The Swedish Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries.
The Unspeakable delivered his report with perfect composure: "At approximately 10:34 this morning, the Department of Mysteries was attacked. No Unspeakables were harmed. It appears an Obscurus infiltrated the Ministry."
The Swedish Minister for Magic surveyed the wreckage blanketing the floor. "An attack on the Department of Mysteries… Was anything stolen?"
"Gungnir's Spear and Odin's Eye."
"And what… exactly do those do?"
"According to Department regulations, you must sign a magical secrecy contract before I can disclose the details of those artifacts."
"I'll consider it. Any other details? I need something for the Aurors to work with."
"The Obscurus's objective was very clear, almost as if it was guided. We cannot rule out the possibility that it possesses powers of Ancient Magic."
At the mention of that phrase, the Minister's brow furrowed. "Ancient Magic? What is that—just some very old form of magic?"
"You'll need to sign a secrecy contract before I can elaborate."
"Loki's tongue! Can't you give me anything useful? Something that doesn't involve the Department of Mysteries?"
"My advice is to contact the British Ministry's Department of Mysteries. Mention that 'Ancient Magic has resurfaced.' They'll know what to do."
"So… this involves other countries now? A diplomatic crisis? Was this the work of someone from Britain?"
The Unspeakable shrugged. "Without a secrecy contract, all I can say is… perhaps the so-called 'greatest wizard of our age' might know more."
Watching the Unspeakable's retreating figure, the Minister spat on the floor. "Unspeakables? More like riddlers!"
Thankfully, Wyzett and his roommates had finished their homework on the train, leaving him free to throw himself wholeheartedly into the holidays.
Over the next week, Snape sent him a reply—just a few curt lines: Whatever. Don't embarrass yourself. If you do, don't use my name.
He'd also enclosed a potion recipe: the Pepperup Potion. The recipe was written in the same sharp, unmistakable hand as the note—clearly penned by Snape himself.
It included detailed instructions for ingredient preparation and how to judge whether a batch of Pepperup Potion was truly up to standard.
With Snape's own recipe in hand, if Wyzett still couldn't brew a decent potion, he'd never dare claim Snape's endorsement.
Once the wizard passport was sorted, Xenophilius began planning their vacation in earnest.
Naturally, where there are wizard passports, there are wizarding travel agencies. In Diagon Alley, for example, there's a shop called Terror Tours at number 59, specializing in adventure holidays—think heart-stopping excursions to places like the Bermuda Triangle.
Of course, Terror Tours' contracts are little more than a formality. They accept no responsibility for injuries or fatalities. Signing one is as good as signing your own death warrant.
Xenophilius cherished Luna far too much to risk such a thing. That's why he reluctantly bought several recent issues of The Daily Prophet, scouring them for reputable wizarding travel agencies.
The word "reluctantly" was key: Xenophilius didn't trust The Daily Prophet at all. He considered it nothing but Cornelius Fudge's mouthpiece—praising Fudge and never reporting any inconvenient truths. Buying the paper, to his mind, was tantamount to funding Fudge's regime.
For days, Xenophilius was either poring over maps at home or negotiating rates at travel agencies—taking Muggle buses, no less. He couldn't help but marvel at the wonders of the Muggle world, sometimes even offering a rare word of praise.
…
While Xenophilius busied himself with travel plans, Wyzett took charge of looking after Luna.
He made a special trip to Flourish and Blotts, memorizing a stack of books on domestic magic: Practical Household Magic, Conjure a Feast!, Charm Your Own Cheese, and more—all committed to memory.
Besides his ongoing practice with Occlumency and his deepening research into Ancient Magic: Instant Shield, most of his time was now devoted to the subtle art of home magic.
After several days of study, he'd gained a far deeper understanding of magic for everyday living.
Cooking magic, for instance, rarely relied on set incantations. It was almost more like Transfiguration, demanding a wizard's willpower and intuition.
Learning these domestic spells gave Wyzett a sense of stepping back in time—witnessing a gifted witch or wizard slowly master the art of conjuring a magnificent meal.
Most of these books didn't even bother with spells, just simple instructions: "rise," "fall," "knead," "chop." More often, they described a feeling—how to coax ingredients to do your bidding. It was a delightfully creative process.
Once you got the hang of it, you didn't even need those simple words. A flicker of intent was enough for ingredients and utensils to leap to work—effortless, magical, and deeply satisfying.
Of course, this meant plenty of witches and wizards were hopeless at domestic magic, forced to rely on manual labor for even the simplest cooking.
Take Xenophilius, for example. He only ever mastered stewing spells, so the house was always filled with the aroma of simmering pots.
Luckily, Wyzett had already picked up the basics back at the Hog's Head. Getting the hang of household magic was no trouble for him.
Just as he set down Conjure a Feast! and was about to call Luna home, the door swung open.
Luna entered, one hand clutching an umbrella and net bag, the other carrying a small pail.
Water sloshed in the bucket, dampening her trouser cuffs.
Noon sunlight spilled behind her, wrapping her in a golden halo. Her small, delicate ears glowed almost translucent—like a fairy's wings.
"Next time you go fishing, invite me along," Wyzett said, hurrying to take the bucket and giving his wand a flourish. "Mundus Totalus!"
Water and dust gathered themselves into neat clumps, which Wyzett promptly tossed into the garden to water the plants.
In the garden, the Christmas cactus perked up, its vines swaying happily and the flowers trembling with delight.
Luna's eyes sparkled as she tilted her head. "I want fish for lunch. Can you make something… different?"
"Plimpy fish, hmm…" Wyzett glanced at the bucket and grinned. "If you're tired of stew, I'll try pan-frying it! Just learned how today."
"Up! Drop!" Wyzett waved his wand, and the Plimpy fish soared from the water, flopping straight into the sink with a satisfying splat.
Luna hummed a little tune as she carried her bucket upstairs…
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