Voldemort was on a mission after his rebirth, freeing his Death Eaters and amassing an army as if preparing for an inevitable war.

He broke into the Crouch manor and freed Barty Crouch Jr., though no one else was present at the time. Afterward, he marched into Azkaban and liberated the rest of his loyal followers.

Voldemort even traveled beyond Britain, sending messengers across Europe and further, calling upon all manner of dark creatures. Though he considered them lesser beings, he saw them as expendable assets—bodies to be thrown at a problem when the time came.

He also gave a chilling order: to seek out the most powerful dark magical beasts in the world and signal him if they were ever encountered.

Reports and signals came from every direction, and he went out personally to capture some of these creatures, rewarding those who had brought the information.

Meanwhile, Fudge was losing his mind. Reports piled on his desk—families of innocents Voldemort had killed casually as collateral, muggle-borns tormented by Death Eaters, attacks spreading like wildfire. The people demanded answers and the pressure on the Ministry was unrelenting.

And then, salvation came—but not from the Ministry. It came from the Hawthorne Foundation.

Across the world, the Hawthornes began hiring muggle-born and half-blood talent into their vast ecosystem of businesses, both magical and non-magical. Wizards were screened, trained, and given real jobs—from construction to rune-smithing to magical creature handling.

Exceptional witches and wizards, cast aside because of the pure-blood nobility, were reintegrated into society. Some were given positions of research, management, and leadership, places they never would have been allowed otherwise. A new newspaper, founded under Hawthorne patronage, gained fame rapidly, delivering news faster and more accurately than the Daily Prophet.

While the world shifted, the Hawthornes, the Greengrasses, Harry, and Sirius gathered to celebrate Christmas together, sharing food, laughter, and gifts.

“Who needs a broom when you can do this?” Aaric said smugly, floating around the room with the Dementor’s cloak. Astoria giggled from the side, while Harry pulled a face at him.

Aaric had used Chaya’s help to bend the cloak’s depressing aura into something strangely cheerful, turning dread into delight.

“Brooms are much better than this,” Harry said firmly, whipping out his new broom—a gift from Sirius. He zipped around Aaric in tight circles, smirking.

“Oh no, there’s a weirdo flying on a stick around me!” Aaric cried dramatically, flailing his arms. Harry seethed.

“Sounds like a skill issue to me,” Aaric added with a grin. That was the last straw—Harry ignored him for the rest of the party, while Daphne and Astoria giggled.

The mood shifted when Daphne opened her gift and found the infamous sweater inside. Her scowl was enough warning before she hexed Aaric on the spot. He stumbled back, blinking, and looked up to see Daphne’s expression promising more trouble.

Simon sighed and shook his head. “I tried to warn him…” he muttered to Edwina.

Edwina chuckled lightly into her teacup.

Sirius was meanwhile doubled over making fun of Harry, who was trying in vain to silence his whispering gift. Aaric braced himself for another hex from Harry, dodging it this time and sticking out his tongue like a child.

Crouching down to Pyra, Aaric smiled. “I’ve got a gift for you, girl.”

The little salamander perked up with excitement, hopping from foot to foot. Aaric pulled out a sleek collar with a red crystal and slipped it around her neck. Pyra spun happily, glowing faintly, before bounding off to Harry to show off.

Days passed, and soon school resumed. One evening, Aaric and Daphne trained in the Room of Requirement, practicing spells, potions, and testing the crystals.

“Is this the same crystal you gave to Pyra?” Daphne asked, examining one in her hand.

Aaric nodded. “I purified the energy first, then converted it into fire energy with a fire spirit’s help.”

Daphne nodded absently, filing the explanation away even though ‘spirits and crystals from Dementors’ was something still beyond her scope of normal. Aaric noticed.

“We can get one for you in the summer,” he offered casually. Daphne’s lips curved into a small smile.

“I think Astoria also got something out of that ritual you performed for me,” she remarked.

Aaric shrugged. “Might be because she was the original victim of the curse in this generation—even if you… transferred it.”

She accepted that answer and moved on, throwing spell after spell at the dummies in the room until they crumbled. Aaric raised an eyebrow at her relentless pace.

“What’s got you all fired up?” he asked, watching her destroy another target.

Daphne paused, then turned to him with fire in her eyes. “He’s back…. I need to get stronger if I want to protect the people I love.”

Aaric sighed softly, but he understood. After a moment, he dug through his bottomless pouch and pulled out a neatly folded green cloak, embroidered with white runes.

“I made this after Christmas… to make up for the gift I gave you,” he admitted, passing it over.

Daphne raised a brow, unfolding it slowly. “It’s… pretty,” she said with a small smile.

“It’s made from the Dementor’s cloak,” Aaric explained proudly. “It’s nearly impossible to pierce, and it’ll let you fly. You can even radiate despair to your opponents if you want.”

Daphne’s eyes softened as she ran her hands over the material. “Thank you… this almost makes up for the sweater.” She chuckled.

“As long as I’m getting there…” Aaric grinned back.

Aaric had asked the goblins from the island to craft the cloak, and even some of the centaurs had joined in, lending their knowledge and craftsmanship to the project. Their combined efforts made the gift far more meaningful than just another enchanted item.

Daphne seemed to relax a little after receiving it, her usual guarded composure softening as she tried it on. With the matter settled, the two of them turned their focus back to training in the mind arts. The Greengrass children had been taught the basics from a very young age, and Aaric himself had started early as well. Because of that, their sessions were sharp and competitive, each pushing the other to refine their defenses and strengthen their attacks.

In the quieter hours, Daphne immersed herself in research. She had grown more and more determined, pouring through books on potions and mind-healing magic. Her focus was clear—finding ways to help those who had suffered from long-term exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, or similar mind-shattering afflictions like a misfired spell .

Aaric, meanwhile, was absorbed in his own work. He had been outlining the structure of a new ritual he intended to perform, studying late into the night with tomes he had brought back from the Sanctum as well as volumes copied from the Nightshade Castle library.

A/n: Gimme power stones or the next chapter will fly in the wind.

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