though. All that mattered was the fact that Marigold had BATs in Charms, Defense, Theory, and Transfiguration, and soon enough, she wouldn't be limited to a mere handful of basic charms.

---

The next day, as promised in her letter the day before, Professor Sprout knocked on the door to Number 4, Privet Drive. Naturally, Mary had been ready and waiting by the door the past hour, dressed and packed for the outing.

Sprout - dressed in moxy clothes as she normally was on her check-ins at Number 4 - greeted her with a smile when she opened the door. “Good morning, Miss Potter. Excited?”

She responded with an emphatic nod. “Very.”

“Glad to hear it.” she chuckled. “You have your chair? It's going to be a lot of walking and standing.”

Mary nodded again, this time patting her shoulder bag. “I'm feeling good right now, so I’d like to walk while I can.” she explained.

That made sense to Sprout, and she said as much while she led the way down the walk to Privet Drive, where her car was left running. It was a great big green Leyland Sherpa, and through the windows, Mary could already make out a couple of figures. Using her cane, she levered herself up and in through the sliding side door. In the front was the driver's seat, with Justin Finch-Fletchley in one of the passenger seats, his forehead rested against the car’s dashboard and a brown paper bag in his hands. In the back section of the minibus were two rows facing forward - both empty - and behind those, bench seating running lengthwise to the vehicle - one bench occupied by Alexis Hopkins.

Marigold sat in the second back row, in line with the side door, and after a brief-but-futile search for a seatbelt, twisted around to face Alex.

“Is Justin okay?” Mary asked.

“He said Sprout ‘apparated’ him here from Manchester, whatever that is.” she shrugged, grimacing. “From the sound of things, it's even worse than Floo travel.”

Mary returned the uncomfortable expression. Frankly, it was hard to imagine anything worse than going by Floo, but apparently it existed. She was not looking forward to possibly being apparated, someday.

“Alright, students!” Sprout called over her shoulder as she pulled her door closed and buckled in. “One more stop, and then we're off to the Ministry.”

Twenty minutes later, Mary's suspicions as to their destination were confirmed as she began to recognize the neighborhood they were driving through, and soon enough, they pulled up to the Granger house. Hermione was already sat on the doorstep, immediately hopping up and running to the street at the sight of Mary and Lexie waving through the windows to her. Professor Sprout barely had time to unlock the door before Hermione tugged it open and climbed in, hugging Mary and taking one of the seats in front of her.

With that, it was a long drive into the heart of London, and despite having only been apart for just over a week, the moxen-raised Hufflepuffs still had plenty to talk about to pass the time. Hermione in particular was extremely proud to get all O’s for the second year in a row, though she was the only one present to manage such a feat. Justin had come close, but only earned an E in Astronomy. Alex commiserated, having gotten an A in the subject. Mary couldn't blame either of them - orbits were hellish to calculate. How Kepler had managed to deduce his laws of motion, she would never know.

The minibus went dark as Sprout pulled into a multi-storey car park, slowly winding her way through the cramped space. Oddly, the car park went down a level, though the confusion was cleared up as Sprout got to the end and drove straight through a seemingly-solid brick wall, that same tingling sensation washing over Mary as she did. On the other side were many more cars, though the drivers and passengers sported robes, familiars, wands, and other magical accoutrements. After finding a spot, Professor Sprout led them to the stairwell out of the car park and up to the street, Marigold unfolding and switching to her wheelchair to tackle the stairs.

Sprout pushed Mary along Adminna Street, as the signage declared their location, the other three badgers following close behind. Mary unfortunately drew quite a few stares, though thanks to Professor Sprout’s presence, no one bothered trying to approach the group.

Before long, they arrived at the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, a rather ornate building, though at only two floors and a modest footprint, the majority likely had to be underground. Inside was just as opulent, and after presenting their wands to one of the receptionists, all five of them had visitor badges and were directed to one of the many lifts lining the walls.

When Sprout told them to “brace themselves”, Mary assumed it would be another instance of annoyingly fast and uncomfortable transportation - which it was. Unfortunately, it wasn't even limited to vertical motion, and Mary was nearly thrown out of her chair as the lift jerked from side to side and front to back. Thankfully, her housemates had firmly grasped the handrails provided inside the lift, otherwise she was certain at least one of them would have fallen down. By the time they finally stumbled out of the deathtrap of a lift, Justin wasn't the only one looking rather green, and Sprout mercifully took them aside to the lobby seating to recover while she talked with yet another receptionist. With her back turned, an annoyance made himself known.

“Ah, so good to see you all!” came the soft, old voice of Albus Dumbledore. “Congratulations on your BATs.”

Mary failed to suppress a groan as he approached the group. Sprout had warned her that Dumbledore would have to be there, since unlike the other three, he was her magical guardian instead of Sprout. Still, it didn't make it any less annoying when he finally showed up.

Dumbledore gave her a disapproving frown, though Mary wasn't the only one bothered by his presence. Following his public misgendering of her, none of the Hufflepuffs held particularly favorable opinions of the old warlock anymore, Alex especially.

“Headmaster.” Hermione replied tersely.

He sighed, only mildly disappointed.

“Albus.” Sprout bit out as she rushed back to her students, standing protectively behind Mary. “I've checked us in, so they'll call us when they're ready.”

The headmaster's eyes twinkled. “Wonderful! Until then, how has everyone's summer been so far?”

“Bad.” Mary said bitterly. “My Aunt and Uncle still don't want me around, in case you forgot.”

Dumbledore hummed. “Yes, well, needs must.”

“When the devil drives.” Hermione muttered under her breath. “I wonder who that could be.”

Mary bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and was thankfully rescued by a Ministry worker stepping out of a doorway, calling, “Pomona Sprout?”

The party of six followed the man through the halls, eventually arriving at his office, the door labeled “R. Cattermole”. He sat down behind his desk, and shuffled through some paperwork.

“Right.” Cattermole looked back up at the group. “One at a time, then. Alphabetically… Finch-Fletchley? Your certificates and your wand?”

Justin stepped forward, presenting his wand. Professor Sprout rifled through a folder, retrieving the four relevant BATs and handing them off. Cattermole looked through the papers, tapping his wand to the seals on each. With a nod, he pulled out another form and slid a fountain pen to Justin, directing him where to sign, then had Sprout sign off as well. With that done, Cattermole stamped a wax seal onto the form, duplicated the whole thing with a spell, and handed off the copy, filing the original away. He then took Justin's wand, slid it through what looked like a magnifying glass with the lens taken out, and gave it back with a smile.

“Congratulations.” he said. “You may now cast freely within approved spaces around approved parties.”

The process was identical with Hermione, then Alexis. Finally, it was Mary's turn. Sprout handed Cattermole the necessary BAT certificates, but regretfully motioned to Dumbledore when it came time to sign the form. Suddenly, Mary regretted her earlier comments.

Dumbledore looked down at her, his eyes cold. “Three weeks, every summer. Am I understood?”

Marigold nodded, nervous. Hopefully that would be his only demand.

Mercifully, that was enough for him to sign the document, and a moment later, Cattermole handed Mary her wand.

“Congratulations.” he said. “You may now cast freely within approved spaces around approved parties.”

Even the trip back up the lift wasn't enough to dampen her spirits, and when they finally exited the building, Dumbledore parted from the group, which only served to make Mary happier. Rather than head back to the car park, Professor Sprout led her badgers down Adminna Street, turning onto Curdsan Way. The place was lined with restaurants on either side, as far as the eye could see, and Sprout announced she was treating them all to lunch to celebrate their achievements. It was a boisterous affair, to be sure, filled with laughter and conversation, complemented by good food. All four students had their own plans as to what all magic they would be casting now that they had the freedom to do so. Hermione in particular was excited to show her parents the full extent of what she'd learned so far at Hogwarts, rather than a highly-curated list of first-year spells. Justin had a few art projects in mind that he needed transfiguration to achieve, and Alex wanted to nail down at least a few wandless spells before next year. Marigold felt rather scatterbrained in comparison. She didn't have anything too specific in mind, just a general desire to learn and practice as much as possible.

Eventually, the meal wound down, and they looped back around to the Adminna Street car park, piling back into the Leyland Sherpa. Hermione was the first to be dropped off, with Mary not long after. Based on Aunt Petunia’s glare - and the very harsh warning about using magic in her house she gave - when Mary came in through the front door, she likely had an idea of just what Mary had gotten up to, from when her own sister had done the same, decades ago.

In the privacy of Marigold's room, though, what her Aunt didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Chapter Text

With two more weeks stuck at Privet Drive and not much else to do during the day, Marigold read almost non-stop. The only times she put her books down were to sleep, tutor Dudley, eat, and - of course - put what she was learning into practice. As promised in the book Mary had picked up on the topic, even though she could cast many charms nonverbally and with incomplete somatics, when it came to wandless casting, it was far easier to pull off if she used the proper incantation and somation. It felt like a step backwards at first, having to go back to more careful casting, but as the book explained, wands were heavily enchanted to be able to adjust the somatics performed.

As a demonstration, it recommended using the tracelight charm, scribiā, to draw both simple shapes and runes. When looking closely, Mary could discern what the book had described - her runes had perfectly straight lines, round circles, and her polygrams were perfectly regular. However, when she drew a circle on its own, or disjointed lines, there were jitters all over the place - not to mention how they wiggled back and forth in space, rather than the perfectly planar runes. In fact, now that she knew what she was looking for, she saw how as she was in the process of drawing a rune, it had all the tell-tale imperfections of being drawn by hand, but once the wand recognized what rune she drew, the lines of light snapped into place. It was hardly any wonder then, why she couldn't get away with half-measures in wandless casting - though the book assured her that with practice, that would come as well.

Still, being able to cast at all without having to rely on a wand was incredible! Reassuring, too, considering how powerless Marigold had felt when Tom stole her wand in the Chamber of Secrets. Sure, she could only manage simple charms like lūmos and bïrā, but even with just those two, she could light up a dark room and pick up her wand from a distance - and once she had it back, she could cast whatever she wanted. Dudley was also quite impressed by her display of wandless magic when she showed him later that night, though Mary was rather confused when, after using lūmos to produce a light at the tip of her index finger, he asked if she was going to “phone home”. Supposedly, it was from some American movie he had seen.

With the basics of wandless magic covered, Marigold dove headfirst into transfiguration. Conjuration, it seemed, was essentially the reverse process of vanishing - nothing too surprising there. The detailed explanation was… more than a bit confusing, though. Essentially, from what she could glean, conjured objects didn't really exist? Most of the time?

In order to get around the absurdly high energy cost of creating mass out of raw magical energy (the speed of light squared was a very steep price), conjuration was optimized for efficiency. It apparently utilized a state of existence known as “superposition”, where something both did and did not exist at the same time. However, rather than a superpositioned object being ethereal - as Mary had initially been visualizing the phenomenon, based off of her first-hand experience with ghosts - it was only ever fully there, or fully not. The result one got when observing (or otherwise interacting with) the superpositioned object was random chance, though it could be weighted more towards one way or the other. The average result of repeated testing was the closest one could get to observing it in a partial existence, and could be thought of as the object’s “true” state. In nature, only individual particles could be in superposition, but then again, transfiguration was literally magic. However, besides the magic of creating an entire object in superposition, conjuration also affected the outcome of playing those odds - though not the odds themselves. To put it in terms of Abbeys & Adders, it was like needing to roll a natural 20 for the object to exist - and then proceeding to get a critical success, every single time, without fail. The result was an object that seemed to exist, but the moment the caster stopped supplying magic, it would collapse back into non-existence.

The whole affair was all rather headache-inducing, really.

It took many, many trips to Flourish and Blotts - and even the local moxy library - before Marigold understood it (to a degree, at least). It helped that apparently, she'd been putting objects into superposition for the past two years at Hogwarts, without even realizing. It was why vanished objects could pop back into existence if one wasn't thorough enough, and why the fixing charm was used to make a transfiguration permanent - the targets were actually in superposition, but because they were weighted far enough one way or the other, messing with the figurative dice rolls wasn't necessary.

Still, despite not fully understanding the exact mechanics at play, it was enough for Mary to make an attempt. Lighter elements were inherently easier to conjure, as they had less mass, but conjuring a planetary metal would be even easier. Iron was thus the ideal candidate, as it was the lightest planetary metal. Not only that, but with a body-centered cubic crystal structure, the arrangement of the atoms was about as easy as could be - a three-dimensional grid with an atom at each vertex and an atom in each cell.

So on Friday, a little after 4 pm, Marigold oriented herself south, where Mars was - presumably, if her calculations were to be believed - at its zenith, and attempted her first ever conjuration.

Down, a curve to the right, a clockwise circle, then continuing right, and finishing with a curve up. Taurus. Another circle, then an arrow, up and to the right. Mars.

“Constrūo ferūm¹.”

Mary pushed magic through her wand. The theory was still odd and confusing, but she held it in her mind as best she could. She poured more magic into the spell. Theory aside, she'd scanned enough iron ingots in McGonagall’s class that not only did she know what she wanted to conjure, but exactly how the iron atoms ought to come together to do so. Marigold pumped out as much magic as she possibly could, willing the metal into existence. Just enough of a push to get it into superposition, and then she could rig the odds to-

Pop!

She stared in shock and disbelief at the shiny little cube.

Pop!

…And it was gone, the momentary lapse in her concentration being enough to let it blip out of existence.

But for a brief, glorious moment, she had done it. She had done it! Marigold was positively shattered from all the magic she had spent forcing the spell to work, but she had done it!

Mary flopped into bed, a giggling mess, as the reality of what she had accomplished sunk in.

---

The next week - her last week with the Dursleys for the summer, thankfully - was a whirlwind of experiments with transfiguration. Mary kept practicing iron in the afternoons, but around 9 in the morning, Venus was at its zenith, perfect for conjuring copper. Being close in weight to iron, it wasn't that much more difficult, but it was still just as exhausting the first time around. However, both metals paled in comparison to gold.

The first time Marigold tried to conjure gold, she nearly fainted from exertion, yet didn't even have anything to show for it. The sun had been at its peak, but with 79 protons and 114 neutrons in each atom, gold was far, far heavier. The next day, having had time to recover, Mary had another go at it, though she aimed for a mere fleck of gold - about a millimeter cubed. Thankfully, her efforts payed off, and she added gold to her rotation of metals to practice.

As her stay at Privet Drive came to a close, Mary was exhausted. Constant conjuring required energy, which meant eating as much food as she could manage without upsetting her stomach. Uncle Vernon quickly grew aggravated by how much money she was costing them with her increased appetite, and eventually shouted at Mary to go buy her own food.

Honestly, she was kicking herself for not realizing she could do so earlier. She would have to remember that for next summer. Regardless, she greatly appreciated not having to go through her relatives every time she was hungry - and judging by the way Dudley scarfed down several cereal bars at the start of each of their last few study sessions, so did he.

“Mnf, god, you're a lifesaver, Mary.” he mumbled between bites. “Algebra is hard enough as is, I dunno how Dad expects me to learn it on an empty stomach.”

“Don't mention it.” she waved off her cousin's concerns. “Ah, and you would have to flip the inequality here.”

Dudley frowned, thinking. “Oh! Right, ‘cos of the negative?”

Mary nodded. “Exactly! See? You're getting it.”

“Slowly but surely, I s’pose.” he sighed.

Marigold kept reading through her transfiguration text as Dudley continued working on his maths assignment. She'd wandered away from the curriculum for third year after following a rabbit hole in conjuration, all the way to something called “elemental affinity”. Apparently, besides the position of the planets, it was another factor in how much magic it took to conjure certain materials - though it was different from person to person. The four primary elements, Mary recognized easily: fire, water, air, and earth - or ignis, aqua, ventus, and terra, as their runes were known. The four secondary elements, as the book termed them, were each located between a pair of primary elements. Lightning, fulmen, between fire and air; ice, glacies, between air and water; metal, metallum, between water and earth; and magma, with the same name for its rune, between earth and fire.

“Mary?”

Rather oddly, a wix’s elemental affinity seemed to be correlated with their personality, though the book didn't specify if there was any sort of causal relationship one way or another. While Marigold had initially wanted to write the whole subject off as an unreliable personality test out of a magazine, the author pointed out that animagum forms also tended to correlate with a wix’s character. With no counterargument for that, she kept reading.

“Mary!”

“Hm?” Marigold pulled her nose out of her book. “What was the question?”

Dudley rolled his eyes. “I was asking when you're leaving.” he said, a slightly amused smile on his face

She winced slightly. “Oh, er, tomorrow morning, actually.”

“A-ah.” He seemed to deflate. “That makes sense.” With a sigh, he idly tapped his eraser on the desk a few times. “Does…”

He faltered.

“Yes?” Mary pressed.

“Does it ever get easier?” he whispered. “The punishments?”

She grimaced. “...No. Not really.” Mary closed her book, rifling her thumb along a corner of the pages. “You get used to it, but… It never stops hurting. You just… go slightly numb, I suppose.”

Dudley sniffled quietly. “...I'm sorry, Marigold.”

“Yeah.” she sighed. “I'm sorry too, Dudley.”

---

The next morning, the 27th of June, the Grangers picked Mary up from Number Four, Privet Drive, heading straight for the airport. Hermione and her parents obviously already had their passports, but Mary - rather than bothering with the moxy process - had owled Griphook, who arranged things for her. A few days later (and a few days before leaving the Dursley's) her passport arrived by owl, straight from the Department of Synchronicity in the Ministry of Magic.

Flying to Marseille was a bit of an ordeal, and Mary couldn't help but think it would've been easier to get Mr Weasley to enchant the Grangers’ car. Still, it wasn't too long of a flight - customs aside - and soon they were greeted at the gate by Valerie’s family, the Barbeaus. Marigold struggled to parse her way through the introductions, which certainly weren't any easier given they were in French, but Hermione helped translate for her. By the end of the greetings, Mary was at least able to identify Valerie's parents and siblings, though when it came to which of Hermione's cousins were the children of which of her Aunts and Uncles, Mary was absolutely clueless.

Over the course of her first week in Marseille, Marigold had been to just about every museum the city had to offer. They would often eat out for lunch, already being out and about as they were, but when it came to dinner, Hermione’s grandmother cooked for the entire family. Sometimes they were French dishes, other times Malagasy, but almost always some variation of rice and/or seafood. Additionally, with the constant immersion, she was starting to hold conversations in French - albeit rather limited ones. Mary enjoyed getting to know Hermione’s extended family, but from time to time, she would retreat into the room she and Hermione were sharing to read about and practice magic. Hermione was absolutely flabbergasted the first time Mary performed conjuration in front of her, though Mary was equally shocked at how effortlessly Hermione casted wandless magic. However, both young witches were running up against the limits of what they could learn from the books they already had, which meant there was only one thing to do - get more books.

Thankfully, Hermione had picked up a guide from Flourish and Blotts that covered how to find the magical quarters of various large cities across Europe. Methods varied from country to country, and often even city to city, but for Marseille, while there were several entrances of various types throughout the city, the simplest ones to find were along the metro. Following the guide, Mary and the Grangers went to the Castellane station, soon finding a door without a handle. With a light touch of magic though, the door opened itself up, allowing them passage.

Unlike Magical London, the entire wixen section of Marseille was underground - though it avoided the gloominess by having many, many one-way skylights, giving the illusion of an open-air street. From there, it wasn't hard to locate the local bank to exchange currencies, and from there, a few bookstores. Understandably (though unfortunately for Mary), the books were all in French, but Hermione graciously agreed to help translate. Marigold picked out several more books on conjuration, fascinated as she was with the subject. She also had more than enough time, as Hermione and her parents were diligent in keeping an eye on Mary's injury, which meant if she was hurting too much (or if the family was going to the beach, an activity Mary was uncomfortable joining even without her disability, given her anatomy) she would stay home with an adult, maybe a cousin or two.

Regardless, she wanted to figure out her elemental affinity, and the easiest way to do that was to simply conjure each of the primary and secondary elements and see which one came easiest. While Mary had learned to create fire and wind in first year Charms and metals over the past few weeks, the rest she had yet to touch. Ice and water, she could easily find through regular means and then scan them to understand their structure. But lightning, earth, and magma? Those would undoubtedly be trickier.

In the first place, what even counted as “earth”? Dirt and stone were composite materials, full of different silicate minerals and often organic compounds. Was it any crystalline structure? If that was the case, what about pure metals? Hell, ice was even a crystal, it just happened to have a very low melting point! If “earth” wasn't a specific mineral crystal or group of minerals, was it a combination of many different minerals? But then why would it be easier to conjure a menagerie of compounds rather than a uniform substance? And everything that was an issue with “earth” also extended to magma, since magma and lava were just melted rock! Water was magma!

Marigold seriously hoped the books would clear things up.

---

Unfortunately, as the days passed by, Mary was left unsatisfied on the magic front. The holiday as a whole was going fantastically, but she had made little headway in her academic pursuits. She could conjure ice and water now, but neither seemed to be her elemental affinity. By her fourth trip to the bookstore, she was starting to get frustrated. The same clerk as her last few visits greeted Mary as she entered the store. She was a beautiful young witch, probably a couple years older than Mary, with blue eyes and light brown hair with a single white streak framing her face, and though Mary was certain of her own orientation, even she couldn't help but blush as she returned a stuttered “Bonjour”. After browsing for a bit, Mary limped over to the clerk with yet another book, plopping it on the counter. As the witch behind the counter punched a few numbers into the mechanical register, she gave a slight smirk, asking something in French.

“Er, pardonne-moi?” Mary asked, scrunching up her nose in concentration.

The clerk repeated herself slower, but at Mary's continued lack of understanding, changed tactics.

“Still no luck?” she asked, a slight accent to her words.

Mary blushed in embarrassment, realizing the clerk had taken notice of her frequent visits, as well as the subject of her purchases. “Yes- er, oui.” she answered.

“English is fine.” the witch said, a glint of amusement in her eye. “Conjuration is not an easy topic, combat with it is even less so.”

“Oh, I'm not interested in using it to fight.” Marigold clarified - though it was an understandable mistake, as duelling was the most practical use for the raw elements. “Really, I'm just curious.”

That got the clerk to chuckle. “You are very peculiar, Mademoiselle…?”

“Marigold.” she introduced herself, reserving her surname for the time being.

“Marigold, enchanté.” she said with a smile. “I am Fleur.” She glanced at the register. “That will be two livre, forty denier.”

As Mary fished out the correct change, Fleur continued. “If you would like, my shift ends at the hour. I would be happy to help with your studies.”

Marigold blinked in surprise, then glanced over her shoulder to Dennis, who had accompanied her on this trip.

“Your call.” he responded to her silent question.

Mary gave her a nervous smile. “Er, yeah, if you would like.”

Fleur’s smile was dazzling. “It would be my pleasure.”

---

According to Fleur, the materials that fell under the jurisdiction of terra and magma runes was moreso a matter of anthropology rather than science. That made absolutely no sense to Mary, at least until she remembered Professor Higgs’ lecture last year on why magic worked. Specifically, wixen imparting their linguistic notions upon Magic through sheer force of will. Thus, as Fleur explained, individual mineral crystals as well as rocks composed of many crystals all counted as “earth” - not including ice and metal - because that was what wixen in the past considered “earth”. “Magma”, therefore, was the liquid form of anything that counted as “earth”.

With that out of the way, Fleur pointed Marigold towards a store that sold a variety of crystals that she could reference, though she strongly cautioned Mary against trying to conjure magma until she was back at school and had proper supervision. Given most rocks and minerals melted at temperatures easily upwards of 1000 degrees, Mary readily agreed. Finally reaching the end of the impromptu study session, the two witches exchanged contact information. Fleur Delacour was certainly surprised when she put two and two together and realized she had been tutoring a foreign celebrity for the past hour, though to her credit, she kept her reaction subdued and didn't draw any attention, which Mary appreciated.

When Marigold and Dennis returned to the Barbeau home, Hermione was mildly jealous over the learning opportunity - at least until Mary assured her that upon learning that Mary was in Marseille with one of her classmates, Fleur had extended an invitation for both of them to visit her home, if they wanted.

---

The rest of the holiday whiled away pleasantly, split between family, touring, magical experimentation, and visiting the Delacours. The only downside to the trip that Mary could find was that she was separated from Hedwig. It was regrettable, but getting an owl through customs would be hellish, and while Mary could have had Hedwig just fly to the Barbeaus’, there wasn't really a Statute-compliant explanation for her pet owl flying hundreds of kilometers to find her. Every so often, Mary plucked at her familiar bond, just to check in. Unfortunately at that distance, all she could send and receive were more basic emotions. Still, even with that, she could send “worry” and get back “happy”. It wasn't much, but it gave her peace of mind that Hedwig and Athena, the Grangers’ owl, were both doing well.

As the 23rd of July - and thus the end of their stay in Marseille - drew nearer, Marigold was sad she'd be leaving behind new friends, but excited to see old ones again. Promises to write were given all around, both to the Barbeau cousins, and to Fleur and her little sister, Gabrielle. The day of, after many tearful goodbyes at the airport, Mary and the Grangers boarded their flight and left France behind.

Hedwig was, of course, overjoyed to see her witch again, a sentiment Mary shared. There was a pile of mail that the two owls had arranged on the dining room table, but as exhausted as they all were from the flight, it would be left till tomorrow. Instead, Marigold and the Grangers unpacked the bare minimum, changed into comfy clothes, and gathered in the living room to eat takeaway and watch whatever happened to be on the telly.

It was as one show ended that Valerie was flicking through the channels for something else to watch, only to change to a news broadcast.

“Oh, boo!” Dennis teased. “It's been a busy day already, switch it to something I don't need to think about to enjoy.”

“Hush, you.” his wife shot back. “It's just for a minute, then we'll be right back to rotting your brain.”

He sighed dramatically, grumbling and gathering dishes and taking them to the kitchen in the meantime. Personally, Mary didn't mind watching the news for a bit. All the way in Marseille, she'd not been getting letters or the Prophet, so she felt a bit out of touch. It wasn't long before the programming switched from the weather forecast to current events.

“Our top story tonight,” the newscaster announced, “The search continues for the fugitive, Sirius Black, a convicted murderer sentenced over a decade ago. Authorities report that Black is armed and dangerous, and urge viewers not to…”

Marigold stared in terror, her blood ice cold, at the disheveled man in the mugshot. Her ears rung and her breath quickened as she studied him - pale skin, sunken grey eyes, a long, straight nose, unkempt black hair and a scruffy mustache connected to his sideburns.

The man who betrayed her parents to Voldemort.

Chapter Text

Even after the Grangers calmed her down from her initial panic attack, Marigold was the epitome of an emotional wreck. Eventually, she got to sleep, but even that wasn't a relief, as she was plagued by the nightmares she usually only got around Samhain - flashes of sickly green light, cruel laughter, and an indescribable pain.

The next morning, distraught though she was, Mary went through all the post she had missed. According to the Prophet, Black had escaped Azkaban about a week before they had left France. It also marked a huge tonal shift in the letters she had received from friends, changing from standard updates about their summers to much more worried consolations. Given the wixen press was in consensus that Black’s aim in escaping was likely to “finish the job”, she couldn't blame them for being concerned. More surprising was that Mary had received an owl from her cousin, Nym Tonks, basically offering to be her own personal bodyguard for however long she wanted. Marigold didn't want to be a bother, but Valerie brought up a good point - the girls still needed to get their school supplies for the year.

So it was that a knock came at the door on Monday morning, before the Doctors Granger had left for work that day, while they were all eating breakfast. Dennis wiped his face and stood, heading to the door. Mary heard the door unlock, followed by a loud bang and some shouting that had Valerie running after her husband, and Mary and Hermione rooted in place at the table.

A moment later, the Doctors Granger walked into the dining room, aggravated, followed by a mildly apologetic Nym sporting dark green eyes and matching short curls.

“Look, the wards you've got on the place are grand n’ all, but they don't mean a thing if you open the door like that!” Nym explained.

“Yes, but we knew you were coming!” Dennis grumbled. “And I checked through the window that it was you, otherwise I wouldn't have opened the door!”

Nym sighed deeply. With a twist of his hand, an image of her shimmered into place, seated at the head of the table. The simulacrum turned its head, then waved.

“Illusions.” they said plainly. “They're not hard to cast, and you've got no way to differentiate between them and the real thing, do you?”

Dennis grumbled some more under his breath as the pseudo-Nym shimmered back out of existence.

“Be that as it may,” Valerie said, exasperated, “I'd appreciate you not giving us a heart attack first thing in the morning.”

Nym gave her a jaunty salute. “Now that, I can do.” They strolled over, giving Mary a pat on the shoulder. “Heya, cuz. We can catch up in a bit, but first -” she shot finger-guns at Valerie and Dennis, “Mind showin’ me where the wardstone is? I'd like to do some upgrades. Free o’ charge, naturally.”

With a sigh, Valerie led Nym towards her and Dennis’ bedroom.

---

Marigold set up and sat in her wheelchair while Nym helped Hermione out of the backseat of their Mini. The three of them had arrived through the Adminna Street entrance, as it was the closest entrance to Diagon that had parking (Nym had been insistent about not taking public transportation) on the wixen side of London. It was a bit of a walk to get to Diagon, but with Hermione pushing Mary (He also insisted on having both hands unoccupied, should something happen) it wasn't too long before they arrived.

As tight as Gringotts’ security was, Nym also insisted they minimize their time out, so Mary and the Grangers had already made withdrawals via owl. The majority of the trip was quick and efficient - enter a store, grab the necessary school supplies, pay, and leave. They were moreso just buying than actually shopping. One exception was Madam Malkin’s, which required a bit more consideration, as well as new measurements to be taken. As much as Marigold was pleased with her haul of clothing, she was stricken with jealousy that Hermione had graduated from training bras, while she would be stuck with little more than padding for the foreseeable future.

The other exception to Nym’s spartan shopping spree was Magical Menagerie, where Hermione was looking for a familiar. Unfortunately, despite nearly an hour in the store, no pet met Hermione’s requirements. She had initially been drawn to the collection of kneazles, but after a single stroke along one's back, Hermione declared their excessive shedding unbearable. Even more unfortunately, every kneazle in the store was like that. According to Nym, kneazle fur held quite a few desirable properties in alchemy and potioneering, which meant that for generations they had been bred to shed as much as their little feline bodies could handle.

As they were finishing their rounds in the store, Hermione had resigned herself to later checking out a mundane pet store. The bell over the door chimed, and Nym flicked her wand into his hand.

Marigold lit up, rolling over to the entrance. “Mrs Figg!”

Mrs Figg turned, a smile of her own on her face. “Marigold! How good to see you! Are holding up-”

Nym stepped in-between them. A quick gesture and a stare-down later, they stepped aside - though not before lightly tapping Mary on the forehead.

“Illusions, you numpty.” she chastised. “Trust nothing.”

Mary nodded meekly. “R-right, sorry.”

With Nym backing off, Mrs Figg cleared her throat. “So! Glad to see you're staying safe, of course. Anywho, what brings you here? Looking for a pet? Another familiar, perhaps? I know you've got that beautiful owl, of course.”

Mary shook her head. “No, it's for my friend, Hermione.”

The girl in question stepped forward, extending her hand. “Hermione Granger, it's nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Arabella Figg,” she introduced herself, “It's so nice to meet one of Marigold's friends. Anywho, what sort of pet are you in the market for?”

Hermione sighed. “Well, I had thought perhaps a kneazle, but they all shed way too much. I'll probably just get a cat, I suppose.”

Mrs Figg’s eyes twinkled. “I think I might have just the one for you, then!”

She set down the cat carrier she had been holding, and rummaged through her purse. She pulled out a few polaroids, and after a second flicking through them, held one out. Marigold peered at the picture, which showed a scrawny, scrubby-looking orange cat with yellow eyes, huge ears, and crinkled whiskers. She wracked her memory.

“Crookshanks, right?” Mary guessed.

“Just so!” Figg nodded. “He's a devon rex-kneazle cross. Been with me, what, six years, now?” At Mary's agreement, she continued. “Anywho, I had the same thought - kneazles are wonderful pets, what with how intelligent they are, but the shedding is a bit much if you're not interested in using the fur. And Crookshanks barely sheds at all!” she said proudly. She sighed. “Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a market, so none of them ever sold. Crooks’ litter was the last of his kind that I bred, actually. A shame, really.”

Hermione, who to that point had been staring at the polaroid in silence, finally spoke. “He's gorgeous!” She looked up at Mrs Figg, stars in her eyes. “Can I really have him?”

Mrs Figg chuckled. “Of course, dear. And don't worry about the cost, I'm just glad he's finally going to a good home.” Hermione tried to protest, but Mrs Figg cut her off. “You just focus on getting the supplies for him, hm? Take good care of him.”

Hermione acquiesced, and the two of them hashed out the details, including both what supplies Hermione would need, as well as arranging a time for Mrs Figg to drop Crookshanks off. After that, it didn't take long to gather pet-care supplies, as well as stop by the other shops they had yet to visit. Soon enough, they piled back into Nym’s Mini and headed home.

On Wednesday, as promised, Mrs Figg knocked on the door to the Granger household, cat carrier in hand. Sure enough, Nym’s security upgrades worked - quite literally - like a charm, and through the window of the front door, a haze could be seen clinging to the cat carrier, denoting the presence of an enchantment. Given Mrs Figg would sometimes bring entire litters to Magical Menagerie at once, it had to be enchanted, lest she have to juggle several carriers at a time. Of course, with only one occupant, it became quite a spacious (luxurious, even) way for a cat to travel, which was why Hermione had gotten one of her own at Mrs Figg's explanation yesterday.

Hermione was a bit miffed that Crookshanks rubbed up against Mary first, having recognized her scent, but any resentment faded away completely when Crookshanks curled up in Hermione’s lap for a nap. She was utterly smitten with him, and spent hours upon hours either playing with him with his toys, or reading next to him while he slept. Refusing to be outdone, Hedwig stuck close by her witch as well, not that Mary minded a bit.

True to Mrs Figg’s word, Crookshanks barely shed, though that didn't stop Hermione from hoovering her bedsheets every day before going to sleep. Her parents didn't mind her cleanliness, but they did end up having to lay down the ground rule of not using the hoover after 9 pm, after an instance where Hermione had woken up in the middle of the night and decided to just “touch things up a bit” before going back to sleep.

---

Between all the daily living, shopping trips, magical and mundane studies, pet care, and just plain relaxation that week, the Granger household had also been preparing for Mary and Neville’s birthday party that Friday. Thankfully, it wasn’t set to be nearly as grand an affair as last year’s ball, instead being hosted in the Grangers’ backyard. It wasn’t much more than a big get-together with cake and presents, but it was still shaping up to be a more than enjoyable time - especially since Soluna was planning to bring faer A&A supplies along. Given it was her birthday, Marigold wasn’t allowed to help out that much with the preparations, but on the bright side that gave her more time to work on her present for Neville.

She had gone back and forth between several ideas for a while that summer, but had settled on a combination of two ideas she’d had - a fountain and a planter. She’d sketched a few designs while in Marseille before she was happy with the result. It was relatively simple in concept, basically a circular stone planter with a fountain in the middle that would also serve to keep the plants watered through some channels at the bottom, all small enough that Neville could keep it on the table in his room and still have enough space for reading, writing, eating, or whatever else.

In execution, things were a bit more difficult. It probably would’ve been easy enough to just buy a hunk of granite and mould it into shape, but since Mary was already practicing conjuration anyways, it seemed a waste not to make the entire thing literally from scratch. Mary figured a lighter granite would be a good fit for the project, as well as match the decor in her brother’s room, but granites, like most rocks, were an aggregate of minerals, and each mineral was a mix of different elements. Thankfully, granites consisted of silicates, which contained a decent amount of oxygen in their composition. Seeing as it was already going to be hard enough conjuring and arranging everything, Mary had picked up a book during her outing with Hermione and Nym that roughly outlined the process of true transfiguration - using a combination of conjuration and vanishing, along with already present materials to reduce the spell’s energy cost as much as possible. It was especially important she reduce the cost, as Mary needed as much magic as she could get in order to make the conjuration permanent.

On Thursday, with all the requisite research behind her, Mary began her project. By stripping oxygen out of the air (making sure her window was open first, lest she suffocate herself in the process) and binding it to conjured silicon, Marigold slowly formed a crystal. She had been brushing up on duplication as well, so she didn’t have to arrange the entire thing molecule by molecule. Instead, she only needed to form each structure manually once, from then on being able to form a copy of the already-conjured material by simply scanning its structure and using that to directly organize the atoms, rather than doing so manually.

One silicon, four oxygen, arranged in a tetrahedron. Tetrahedron by tetrahedron, she strung them into a helical chain, removing oxygen as she bonded them. Chain by chain, she linked them into a sheet, and sheet by sheet, stacked them into a prism of pure quartz. It was an intricate process that took intense concentration and visualization at each step, but despite that, it didn't use nearly as much magical or mental energy as it would have if Mary had tried to conjure the entire thing in one go. Conjuring feldspars was a similar process, though with a different structure to keep in mind, plus the addition of some other atoms - namely aluminum, calcium, potassium, and sodium. With a couple of amphiboles to top it all off, Marigold finally had everything she needed. Friday morning, before anyone had arrived for the celebration, she moulded all of the constituent minerals together into a solid lump of artificial granite, and began shaping the fountain planter.

---

The cavy guard returns to the gatehouse, begrudgingly opening the gates to the fortified city of Narbenberg, handing Father Damien’s letter back to Trotter.

“Just don’t cause any trouble.” He warns the group. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

“I’ll keep them in line.” Scabbers says, giving his fellow swordsman a brisk salute.

Blackthorn scoffs, muttering under his breath with a smirk, “You can certainly try.”

The party from Redwall winds their way through the labyrinthine streets of Narbenberg. The building fronts are all made of the same dull grey stone the mountain itself is, no decoration other than the occasional signage for a business. The citizenry is similarly subdued, walking along quietly in familial groups, huddled closer than would be necessary to ward off the bitter cold.

Go ahead and make perception checks for us?

“Ugh, 8.”

“I got an 11… plus 0.”

“Ooh! 19 plus 2, 21!”

Hermione? Neville? Can either of you do better than that?

“No, I’ve got 12. Even with a plus 4, that’s only 16.”

“Lucky, I can’t m-manage to roll above a 10, today.”

Alright, then. Out of the corner of her eye, Clover picks out a sign down a side street - Bittner, Herbalist.

She points it out to the others. “Seems as good a place as any to start, I think.”

Dr Pickford wiggles his nose in anticipation. “Here’s hoping, wot!”

Unfortunately, the interior is just as dreary as the rest of the city. There are a few plain wooden stools for seating, then a counter, behind which is a shelf chock-full of glass jars - all nearly empty.

“Hello?” Pickford calls, rapping the back of his paw against the counter.

An older wildcat peeks his head out from the doorway behind the counter, his fur a greying brown, his whiskers long and drooping. He pulls his coat tighter around himself, adjusting his spectacles as he steps up to the counter. His voice is low and rumbly.

“Hm, yes, what can I do you for?” he asks.

Pickford gives him a jaunty grin. “Yes, well! We are in the market for some saxifrage and edelweiss, however much you can spare. There’s been a recent outbreak of swamp pox down south, and-”

Bittner sighs deeply, cutting him off. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you, at present.” He gestures behind himself to the stock behind him. “As you can see, we don’t even have enough for our city, let alone travelers.”

Dejected, the party leaves Bittner’s shop. They split into two groups - Trotter with Blackthorn, and Scabbers with Clover and Dr Pickford. Despite covering twice as much ground, nowhere in Narbenberg is in any better supply. After an hour of disappointing searching, the two groups meet up at an inn near Bittner’s, where they had originally split, neither reporting any good news. With the cold of night upon them though, they settle down for the night, booking two rooms and stashing their packs in their rooms before heading back down for dinner and drinks.

“Hm, we’re almost out of money.” Mary points out. “Can I try playing some songs for tips?”

Sure! Roll performance?

“Damn, 9 plus 4, so 13.”

With that, Clover plays a few songs on her lute, recounting a few ballads, and while it attracts the attention of a few patrons, most keep to themselves. Clover manages to cover her own expenses for the night, but everyone else will still have to pay.

“Can I try gamblin’?” Sept asks. “I’ve got a deck o' cards in my inventory, if there isn’t already a game goin’.”

There’s a game in the corner, yes. Roll a d20 for us? No modifier, this is just pure luck.

“...11 again, are you kiddin’ me?”

One of your competitors, a mole, laughs at Blackthorn’s misfortune, gladly taking the coppers everyone wagered as she wins the round. “Seems Lady Luck is on my side, eh?”

Blackthorn grits his teeth. “Deal me in again.”

She grins. “Yer funeral, kid.”

The mouse running the game deals him in. Roll again.

“There we go, 17!”

Your hand easily outmatches everyone’s hand - except the mole’s. With a glint in her eye, she lays down her cards, again beating you. Make a perception check.

Sept sighs, then rolls. He pauses. “Natural 20!”

Wonderful! With that, Blackthorn can see the corner of a card disappear within the mole’s sleeve - she’s been cheating.

Blackthorn pounds a fist on the table. The mole narrows her eyes at him.

“Somethin’ wrong, kid?”

“Again.”

She grins wickedly.

Blackthorn plays along, musing over his cards, but keeps an eye on the mole. The moment she goes to swap her cards, Blackthorn throws his dagger, pinning her sleeve to the table.

“Whaddaya think yer doin’!?” She roars, frantically trying to tug her arm back. “Are ya outta yer mind!?”

Reaching across the table, Blackthorn lifts up her sleeve, revealing the illicit cards pinned by his dagger. With her scheme exposed, the dealer and the other competitors gang up on her, demanding their money back. In all the commotion, no one notices Blackthorn pick the mole’s pocket and slip away.

---

The next day was Marigold’s birthday proper, and after a decadent breakfast of cinnamon rolls and quiche, it was finally time for everyone to go home. Augusta Longbottom was first to arrive, though spent enough time exchanging pleasantries and chatting with the Doctors Granger that Molly Weasley arrived before Neville could leave with his Gran. With another adult in the mix, the conversation continued until it was nearly noon, not that any of the young wixen were complaining about spending more time together. If nothing else, it gave Mary plenty of extra time to make certain she had packed all her belongings before eventually, it was actually time for everyone to go home. The Longbottoms left first, then Molly began ushering her boys, Soluna, and Mary through the Floo.

The Burrow was as bright and warm as ever, sunlight streaming in through the many windows. Xenophilius was sitting in the living room, chatting about dragons with a young woman that Mary soon realized was Charlotte Weasley. Ron had told Mary the day before that she’d be rooming with Charlie, since Molly was still insistent that bedrooms be split by gender. It struck Marigold as odd, how Molly was completely supportive of trans people, yet still held more antiquated positions on gender roles. Regardless, Xeno picked up his parasol and walked his child home, while Charlie led Mary downstairs to where she would be staying for the next week or so.

The only real differences Mary noticed about Charlie from their meeting in first year were longer hair pulled back in a ponytail, a slimmer shirt and pair of jeans that made it clear that her baggy ones had been hiding the effects of HRP, but most importantly, she was in a far better mood. Where before Charlie had seemed like a bit of a nervous wreck, now she was calm, confident.

Happy.

It was certainly a welcome change, though it was not without friction. Similar arguments to last summer kept popping up. While in Sept’s case, his distaste for femininity stemmed from actually being a boy, Charlie just didn’t care for being especially girly at all times. It made perfect sense to Mary, but it drove Molly up the wall how Charlie happily wore a sundress and did her hair and makeup for the Lughnasadh celebration, then outright refused to so much as look at a skirt the very next day.

It was during one such debate after dinner that Marigold decided to sit on the back porch until things calmed down. She was followed out by Ron, Scabbers on his shoulder eating a floret of broccoli. The setting sun cast everything in a soft orange, slowly turning the world grey as it dipped below the horizon.

“Sorry ‘bout Mum.” he apologized.

Mary shrugged. “It’s…” She sighed. “I dunno.”

“Yeah.” Ron mumbled, giving a carrot stick to his rat. “I’m sure she means well, but what’s it matter if Charlie’s in a dress or not? She’s happy as she is. You’d think that'd be enough.”

She nodded. “Charlie was telling me just last night, she thinks your Mum is still kinda stuck in the Blood War.”

Ron frowned. “What d’you mean?”

Mary scrunched up her nose in thought. “The way Charlie explained it, just surviving was hard enough. But if everyone did their part, they could get through things together. Having predefined roles probably made that a lot easier.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Ron said, scratching the back of his head. “I dunno, we’re not in the middle of a war anymore, though.”

She grimaced. “Sure, but You-Know-Who is still-”

A loud bark cut her off. Across the yard, stalking through the Weasleys’ orchard, Mary could just barely make out a large black dog, growling, its pale eyes flashing in the twilight.

“Scabbers!” Ron yelped, chasing after his pet as he leapt off Ron’s shoulder and into the grass.

The dog stared at Mary for a moment, before it took off running, circling around the house, seemingly following after Ron, but not actually getting any closer to the Burrow. For Mary’s part, even if she had wanted to give chase, her bad leg wouldn’t have allowed it. Instead, she remained sitting, keeping an eye out for both Scabbers and the dog.

Eventually, a glum Ron returned, rat-less. Mary tried consoling him, but apparently this wasn’t the first time Scabbers had run off over the years. It was unfortunate, but at this point Ron was used to it. Sooner or later, he would find his pet rat curled up in the pantry, stuffed full of food.

---

There was still no sign of Scabbers by the time Sept’s birthday rolled around. It was apparently the longest he’d ever been missing, so understandably, Ron was getting increasingly worried - though daily quidditch games kept his mind off of it. For his part, Septimus had a far better birthday celebration this time around, given he wasn't forced into a dress, and had even invited Collin Creevey over for the day. Thankfully for Mary, Creevey seemed to have gotten over his fascination with her. Hermione, Soluna, and Neville had also come over to celebrate, and when the party was over, Marigold once again packed up her things, this time heading off with Neville to Longbottom Manor.

Trevor was happy as ever in his terrarium, and the big greenhouse was chock full, now that Neville was allowed to keep magical plants - among which was a healthy bed of mandrakes. Mary couldn’t blame him, with the way Ron and Soluna had described being petrified. Other than that, the Manor seemed relatively unchanged from when Marigold visited during Ostara break. In Neville’s room, the obvious addition was the fountain planter Mary had made for him. He had planted a bed of forget-me-nots in it, and his Gran had enchanted the stone to passively pump the water up through the fountain.

The only room left undecorated now was Mary’s, and when Augusta proposed she decorate it however she liked, Marigold was left uneasy. There was something about the idea that struck her as viscerally wrong. She had no problems staying with the Longbottoms, but the idea that she might live with them felt impossible. Having felt like an outsider and an intruder her entire life, the thought of actually being wanted, of putting down roots…

She wasn’t sure how to handle it.