Shadowflame

The moment I stepped into Defense Against the Dark Arts, I knew this wasn't going to be your average lesson on jinxes or hex-blocking. No, this was Mad-Eye Moody—the real one this time, not a polyjuiced Death Eater trying to ruin my life (again). And judging by the way his magical eye was already spinning like a crazy compass, I had a feeling today's class would be more "boot camp" and less "let's read from the textbook."

"Right, you lot," Moody growled, his voice like gravel mixed with a dash of menace. "Listen up! Forget everything you think you know about fighting dark magic. We're not in Kansas anymore."

Ron leaned over and whispered, "We were never in Kansas." I rolled my eyes, but honestly, he had a point. Moody didn't seem to care. He stomped to the front of the room, his wooden leg thudding with each step.

"This universe," Moody continued, "is full of things that'd make a Hungarian Horntail look like a kitten with a bad attitude. Supervillains. Metahumans. Aliens. They won't hesitate to crush you like a flobberworm. And let me tell you, they won't be impressed by your fancy wandwork, either."

Cue internal panic. I mean, I've faced Voldemort, dementors, and a basilisk. You'd think that'd count for something. But no, apparently, I was about to go up against foes who could throw me across a city without breaking a sweat. Fun times.

Moody's magical eye zeroed in on me, and I swear it looked right through me—like it knew about every bad decision I've ever made. "Potter," he barked, "you think some flashy moves make you special? Out here, that won't mean squat. You've got your little amulet and those nifty superpowers, sure, but what happens when someone faster, stronger, and smarter comes for you?"

I resisted the urge to point out that my amulet wasn't "little." It was black and gold, with a crimson gem in the center, and—oh yeah—it could summon my Shadowflame Armor and let me cast magic wandlessly. But sure, let's call it little, Moody.

Hermione, ever the diligent student, raised her hand. "Professor, will we be learning specific defenses against superpowers? Like, how to counter someone with super strength or laser vision?"

Moody gave her a look that could curdle milk. "Granger, you'll learn how to survive. That's what matters. You see a threat, you adapt. There's no playbook for this."

Without warning, he whipped out his wand and fired a stunning spell directly at Seamus. Poor Seamus barely managed to duck, his yelp echoing through the room. Meanwhile, my amulet flared to life, glowing warm against my chest as a shield of fiery energy snapped into place in front of me. Reflexes: one. Panic: zero.

"That's the first lesson!" Moody barked. "Constant vigilance! You think Black Adam or Lobo will give you a head start? Think again. You hesitate, and you're toast."

Ron leaned over again and muttered, "Remind me why we came to this universe?" I didn't have a good answer, unless "we make questionable life choices" counted.

Moody's wand moved faster than a snitch on caffeine, firing hexes and curses at random targets. Hermione managed to block hers with a hasty Protego. Neville tripped over his own feet, but somehow avoided a stunner anyway. Dean and Seamus were scrambling like their lives depended on it, which—spoiler alert—they kind of did.

By the time Moody finally stopped, I was sweating, and my heart felt like it was auditioning for a drum solo. The room was dead silent, except for Moody's gruff chuckle. "Welcome to Defense in the real world," he said, looking far too pleased with himself. "This isn't about points for Gryffindor. This is survival. You get it wrong, you die. Simple as that."

No pressure or anything.

As the lesson ended, Moody turned to us, his magical eye spinning wildly. "Next time, we'll talk about countering powers you can't see coming. Invisibility. Telepathy. Shape-shifters. Bring your brains, not your excuses."

As we shuffled out of the classroom, Ron sighed. "You think there's a spell to stop my heart from racing?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's called not being in this universe."

Hermione gave us both a look. "If you two would stop joking for five seconds, you might actually learn something."

Sure, Hermione. Or we could just keep surviving on a mix of luck and sarcasm. So far, it's worked out okay.

—

So, here's the thing about the Tower of Fate: it's like Hogwarts on a rainy night mixed with a museum that forgot the "Do Not Touch" signs. I'm talking floating books, mystical artifacts that definitely shouldn't be left lying around, and a chandelier made of what I'm 95% sure was the remnants of stars. And standing in the center of all this cosmic weirdness? Yours truly, dressed up in my black-and-gold Shadowflame Armor, trying not to embarrass myself. Again.

Doctor Fate stood across from me, looking like he'd just strolled out of an Egyptian god fashion catalog. He had the golden helmet, the blue robes—everything that said, "I am so powerful I could turn you into a puddle if I wanted." And meanwhile, I'm over here, sweating like it's finals week, trying to remember which way to point my hands without accidentally setting something on fire.

"Focus, Harry," Fate's voice echoed, deep and steady. It sounded like he'd swallowed a megaphone and a couple of philosophy books. "Shape your intent into form."

Okay, Fate. Sure. No problem. Shape my intent into form. Why didn't I think of that? My intent at that moment was mostly "don't get roasted," which was apparently hard to translate into spell form.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and called up the magic. My gauntlets glowed, the crimson gem on my chest pulsing like a heartbeat. A faint shield started forming in front of me, kind of wobbly and misshapen, like a Jello mold left out in the sun too long. Not exactly awe-inspiring, but hey, it was there.

"Better," Fate commented. Then he promptly shot a bright-blue bolt straight at me. Thanks, Fate. Real helpful.

I braced myself, and the shield held up… barely. The spell cracked it right down the middle, but it didn't shatter. A win! I thought, but Fate wasn't done. He flicked his wrist, and suddenly, a magical net was wrapping around my shield, squeezing it like a giant magical boa constrictor.

Time to change tactics. I channeled energy through the gauntlets, aiming it at the floor beneath Fate. Battle Transfiguration, straight from the McGonagall playbook. The ground shifted, thick roots springing up to wrap around Fate's feet. For the first time, I saw him hesitate—a blink of surprise. Yes!

He sliced through the roots with a flick of his hand, but I was already moving, reshaping the roots into tendrils that lashed out. For once, he wasn't just batting my spells away like I was some kind of magical mosquito.

"Interesting," Fate murmured. And he actually sounded… impressed?

Fueled by that one crumb of approval, I decided to go all in. I let the magic flow faster, pulling energy straight from the Shadowflame Armor, letting it spread out into the floor around us. Roots, rocks, even a dust storm—all swirling around Fate as I kept up the pressure. Was I completely winging it? Absolutely. But was it working? Heck, yes.

But of course, this was Doctor Fate we were talking about. He wasn't going to let me play offense for long. He raised his hand, and with a pulse of energy, every bit of magic I'd thrown at him disintegrated. The roots? Gone. The rocks? Dust. The storm? More like a gentle breeze. I barely had time to throw up another shield before he fired a pulse that hit me square in the chest and sent me skidding backward like I was auditioning for a superhero ice show.

"Well done," he said, as I staggered to my feet, trying to play it cool. "Your innovation with transfiguration is promising. Keep honing that."

"Thanks, Doctor Fate," I panted. "I, uh, figured a little unpredictability might help."

He nodded, almost like he was proud or something. "Magic is not simply about power or precision, Harry. It's also about adaptability and creativity. When you learn to merge the magic you've known with what you're learning now, you may find yourself wielding something entirely new."

And just as I was starting to feel like I might actually be getting the hang of this, Diana and Zatara walked in. Diana had this smirk that said, Oh, you're getting schooled, aren't you?

"Looks like the lesson's going well?" she asked, her tone way too amused.

I shrugged, trying to play off the fact that I'd just been blown across the room. "Depends on your definition of 'well.'"

Doctor Fate inclined his head. "You're progressing, Harry. Remember, next week, we'll focus on channeling both magics together."

I glanced at Zatara and Diana. "Think the rest of the team would mind if I share a few tricks?"

Doctor Fate's helmet glinted, but I swear I saw a hint of a smile. "Teach them what you feel is wise. But remember—what you're learning here is unlike anything from your world. Use it well, and you may create something entirely your own."

As I left the Tower, bruised but definitely fired up, I couldn't help grinning. Magic from two worlds, fused into something new? Yeah, that sounded exactly like my kind of adventure.

—

Back at Mount Justice, the scene was... well, pure chaos. But, you know, the fun kind. Fred and George were standing proudly in front of their latest invention—their Anti-Gravity Boots—while Lee Jordan, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie hung around for moral support (and maybe to jump in if things went horribly wrong, which, given Fred and George's track record, was very possible).

"Alright, ladies," Fred started, giving the Anti-Gravity Boots a theatrical bow, "feast your eyes on one of our finest creations!"

"Only fifteen minutes of glory so far," George added, "but who's counting?"

Hermione crossed her arms, eyebrow raised. "So you've got a pair of boots that defy gravity… for fifteen minutes. And you don't know how to make it last longer?"

"Er, more or less," Fred admitted, looking a bit sheepish.

"Think of it as a... creative limitation," Lee chimed in, grinning. "Nothing's perfect right out of the gate!"

Daphne looked intrigued, nudging Tracey. "If they could make them last longer, this could be huge for the superhero training we're working on. Imagine a rescue mission where you could just zip above the ground."

"We've been trying to extend the usage time," George said, scratching his head, "but it keeps conking out. Honestly, at this point, we'd be happy if they lasted an extra five minutes."

Katie leaned forward, her face lighting up. "Or," she said with a mischievous glint, "you could use them differently." She slipped the boots on, flashing a confident smile as she stood up straight.

"See, my mum's Muggleborn, and she used to take me figure skating. Learned a few moves," Katie explained, winking. "And if you use these boots to skate instead of float—"

She took a step back, pushed off, and suddenly shot forward, gliding smoothly across the floor with the kind of speed and grace that had everyone staring. She was practically flying along the ground, like some kind of human ice skater but... without the ice. Her movements were fluid, like she was performing a routine, but with the added twist of moving at a speed that made Hermione gasp.

"That's amazing!" Susan said, her eyes wide. "Could we actually do that?"

"Absolutely! It's not exactly Flash fast," Katie admitted, executing a quick spin, "but it's fast enough. Plus, if you channel your energy right, you can get a good boost going."

"Not to mention, this could come in handy in combat situations," Alicia chimed in. "You could move around like this to dodge or even get close to a target super quickly."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, gears turning. "Actually, we might be able to stabilize the boots for longer use with runes. If we engrave a set to channel magic for a longer duration, we could keep them from overheating. We've been working on adding runes to gear for field use, haven't we?" She looked over at Daphne, Tracey, Susan, and Hannah, who nodded.

"Oh, absolutely," Tracey said, already pulling out a notebook filled with rune sketches. "We could add a series of stabilizing and energy-circulating runes to keep them going longer. The real trick will be finding the right ones to handle Fred and George's magic."

"You think you can pull it off?" Fred asked, leaning forward, looking at the girls like they were on the verge of performing a miracle.

"Watch us," Hannah grinned. "You bring the gear, and we'll make sure you're not tumbling out of the air halfway through a mission."

"So," George clapped his hands together, "a collaboration, then! We bring the wild ideas, you bring the brains, and together we'll have the ultimate Anti-Gravity Boots! What could go wrong?"

Katie glanced down at the boots, smirking. "With a little fine-tuning, we'll be skating circles around the villains in no time. In fact, I think this might just be the beginning."

The group exchanged a look that was a mix of mischief, excitement, and maybe a bit of mad-scientist determination. They weren't just about to make gear; they were going to redefine what a superhero could do.

—

I was slouched in the Common Room of Mount Justice, staring into the fire like it held the answers to all my problems. Spoiler alert: it didn't. It just crackled and popped like a bored toaster.

It wasn't like I wasn't enjoying the company—Kara and Kori were with me, so things could be worse. Honestly, it was nice to have people who actually understood me for once. No offense to my old crew, but these two? They weren't exactly your average "worried about homework" teenagers. I mean, Kara was from another planet. And Kori? She was an alien princess with powers that could melt steel. My life was weird. Don't judge me.

But despite the pleasant company, I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in my stomach. You know the one that says, "Things are going way too well. Prepare for the disaster." And you know what time of year it was? Halloween.

Oh, Halloween. For me, it was like the universe's version of a practical joke, only I was the punchline. I mean, the first Halloween I remember? A giant troll nearly crushed me and my friends. Second year? I ended up fighting a giant snake in the Chamber of Secrets. Third year? Don't even get me started on the later years. You'd think after all that, I'd be due for a break. But no. Halloween and I? We were like oil and water. We didn't mix.

"Harry," Hermione's voice pulled me from my doom-and-gloom thoughts. She was sitting across from me, eyes narrowing. "You've been staring at that fire for, what, thirty minutes? You okay?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled. Which is basically my default answer for everything, because, let's face it, I don't know if I'm fine until something explodes in my face. And with Halloween coming up, something was bound to explode. Usually figuratively, but with my luck, it might actually be literal this time.

Kara, who was lounging on the couch next to me like she was too cool to sit up straight, raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. You look about as 'fine' as a pumpkin after a Wizarding World version of The Walking Dead decides to take a nibble."

"I'm just saying," I muttered, ignoring her dig at my situation. "Halloween and I don't exactly have a... smooth history. In fact, the last few years have been like a string of really bad sequels to a movie nobody asked for." I sighed dramatically. "First year? Troll. Second year? Giant snake. Third year? Well, I'd rather not talk about the whole 'Sirius escaping Azkaban and then me thinking he was a traitor' thing. It's... uh... too depressing."

Ron, sitting beside Hermione, looked up from his phone (probably reading the latest Quidditch gossip or some new weird muggle conspiracy theory) and snorted. "You've survived all that, mate. What's a little more chaos?"

I gave him a flat look. "Yeah, but 'surviving' doesn't exactly mean I'm itching for one more round."

Kori, who'd been quiet up until now, leaned over and rested a hand on my shoulder. "Harry, you do not have to carry the weight of the past with you," she said in that voice of hers that made everything sound like it was somehow the most important thing in the world. "You've got friends now. And more importantly, you've got us. So Halloween? We'll handle it. Together."

Her words hit me like a shot of warm coffee in the morning. It was cheesy, I'll admit, but also oddly comforting. With these guys, I didn't feel like the lonely hero who always had to do everything himself.

"Together, huh?" I grinned, despite myself. "I don't know... Halloween's a tricky one."

Kara's smirk matched mine. "Oh, don't worry, Harry. You think your Halloween is cursed? You should see what happens when Kryptonians try to trick-or-treat. Not pretty. People have a lot of feelings about aliens walking around with candy bags."

"You're the alien, Kara," I pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "You're supposed to be above this human nonsense."

She shrugged dramatically. "Hey, I wasn't the one who nearly set the neighbor's house on fire while trying to light a pumpkin. I'm just saying, it wasn't me."

Before I could respond, Kori gave me a soft smile, and for some reason, it was the thing I needed to hear. "We will face it together. Whatever it is. No matter what."

I looked at her, then at Kara, and then at Hermione and Ron. For the first time in a while, I felt like I might actually have a shot at making it through Halloween without getting dragged into another insane disaster.

"Okay," I said, sitting up straighter. "Maybe... maybe you're right. I guess if we stick together, whatever's coming for us won't stand a chance."

"That's the spirit!" Ron said, pumping his fist.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Let's just hope the spirit isn't a giant snake or a troll, because I'm really not in the mood for that."

—

I never thought I'd see the day when Madam Malkin, the famous robe-maker, set up shop in Mount Justice. But then again, if there's one thing I've learned since getting mixed up in all this superhero nonsense, it's that nothing surprises me anymore.

We'd moved out of the Common Room and into one of the larger, more open spaces in Mount Justice, where an impromptu shop had appeared. Madam Malkin, with her crisp white apron and measuring tape around her neck, was already busy setting up an array of magical tools and materials, the likes of which I'd never seen before. This wasn't your standard 'clothing store,' either. No, no. This was a place where magic and fashion collided in the most dangerous ways. I mean, how often do you hear "Ukrainian Ironbelly hide" and "Acromantula Silk" in the same sentence?

Ginny was the first one to step up for her measurements. "Alright," she said, rolling her sleeves up. "What are we making, exactly? And don't tell me it's another cloak that'll trip me up halfway through a fight."

Madam Malkin, with the sort of no-nonsense attitude I admired, gave Ginny a once-over and smiled. "This is going to be more than a cloak, dear. It'll be a suit. A superhero suit. Strong, flexible, and enchanted to adapt to your... unique abilities."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Unique abilities? You do realize I'm just the girl who can somehow kick blokes in the head from twenty feet away, right?"

Madam Malkin chuckled. "That's an ability, isn't it? Now, hold still while I get these measurements right."

As Ginny stood there, hands on her hips, Madam Malkin pulled out her enchanted measuring tape. It whizzed around her, looping and shifting like a snake trying to size up its prey. Meanwhile, Hermione, Daphne, Susan, Tracey, and Hannah—who had all been working with Malkin to finalize the suit's design—huddled around, discussing the runes they'd decided on.

"These will enhance your strength and speed without weighing you down," Hermione said, pointing at a rune design sketched on a piece of parchment. "We need a balance between durability and flexibility. And it has to withstand magic—no more getting zapped in the middle of a fight."

"I still think we should add something for defense," Daphne chimed in. "Maybe something that can reflect spells, or at least deflect them."

"Good idea," Hermione agreed, "but we need to be careful. The more we add, the more complex it becomes. We don't want it to short-circuit mid-battle."

Ron, who had been hanging back and occasionally offering his opinions (mostly about how none of this sounded as cool as Quidditch), leaned over to me and whispered, "Do you think Madam Malkin will make me a suit with a broomstick compartment? That would be awesome."

I shook my head. "I think you'll be lucky if she even remembers you're here."

Meanwhile, Madam Malkin was hard at work. She was carefully threading the Ukrainian Ironbelly hide with a fine needle, and it seemed like magic was just oozing from every stitch. Acromantula silk, normally too dangerous to handle without protective charms, was being woven into the fabric with the grace of someone who had done this a hundred times before. I guess, in Madam Malkin's case, she had. I mean, she'd made robes for magical creatures and wizards alike, so superhero costumes probably didn't faze her.

"Now, let's add your personal touches," Madam Malkin said, looking over her shoulder at Ginny. "This is where it gets interesting. What do you want? Color, design, anything special?"

Ginny, who had been a little shy at first, now stood a little taller. "I'm thinking red and gold. Classic, you know? Like the Weasley colors, but with a modern twist. And maybe a lionon the chest—something to remind me of my family. Oh, and... a bit of flexibility around the wrists? I can do some pretty wild stuff with those if I need to."

"Red and gold, lion... and wrist flexibility. Got it." Madam Malkin was scribbling notes faster than I could keep track. "And don't worry, dear. You'll have the perfect amount of freedom in those wrists."

Susan, standing nearby, chimed in, "Can we do something with the sleeves? Not too tight, but—"

"Don't worry, I've got it," Malkin said, not even looking up. "I'll make sure they fit just right. We don't want you tripping over your own sleeves while you're trying to save the world."

The room was alive with energy as the rest of the team discussed their own needs. Hermione, of course, was making sure everything was perfect—her meticulous attention to detail ensuring that each suit would be perfectly tailored to its wearer's abilities and preferences.

"Can we add a little more flexibility for my legs?" Tracey asked, looking at her teammates. "I'm going to be running and dodging a lot."

"Absolutely," Madam Malkin said, flicking her wand. "Flexible fabric is no problem. Anything else?"

"Well, I do want some extra storage space," Hannah said, raising her hand. "You know, for supplies. And snacks. Superheroes get hungry."

"Snacks, huh? We'll make room for that. You never know when you'll need a chocolate frog in the middle of a battle."

There was a collective laugh, and I couldn't help but grin. Despite all the chaos and the insanity that came with being a part of this superhero-wizard crew, there was something oddly comforting about it. These people were ready for anything—and they were doing it together. Even if that meant adding runes, dragon hide, and a whole lot of imagination into the mix.

And as Madam Malkin continued her work, crafting these suits for each of them, I couldn't help but think that maybe Halloween wouldn't be so bad this year.

After all, I had a whole team of friends ready to back me up. What's the worst that could happen?

—

It was a typical day in the Department of Mysteries. Well, as typical as things could get when you're standing in a room where the Veil of Death was barely hanging on by a thread and the place looked like it had just narrowly dodged a massive demolition project. Augustus Rookwood, the kind of man whose name was enough to make you reconsider every life decision you've ever made, was pacing the room like a man who had lost both his marbles and his sanity.

"How could they have let this happen?" Rookwood growled under his breath, his words thick with venom. "Amateurs! No understanding of the power we're wielding here. We had it all, and now... now we're left picking up the pieces like some second-rate wizarding scavengers."

Draco Malfoy, who'd been roped into this mess, wasn't in the mood to sympathize. He was leaning against one of the columns with his arms crossed, the perfect picture of utter disinterest, though a frown was twisting his features. If someone could manage to look like they'd been forced to eat a month-old sandwich, it was Draco Malfoy.

"Really, Rookwood? This again?" Draco's voice dripped with that insufferable tone that only someone with a surname like "Malfoy" could pull off. "Do we really need to be doing this? I mean, seriously, who even cares about this stupid Veil anymore? We could just... leave it. I'm sure the Dark Lord has plenty of other ways to—"

"Don't be a fool, Malfoy," Rookwood snapped, his eyes blazing as he turned to face Draco. "This is the only way. Once we fix the Veil, we can use it to open a portal to the new world. The one the Weasleys and their insufferable band of heroes have stumbled into. That's where we'll truly reign. Don't you see? This is our future."

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically that even a Slytherin would have been impressed. "Right, because nothing screams 'exciting adventure' like chasing after a bunch of mudbloods and blood-traitors in a new world. Sounds like the dream, doesn't it?"

But his sarcasm was just that: sarcasm. The truth was, Draco wasn't entirely against the idea. After all, the new world was a fresh canvas—a chance to start again, build something better, dominate. Maybe that was the allure. Or maybe it was the fact that Voldemort would definitely be expecting results. Either way, Draco was stuck. What else could he do? Tell Voldemort "no" and risk his fury? Not bloody likely.

Rookwood, apparently oblivious to Draco's lack of enthusiasm, was already deep into his preparations. He swept his hand toward the Veil—still eerily silent and damaged beyond recognition from that ridiculous explosion the Weasleys had caused. A shame, really. It had been a perfectly good Veil, all ready to deliver them to a whole new world. Now, it was just a tattered mess, fluttering like some sad flag in the wind.

"We begin the ritual on Samhain," Rookwood continued, not missing a beat. "It's the only time the energies align properly. The Veil weakens on Halloween, thinning enough for us to push through. We'll get our forces to that new world, and that's when the real war begins. We can take it all." He unrolled a scroll that looked like it had come straight out of some ancient and suspiciously obscure magical library. Draco almost rolled his eyes at the overly theatrical gesture. "These incantations require precision, Malfoy. You'll handle the preliminary setup."

Draco's stomach churned. "Oh, of course," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why not? What's another bit of dark magic in the mix? It's not like I've got anything better to do. I'll just go grab the ingredients and hope I don't explode in the process."

"You'll follow the exact sequence," Rookwood continued, his voice a little too eager. "First, we'll channel the arcane energy into the Veil's fabric. Then, we reinforce it with a blood-binding charm to ensure only our forces can cross. Once that's done, we'll manipulate the Veil's power to open a gateway between worlds. It's a matter of timing, and you, Malfoy, have the precision to pull it off."

"Yeah, precision," Draco muttered, picking up a vial of some obnoxiously glowy substance from the desk. "Just like when I turned my father's hair green last year. Real precision, that one."

"Focus, Malfoy," Rookwood snapped again, clearly not appreciating the sarcasm. "Feel the power gathering? Can't you sense it? It's already here, just waiting for us to complete the ritual."

Draco couldn't help it. His eyes flicked over to the Veil again, the fluttering fabric drawing him in like a moth to a flame. A thin, ghostly whisper seemed to hang in the air, and for a split second, Draco wondered if it was trying to say something to him. Dangerous, that. Draco was nothing if not pragmatic, but even he couldn't ignore the strange allure of that thin barrier between worlds. Power. Mystery. A new world ripe for the taking.

Rookwood was talking again, his voice sliding into that syrupy tone he used when he wanted to sound extra convincing. "This is your chance, Malfoy. To prove your worth. To show the Dark Lord that you're loyal. He's watching, waiting. You'll be among the first to cross over. You'll help bring about the new world. Think of it. The power, the control, the—"

Draco's face twisted with disgust. "Do not give me that 'world domination' speech again. I'm not here to hear it, Rookwood. I'm here to work, not listen to you prattle on about how much we're going to achieve. You just want to be the one who gets all the credit, don't you?"

Rookwood shot him a dark look but said nothing more. Instead, he turned back to the Veil, as if Draco's sass was just an annoying fly buzzing around his head.

Draco sighed and crossed the room, picking up the scroll that Rookwood had unrolled. "You know," he muttered as he started skimming the arcane symbols, "if the Dark Lord actually cared about any of this, he'd be the one doing it. Instead, we get stuck with you. Not exactly the dream team, is it?"

There was no reply. Rookwood was already too absorbed in his own thoughts, muttering to himself about the rituals, the power, and the glory that awaited. Draco, however, couldn't stop the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Veil—something about it was wrong. He didn't like it. He didn't like that feeling of being so close to something so ancient, so dangerous.

He'd been raised in a world where power was everything. But even Draco Malfoy, for all his bravado and bravely pretending not to care, knew one thing: there was always a price for power. The question was, who would have to pay it?

Draco didn't know yet. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that, come Samhain, it wouldn't just be the Weasleys and their ragtag band that would suffer.

He just didn't know if he was ready for the cost.

---

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