# One Week Later — Nevermore Academy, Vermont
The gothic spires of Nevermore Academy pierced the autumn sky like elegant daggers, framed against a riot of October foliage that seemed to burn with supernatural fire. The ancient stonework drank the morning light rather than reflect it, as though the academy preferred to keep its secrets cloaked in perpetual twilight—a preference that had served it well for over two centuries.
Principal Larissa Weems's office, perched in the highest tower like an eagle's aerie, was the sort of place that made even mundane paperwork feel like a matter of supernatural destiny. Dark mahogany desks carved with intricate Celtic knots that seemed to shift when no one was looking directly at them, velvet curtains the color of midnight that whispered secrets when the wind stirred them, and towering shelves lined with books so ancient their leather bindings contained the memories of civilizations that had crumbled to dust long before the first stone of Nevermore had been laid.
The massive windows offered commanding views of the grounds below, where students moved between classes like colorful specters against the stone pathways—a teenage vampire practicing her levitation beside the fountain, a young werewolf trying to convince a group of sirens that his howling was actually quite musical, and what appeared to be a phoenix attempting to set fire to the autumn leaves in an artistic pattern.
At precisely ten o'clock in the morning, the office was filled with what could only be described as the most dangerous PTA meeting in North America—possibly the world.
Parents, guardians, and family friends from across the magical world sat in a carefully arranged semicircle of antique chairs, each piece selected for maximum intimidation and optimal dramatic positioning. Each adult carried enough presence to dominate a boardroom, courtroom, or battlefield. Together, they created an atmosphere that could have rattled a United Nations summit, caused seasoned diplomats to flee in terror, or convinced international war criminals to turn themselves in voluntarily.
And at the center of it all, behind her imposing antique desk that could have doubled as an altar for ancient rituals, sat Larissa Weems. Six feet of platinum-blonde authority wrapped in a burgundy suit that looked like it had been tailored by angels with degrees in intimidation, her bearing as regal as any monarch who had ever ordered executions before breakfast. She surveyed the gathering like a queen deciding whether to knight her petitioners—or have them escorted from the tower by particularly vindictive gargoyles.
The silence stretched for a moment that felt both eternal and perfectly calibrated for maximum dramatic effect.
"Morticia," Larissa finally said, her voice like velvet wrapped around a steel blade and dipped in honey for good measure. A smile softened her sharp features into something dangerously inviting, the kind of expression that had launched a thousand ships and sunk twice as many. Her blue eyes, sharp as winter frost, held decades of complicated history. "It has been far too long since we've had the pleasure of working together on matters of... mutual interest. Your letter was intriguing. Though I suspect 'intriguing' is a polite understatement of catastrophic proportions."
"Querida Larissa," purred Morticia Addams from her chair, a vision in flowing black silk that seemed to devour sunlight and transform it into something more aesthetically pleasing. Her voice carried the smoky warmth of expensive cognac and dangerous promises, each word shaped with the precision of a blade master. "How deliciously formal you've become in your administrative years. Though I must say, power suits you beautifully. It always did."
She crossed her legs with predatory grace, dark hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of shadow, and Larissa found herself momentarily distracted by the elegant line of her silhouette. Some things, apparently, never changed—including Morticia's ability to command attention simply by existing in a room.
"Formality keeps the lawyers happy," Larissa replied smoothly, though her eyes lingered a moment longer than strictly professional. "And the insurance companies. Both essential when dealing with supernatural adolescents and their... creative interpretations of physics."
"Bah!" Gomez Addams exploded from his chair beside Morticia, practically vibrating with manic energy that seemed to make the very air around him crackle with possibility. His hands gestured wildly as though conducting an invisible orchestra of chaos, dark eyes blazing with the fervor of a man who found explosions romantic and considered destruction an art form. "Insurance! Lawyers! Where is the passion? Where is the magnificent unpredictability of youth unleashed upon the world?"
He spun in a complete circle, arms outstretched, nearly knocking over a priceless Ming vase. "Cara mia! Tell this goddess of education that bureaucracy is the enemy of beautiful chaos!"
"Darling," Morticia said with fond exasperation, reaching out one pale hand to steady him, "perhaps we might allow Larissa to explain her educational philosophy before you declare war on her filing system."
"Her filing system probably deserves it," Sirius Black drawled from his position sprawled in what should have been a dignified chair but now looked more like a throne for a particularly dangerous wolf. His dark hair fell in waves past his shoulders, silver threading through the black in a way that only made him more arresting. Grey eyes held the gleam of a man who had stared death in the face and asked it to dance—twice.
His grin was sharp enough to cut glass and twice as dangerous, the kind of smile that had gotten him into more trouble than most people accumulated in several lifetimes. At forty-five, Sirius Black had the dangerous charisma of a man who had survived Azkaban, defeated dark wizards, and still found time to perfect the art of looking devastatingly attractive while lounging in antique furniture.
"Filing systems are tools of oppression," he continued, stretching his long legs out further and somehow managing to make casual insolence look like high art. "I've made a career out of ignoring them. Very liberating. Highly recommend it."
Larissa arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze traveling over Sirius with the assessing look of a woman who had dealt with dangerous men before and found them... interesting rather than intimidating. "Mr. Black, I presume? Your reputation precedes you. Several newspapers, three Ministry investigations, and what I believe was a rather colorful incident involving the Fountain of Magical Brethren."
"That was performance art," Sirius replied without a trace of shame. "The Ministry has no appreciation for creative expression. Very narrow-minded people, civil servants. Present company excepted, of course, Amelia."
Amelia Bones, seated with perfect posture across the semicircle, looked as though she could run a Fortune 500 company, a small country, or possibly both simultaneously while wearing impeccably tailored business attire. Her auburn hair was styled with mathematical precision, and her green eyes held the sharp intelligence of someone who had mastered every room she'd ever entered.
"I appreciate the exception," she said dryly, her voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to bringing order to chaos. "Though I should mention that the Fountain incident required six hours of paperwork and two international diplomatic apologies."
"Worth every quill stroke," Sirius shot back with unrepentant cheer. "The look on Fudge's face alone justified the entire operation."
"Some of us prefer our civil disobedience to be... civil," said Remus Lupin quietly, his deep voice cutting through the banter like warm honey over steel. He sat with the composed stillness of a scholar, tall and lean, his prematurely silver hair catching the morning light in a way that made him look distinguished rather than aged. There was something almost otherworldly about his calm presence—the kind of tranquility that came from surviving horrors and finding peace on the other side.
When he spoke, every person in the room found themselves listening, drawn by the quiet authority that seemed to emanate from him like warmth from a fire. At forty-five, Remus Lupin possessed the kind of understated magnetism that came from genuine intelligence, hard-won wisdom, and the sort of bone-deep kindness that could make even hardened criminals reconsider their life choices.
"Moony," Sirius said with obvious affection, his entire demeanor softening as he looked at his oldest friend, "you always were the responsible one. It's deeply disturbing. I blame all that excessive reading you do. Corrupts the spirit of adventure."
"Someone has to be responsible," Remus replied mildly, though his amber eyes held warmth and decades of friendship. "Besides, I find responsibility has its own rewards. Less time in Azkaban, for instance. Better tea. More comfortable beds."
"Where's the excitement in comfortable beds?" Sirius protested, though his grin suggested he didn't mind the teasing. "You're supposed to earn your rest through dramatic escapades and narrow escapes from certain doom."
"I prefer to earn mine through grading papers and developing curriculum," Remus replied with gentle humor. "Much less dramatically satisfying, but significantly better for my blood pressure."
"Your blood pressure is fine," Sirius scoffed. "It's your sense of adventure that needs medical attention. When's the last time you did anything spontaneous?"
"I wore mismatched socks yesterday," Remus said solemnly.
The room went silent.
Then Sirius threw back his head and laughed—rich, unrestrained, and completely delighted, the sound filling the tower office like music. "Merlin's beard, Moony! You're living dangerously! Next thing you know, you'll be putting sugar in your tea without measuring it first!"
"Let's not get carried away," Remus said with mock seriousness. "I have standards."
Molly Weasley cleared her throat with the authority of someone preparing to address practical concerns, and every eye in the room turned to her with the automatic respect accorded to someone who had raised seven children and lived to tell about it. Her auburn hair was pulled back sensibly, but her brown eyes held the steely determination of a general planning a military campaign—or a mother preparing to negotiate the survival of her offspring in a supernatural boarding school.
"All very charming, gentlemen," she said with the patience of someone who had dealt with overgrown children for decades, "but perhaps we might focus on why we're actually here? The children's education? Their safety? Their futures? Or are we going to spend the entire morning listening to you two reminisce about your misspent youth?"
Her tone suggested that while she found their friendship endearing, she had More Important Things to discuss and would not hesitate to deploy maternal authority if necessary.
"Our youth wasn't misspent," Sirius protested with wounded dignity. "It was... creatively invested."
"In property damage," Molly replied pointedly.
"Character-building property damage," Sirius corrected. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Amelia asked with professional interest.
"Absolutely. Character-building property damage teaches valuable lessons about consequences, creativity, and the importance of good insurance policies."
"And regular property damage?" Remus inquired with amusement.
"Regular property damage is just sloppy workmanship," Sirius replied as though this were perfectly obvious.
Arthur Weasley, who had been quietly beaming from his corner chair like a man witnessing fascinating scientific principles in action, suddenly perked up with the enthusiasm of a child spotting a particularly fascinating beetle. His balding head gleamed in the morning light, and his eyes held the innocent wonder of someone who found joy in the most unexpected places.
"Speaking of workmanship," he said eagerly, leaning forward with the intensity of a scholar discovering a new theorem, "Sirius, you simply must tell me about that flying motorcycle of yours! The aerodynamic modifications alone must be extraordinary! How did you manage the thrust-to-weight ratios? And the stabilization charms! I've been absolutely fascinated by the theoretical applications!"
"Arthur," Molly warned with the long-suffering tone of a woman who had spent thirty years watching her husband get distracted by shiny objects and mechanical devices.
"But Molly, dear, think of the engineering principles involved! The integration of Muggle technology with magical enhancement! The innovation! The beautiful fusion of—"
"Arthur," Molly repeated, more firmly.
"Right, yes, sorry dear," Arthur said, though his eyes continued to gleam with poorly suppressed curiosity. "Though perhaps later we might discuss the thunder-summoning enchantments? Purely theoretical, of course. Educational purposes only."
"Nothing about you and thunder is ever purely theoretical," came a chorus of voices that weren't actually there but somehow felt present anyway—the collective memory of seven Weasley children who had learned never to leave their father unsupervised around anything that sparked, exploded, or defied conventional physics.
"The children aren't wrong," Molly muttered affectionately.
Larissa moved to her desk with the fluid grace of a woman who had mastered the art of commanding attention through presence alone. She opened the first file with deliberate ceremony, her long fingers moving with the precision of a conductor about to begin a symphony.
"Well then," she said, her voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to managing controlled chaos, "shall we discuss the students themselves? Eight remarkable young minds, each presenting... unique educational opportunities."
She paused, blue eyes scanning the room with the calculating gaze of a chess master planning several moves ahead. "Hercules Black. Recently adopted, currently residing in California. A child whose... unique circumstances have already attracted considerable international attention."
All eyes turned to Sirius, who appeared completely unfazed by the scrutiny. If anything, his grin widened, taking on the dangerous quality of a wolf scenting something interesting.
"What can I say?" he said with shameless pride, stretching his arms above his head in a way that somehow managed to be both casual and devastatingly attractive. "The kid makes an entrance. Takes after the family tradition of spectacular arrivals and memorable first impressions."
"Yes," Molly said dryly, her tone suggesting she had heard this story before and found it simultaneously impressive and terrifying, "I recall hearing something about that particular entrance. Through the roof of the Great Hall in the morning, if memory serves. On a flying motorcycle. During a thunderstorm. While being chased by what I'm told were extremely confused Aurors."
"Still talked about at Hogwarts," Remus added with the fond exasperation of a man who had spent decades cleaning up after his best friend's spectacular decisions. "The suits of armor developed a collective nervous disorder. The Fat Lady refuses to open for anyone arriving by airborne vehicle. And I believe the House Elves have added 'supernatural motorcycle maintenance' to their list of responsibilities."
"They were already traumatized," Sirius protested with the righteousness of someone defending artistic vision. "Centuries of teenagers will do that to anyone. I just gave them something genuinely interesting to be traumatized about. Raised the bar, really. They should thank me."
"I'm sure they'll get right on that," Amelia said with amusement that didn't quite hide her professional concern. "After they finish repairing the roof. And the plumbing. And whatever happened to the Astronomy Tower."
"That wasn't my fault," Sirius said quickly. "That was a complete coincidence."
"The Astronomy Tower spontaneously combusted?" Larissa asked with dangerous interest.
"Well, not spontaneously exactly..." Sirius hedged.
"Sirius," Remus warned.
"The kid might have been practicing some... advanced magic," Sirius admitted reluctantly. "Precocious little genius, really. Takes after his father in that regard."
"His father who died saving the wizarding world," Morticia observed approvingly, her dark eyes gleaming with something that might have been maternal pride. "How deliciously dramatic. Children with tragic backstories are always the most interesting."
"Tragic backstories and apparently a talent for architectural renovation," Gomez added with explosive enthusiasm, bouncing slightly in his seat. "Magnificent! The beautiful destruction of stagnant institutions! The glorious transformation through controlled chaos!"
"Controlled?" Molly repeated skeptically.
"Well, partially controlled," Gomez amended with cheerful optimism. "The best kind of control! Just enough structure to create art, just enough freedom to create miracles!"
Arthur's face lit up like someone had just offered him a tour of a particularly fascinating electrical plant. "Did you really fly a motorcycle through solid stone? The charm work involved must be extraordinary! How did you manage the matter-displacement equations? And the structural integrity of the vehicle under those conditions!"
"He was sixteen," Amelia pointed out with the practical tone of someone who had spent years dealing with inexplicable magical phenomena.
"Even better!" Arthur exclaimed. "Natural talent! Intuitive understanding of advanced theoretical principles! Remarkable!"
Xenophilius Lovegood, who had been gazing dreamily at the ceiling as though watching invisible creatures perform aerial ballet, suddenly focused his attention on the conversation with the serene expression of someone who saw the world through entirely different filters than everyone else.
"The Wrackspurts have been most complimentary about young Hercules," he announced in his drifting voice, wild hair sticking out in directions that defied both gravity and logic. "They say his magical aura has a particularly lovely shade of chaos. Very artistic. They're quite looking forward to his educational journey."
The room fell silent. Everyone looked at him expectantly.
"What else do they say?" Molly asked, clearly fighting between curiosity and concern for anyone who claimed to receive information from invisible creatures.
"They say Principal Weems has excellent taste in furniture," Xenophilius replied with perfect seriousness, his pale blue eyes focusing on Larissa with approval. "Though the third bookshelf from the left contains a grimoire that's plotting something sinister."
Every eye in the room immediately swiveled to the indicated bookshelf.
"Which grimoire?" Larissa asked with professional interest, her tone suggesting that sinister plots among her reference materials were an occupational hazard rather than a crisis.
"The red leather one with the silver clasps," Xenophilius explained dreamily. "It's been planning to reorganize your filing system. Alphabetically. The poor dear thinks it's being helpful, but alphabetical organization is terribly limiting. Magical knowledge should flow like water, not march like soldiers."
A moment of profound silence filled the room as everyone processed this information.
"Well," Sirius finally said, his voice bright with genuine delight, "I bloody love this man. Xenophilius, you're officially my favorite person in this room. Don't tell Remus."
"I heard that," Remus said mildly.
"The Nargles think you're quite tolerable as well," Xenophilius assured Sirius with serene approval. "Though they suggest you might want to avoid the second-floor library on Tuesdays. Something about residual magical energy from your youth that might cause the card catalogs to become... overenthusiastic."
"Overenthusiastic card catalogs," Sirius repeated thoughtfully. "That's a new one, even for me."
Larissa closed the first file and opened the second with smooth efficiency. "Moving along... Wednesday Addams. Returning to family tradition after... educational experiences elsewhere."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Morticia's smile sharpened to razor precision, her dark eyes gleaming with the pride of a mother whose daughter had mastered the art of creative destruction.
"Wednesday has a remarkable talent for... transformative influence on educational institutions," she purred, each word carefully shaped for maximum impact. "Schools are never quite the same after her presence graces their halls. She has a gift for revealing the fundamental weaknesses in any system."
"A demolition team wouldn't be the same after her," Molly muttered, though not without a certain grudging respect for anyone capable of single-handedly reforming institutional incompetence.
"She expelled herself from her last school," Gomez added with obvious pride, leaping to his feet again and gesturing dramatically at the assembled parents. "Simply announced during morning assembly that the institution was beneath her intellectual standards and walked out! Magnificent! The headmaster actually wept!"
"With relief or terror?" Sirius asked with genuine interest, his grey eyes lighting up with appreciation for a kindred spirit in creative rebellion.
"Does it matter?" Morticia replied with elegant indifference to administrative emotional states.
"Not particularly," Sirius agreed cheerfully. "Either way, it sounds like effective communication."
"She left detailed written critiques," Morticia continued with maternal satisfaction. "Posted on the main bulletin board. Seventeen pages analyzing the educational philosophy, administrative competence, and general aesthetic failures of the entire institution. Quite thorough. The board of directors used it as the basis for their reform initiative."
"Reform initiative?" Arthur asked with fascination.
"Complete restructuring from the ground up," Gomez explained with explosive enthusiasm. "Beautiful, magnificent, total transformation! Wednesday's critique was so precisely devastating that they had no choice but to acknowledge its brilliance!"
"That girl," Remus said with a mixture of admiration and healthy concern, "is going to change the world. The question is whether the world will survive the experience."
"Change is good for the world," Morticia replied with serene confidence. "Wednesday simply... accelerates the process."
Larissa opened the third file with something approaching reverent care. "Susan Bones. Exceptional academic performance, impeccable conduct record, leadership capabilities that have impressed instructors across multiple educational institutions. Relocating to America alongside family members pursuing careers in international magical law."
Amelia inclined her head with quiet pride, though her expression remained professionally composed, the picture of controlled maternal satisfaction. "Susan is disciplined, diligent, and principled. She has never received a detention, never missed an assignment, and has consistently exceeded academic expectations in every subject. She approaches challenges with methodical preparation and ethical consideration."
"In other words," Sirius observed with fond amusement, "she's nothing like any of us at that age."
"Thank Merlin for that," Molly said fervently. "The world needs more children who don't consider explosions a valid problem-solving technique."
"Where's the fun in that?" Gomez protested with wounded idealism.
"Structural integrity," Molly replied firmly. "Sleep. Peace of mind. Insurance premiums that don't require taking out a second mortgage."
"Susan will excel here as she has everywhere else," Amelia continued with the confident tone of someone who had raised a child to be both brilliant and responsible. "Though I do hope Nevermore's... unique environment will provide her with opportunities for intellectual growth that extend beyond traditional academic boundaries."
"Like her aunt," Larissa observed, and their eyes met in a moment of mutual recognition—two women who understood the weight of leadership, the price of excellence, and the challenge of maintaining professional standards while surrounded by creative chaos.
The fourth file opened with almost ceremonial care. "Hermione Granger. Multiple O.W.L.S. achieved two years ahead of schedule, independent research projects rivaling graduate-level work, examination scores that have prompted several universities to extend early admission offers, and what appears to be a personal correspondence with no fewer than six members of the International Confederation of Wizards regarding theoretical magical applications."
Larissa's eyebrows rose slightly as she reviewed the documents. "Her transcripts are... remarkable. Possibly unprecedented. I'm not entirely certain our existing curriculum is advanced enough to challenge her appropriately."
Arthur Weasley practically glowed with paternal pride, his whole face lighting up like Christmas morning and Easter Sunday rolled into one spectacular celebration of intellectual achievement. "That's our girl! Brilliant beyond words, isn't she? Always asking the most fascinating questions! Just yesterday she was explaining parallel arithmancy theory and quantum thaumic principles and—well, I didn't understand a single word of it, but by Merlin's beard, she made it sound absolutely riveting!"
He turned to address the room with the enthusiasm of someone sharing news of a major scientific breakthrough. "Do you know what she did last week? She redesigned our entire home's magical infrastructure! Improved efficiency by thirty percent! Created a self-regulating system that adapts to usage patterns! The girl's a genius!"
"She reads advanced theoretical texts for recreation," Molly added with the fond exasperation of a mother who had given up trying to get her adopted daughter to take breaks from academic pursuits. "For fun. I have to remind her to eat. Twice. Sometimes three times. She becomes so absorbed in research that she forgets basic biological necessities exist."
"Last month I found her in the garden at two in the morning," Arthur continued with parental wonder, "taking notes on the magical properties of moonlight exposure on different plant species. She'd set up an entire experimental observation station! Charts, measurements, magical sensors she'd built herself!"
"Built herself?" Larissa asked with sharp interest.
"From scratch!" Arthur confirmed proudly. "Using a combination of muggle electronics and magical enhancement charms! Revolutionary approach to empirical magical research!"
"We'll see that she doesn't work herself into an early grave," Larissa promised with the firmness of someone who had dealt with obsessively studious students before. "Though I suspect she'll appreciate having access to our advanced research facilities."
"Good luck getting her out of the library," Sirius muttered with fond amusement. "That girl could out-study a library. And probably has."
"She has," Arthur confirmed cheerfully. "Twice."
The fifth file was notably thicker than the others, bulging with what appeared to be incident reports, creative project documentation, and what might have been architectural damage assessments. "The Weasley siblings. Ronald, Ginevra, Fred, and George. Demonstrating exceptional creativity, magical innovation, entrepreneurial spirit, and results that are... occasionally explosive."
"Occasionally?" Sirius barked a laugh that could have been heard three floors down and possibly registered on seismic equipment. "That's generous diplomatic language! I heard about the Whomping Willow incident. And the swamp in the fifth-floor corridor. And that business with the fireworks during O.W.L.S. that required international magical firefighting assistance."
"They're innovators," Arthur said defensively, though his eyes twinkled with obvious pride and parental admiration for his children's creative chaos. "Entrepreneurs! Creators! They see possibilities where others see... regulations and safety guidelines and traditional approaches to problem-solving!"
"They're walking natural disasters," Molly corrected with the weary authority of someone who had spent years receiving howlers from Hogwarts, explaining property damage to insurance representatives, and apologizing to neighbors for various supernatural disturbances. "I love them dearly, but they're hazards to public safety and structural integrity."
She turned to address Larissa with the serious tone of someone providing crucial intelligence to military commanders. "Principal Weems, you should know that Fred and George once turned an entire corridor into a portable swamp. During exam week. It took three professors and a specialist from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures two days to drain it properly."
"And Ron," Arthur added with paternal pride that couldn't quite hide his concern, "has a remarkable talent for strategic thinking, though he tends to express it through what might charitably be called 'unconventional problem-solving methods.'"
"Like what?" Amelia asked with professional interest.
"He once solved a complex magical chess problem by convincing the pieces to stage a revolution against traditional gameplay," Molly explained with a mixture of pride and exhaustion. "The chess set is still in therapy."
"And Ginny," Arthur continued enthusiastically, "has natural leadership abilities and advanced magical talent that manifests in... spectacular ways."
"She hexed a group of older students who were bullying first-years," Molly added. "All six of them. Simultaneously. With spells she invented herself. We're still not entirely sure how she did it."
"They're artists!" Gomez exclaimed, leaping to his feet again with renewed enthusiasm that seemed to make the very air around him crackle with energy. "Artists of beautiful, magnificent chaos! Creators of wonder and terror and spectacular destruction! Oh, to be young again and blowing things up in the name of scientific advancement and creative expression!"
"Scientific advancement?" Amelia questioned with the skeptical tone of someone who had spent years investigating incidents that began with the phrase "it seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Everything explodes for science if you think about it properly," Gomez explained with the unshakeable logic of someone who found explosions inherently reasonable and educational. "Physics! Chemistry! The beautiful dance of cause and effect! The glorious unpredictability of experimental methodology!"
"Sit down, Gomez," Morticia said with affectionate exasperation, though her tone suggested she found his enthusiasm charming rather than annoying. "You're making the furniture nervous."
"The furniture should be excited!" Gomez protested, but he sat down with theatrical reluctance. "When was the last time it experienced true passion? Real creative energy? The magnificent chaos of youthful innovation?"
"Hopefully never," Molly muttered.
Finally, Larissa opened the last file with something approaching genuine delight, her blue eyes warming with what might have been anticipatory satisfaction. "Luna Lovegood. Exceptional observational capabilities, unconventional analytical methods, consistently undervalued by traditional British educational systems due to their inability to recognize alternative approaches to magical theory and practical application."
She looked directly at Xenophilius with something that might have been respect. "Here at Nevermore, however, such unique perspective would be... invaluable. We pride ourselves on nurturing talents that don't fit conventional molds."
Xenophilius beamed from his chair, his dreamy expression becoming even more serene with paternal satisfaction. "Luna sees what others cannot. The Wrackspurts whisper secrets to her constantly. Even now, they're sharing fascinating observations about this very room and everyone in it."
The room fell silent with expectant curiosity.
"Well?" Molly asked, clearly fighting between practical skepticism and genuine curiosity about what invisible creatures might think of their gathering.
"They say the tea service is over-brewed," Xenophilius replied with perfect seriousness, as though this were crucial intelligence requiring immediate action. "And that Principal Weems has excellent taste in furniture, though they're concerned about the emotional state of the desk chair—it's feeling underappreciated."
He paused thoughtfully, tilting his head as though listening to voices only he could hear. "They also mention that Mr. Black has a very interesting magical aura—quite dramatic, very artistic—and that Professor Lupin's presence makes all the books on the third shelf feel particularly philosophical."
"Philosophical books?" Remus asked with gentle amusement.
"They enjoy contemplating existence when you're nearby," Xenophilius explained as though this were perfectly logical. "Something about your magical signature encourages deep thinking. Very scholarly influence."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Remus said with warm humor.
"The Nargles also suggest that Mrs. Weasley has the strongest protective magic they've ever encountered," Xenophilius continued with approval. "Very impressive. They're quite intimidated by her maternal energy."
Molly blinked in surprise. "Intimidated?"
"Respectfully intimidated," Xenophilius clarified with a dreamy smile. "The best kind. They recognize a force of nature when they encounter one."
Larissa closed the final folder with ceremonial finality and leaned back in her chair, her imposing presence somehow managing to fill the entire room with potential energy.
"Eight students," she said, her voice carrying the weight of educational destiny. "All extraordinary in their own unique ways. From Nevermore's perspective, this represents not just an enrollment opportunity, but a chance for genuine educational innovation. The integration of such diverse talents and... perspectives will require careful planning, specialized curriculum development, adaptive teaching methodologies, and possibly structural reinforcement of several buildings."
She paused, blue eyes scanning the assembled parents with the calculating gaze of a general assessing her army before a crucial battle. "We pride ourselves on nurturing the exceptional, the unusual, the students who don't quite fit into traditional educational molds. These eight children... they represent exactly the kind of challenge we exist to embrace."
"Challenge," Sirius repeated with obvious relish. "I like the sound of that. Implies adventure. Excitement. The possibility of property damage."
"Controlled property damage," Larissa corrected with the patience of someone who had mastered the art of managing chaos. "We have excellent insurance."
"Does your insurance company know about your students' creative tendencies?" Amelia asked with professional concern.
"They have a general understanding," Larissa replied diplomatically. "We've developed very creative approaches to incident reporting."
Remus straightened slightly, the scholar in him responding to the educational implications with genuine interest. When he spoke, his voice carried the quiet authority of someone who had spent years adapting to impossible circumstances and helping others do the same.
"Principal Weems, if I may," he said, his tone respectful but confident, the voice of someone who understood both the theoretical and practical challenges of unconventional education. "I've spent considerable time working with students whose circumstances required... non-traditional approaches. Lycanthropy, hybrid magical abilities, talents that exist outside standard educational frameworks, children whose very existence challenges established pedagogical theory."
He leaned forward slightly, amber eyes warm with the passion of someone who had found his calling in helping others find theirs. "What you're describing—this willingness to adapt curriculum to student rather than forcing student to fit curriculum—this is precisely the environment where such students don't just survive, they flourish. They become not just educated, but truly empowered to use their unique capabilities for positive change."
Larissa's eyes sharpened with interest, and she leaned forward slightly, recognizing both professional competence and personal passion when she encountered it. "Professor Lupin, isn't it? Morticia mentioned in her correspondence that we had an accomplished educator among our distinguished guests. Your reputation precedes you—favorably, I should add."
She paused, her gaze becoming more calculating, more interested. "I must ask—would you consider joining our faculty?"
The question hung in the air like a spell waiting to be cast, loaded with possibility and the weight of life-changing decisions.
Remus blinked, clearly caught off-guard by the unexpected opportunity, his composed expression giving way to genuine surprise. "A... faculty position?"
"Advanced Supernatural Studies," Larissa explained, her voice taking on the persuasive quality of someone making an offer she very much wanted accepted. "Curriculum development specifically focused on students with supernatural heritage or unusual magical abilities. Research into adaptive teaching methodologies. Direct instruction for students whose talents require specialized approaches. It would be pioneering work—exactly the kind of educational innovation you've been describing."
The silence stretched as Remus processed the unexpected opportunity. Around the room, everyone waited.
Sirius arched an eyebrow, his grin turning positively wolfish. "Well, well, Moony. Looks like you're finally getting that tenure track position. Just try not to let all that academic respectability go to your head."
"Says the man who turned down a position at the Auror Academy to become a professional motorcycle enthusiast," Remus replied dryly, though warmth colored his voice.
"I prefer 'freelance adventure consultant,'" Sirius corrected with dignity.
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Amelia asked with amusement.
Remus turned back to Larissa, and his expression grew serious. "Principal Weems, that would be... the opportunity of a lifetime. To work with students who need specialized approaches, to develop new methodologies, to actually make a difference for children who don't fit traditional educational models... yes. Yes, I would be deeply honored to accept."
Larissa inclined her head with the gravity of a queen bestowing knighthood. "Excellent. We'll discuss specifics later, but I believe you'll find Nevermore's approach to faculty development quite... progressive."
"Does that mean explosions?" Arthur asked hopefully.
"Strictly controlled explosions," Larissa clarified with the patience of someone who had dealt with enthusiastic magical inventors before.
"The best kind," Gomez agreed enthusiastically.
Molly cleared her throat with the authority of someone preparing to address practical concerns. "All very well and good, but what about safety protocols? Medical facilities? Emergency procedures? With this particular group of children, you'll need comprehensive disaster preparedness."
Her tone suggested she spoke from extensive personal experience with disaster management.
Larissa's smile returned, sharp and utterly confident. "Mrs. Weasley, we are Nevermore Academy. Our students routinely attempt weather manipulation, experimental necromancy, voluntary possession, and recreational reality-bending. Last month, a student accidentally opened a portal to the Elizabethan era during History class. We are... prepared."
"Recreational reality-bending?" Amelia repeated, her professional instincts clearly alarmed.
"Strictly supervised," Larissa assured her smoothly. "We have excellent insurance."
"And if the insurance company finds out about the reality-bending?" Molly asked practically.
"They won't," Larissa replied with the confidence of someone who had mastered the art of creative paperwork.
"I like her," Sirius announced to the room at large. "She's devious. It's attractive."
"Sirius," Remus warned.
"What? I'm just appreciating professional competence."
"You're appreciating something, certainly," Morticia observed with amusement.
Gomez suddenly bounced to his feet again, unable to contain his excitement any longer. "When do they start? Monday? Tomorrow? Tonight? Can they start tonight? The anticipation is killing me! Deliciously!"
"Monday morning," Larissa confirmed with unshakeable composure. "We'll begin with comprehensive placement assessments to determine appropriate academic levels and identify any special accommodations needed."
Arthur's face lit up like someone had just offered him a tour of a particularly fascinating electrical plant. "Placement assessments! Actual competency-based evaluation rather than arbitrary age-groupings! Wonderful! At last, an institution that understands the futility of forcing young minds into predetermined molds!"
"Indeed," Larissa agreed. "We don't force brilliance into standardized shapes, Mr. Weasley. We provide it with room to grow, resources to flourish, and occasionally fireproof surfaces on which to experiment."
"Fireproof surfaces," Morticia purred, her voice carrying notes of deep appreciation. "How wonderfully... practical. And slightly sinister."
"We aim to please," Larissa replied with a smile that suggested she understood exactly what kind of chaos she was inviting into her institution and found the prospect thrilling rather than terrifying.
Arthur looked around the room, his face flushed with satisfaction and paternal pride. "Well then! That settles everything beautifully! Nevermore Academy for all eight children, and a faculty position for Remus. I'd say that's as tidy an arrangement as anyone could possibly wish for!"
"Tidy?" Sirius snorted, his grey eyes dancing with anticipation. "Arthur, you clearly haven't been paying attention. Wait until term actually starts. 'Tidy' is about to become a completely foreign concept."
"Promise?" Gomez asked hopefully.
Outside the tower windows, the bells of Nevermore Academy tolled the hour, their bronze voices carrying across the campus like an announcement of change. Inside the Principal's office, surrounded by ancient books and older secrets, the future had just been negotiated, signed, sealed, and possibly booby-trapped.
The most dangerous PTA meeting in North America had concluded successfully.
What could possibly go wrong?
---
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