The Son of Mischief and Moonlight

Harry Lokison wasn't exactly thrilled with the task at hand. Let's just say he'd been through worse, but this was definitely up there. Climbing a mountain, carrying buckets of water, trying to make sure not one drop spilled—this wasn't exactly what he'd pictured when he first heard about the wonders of K'un Lun.

"Great," Harry muttered, glancing up at the looming peak. "Climbing a mountain to prove how patient we can be. Why does this feel like a bad reality show challenge?"

Annabeth, ever the strategist, gave him a sidelong glance. "Patience, Harry. It's about patience. Control, focus… and not dumping water everywhere."

"Yeah, well," he said, adjusting the awkward wooden pole that was digging into his shoulder. "I think the real test here is seeing how long we can hold back a giggle every time one of us inevitably spills. Which, judging by the looks of it, will be me first."

Clarisse snorted behind him. "I'm with you on that one. The only thing I'm good at carrying right now is my sarcasm."

"Hey, if you spill any water," Thalia called out, her expression focused, "just blame it on the mountain. 'The K'un Lun slopes are tricky, man.'"

Harry shot her a grin. "Sure, sure. Blame the terrain instead of our lack of grace. I can get behind that."

The group started trudging up the steep incline. With every step, the buckets swung precariously, threatening to spill over. It wasn't exactly a difficult climb—if you didn't mind carrying the equivalent of a couple of gallon buckets of water and pretending like you weren't about to fall flat on your face.

Luke grunted as his buckets tilted to one side. "So this is what training looks like, huh? Carrying water uphill like we're in some old myth? Classic."

Travis, always optimistic, grinned and kept moving. "Yeah, but we're not just carrying water. We're proving how cool we are with the not spilling part."

A few steps later, Silena lost her balance for the briefest second, and a splash of water flew out of her bucket.

"Well, that's a fantastic start," she muttered.

"Maybe it's the magic of the mountain," Harry quipped. "Trying to test us. Let's just claim the water's allergic to our heroic awesomeness."

Thalia rolled her eyes. "I think it's more likely that we're just awful at this."

It wasn't long before Harry found himself watching the water slosh out of his own bucket. "I swear I'm cursed," he muttered. "No magic. No tricks. Just plain, old-fashioned failure."

Clarisse snorted. "Hey, you might be cursed, but at least you're not carrying the entire burden of 'we're doomed' like me. I'm already planning my speech for when we fail."

"That's the spirit," Harry said, grinning. "Failure isn't about the spills. It's about the epic stories we tell afterward."

The hike continued like that—water sloshing, frustration mounting, but somehow, there was a sense of camaraderie that made the misery a little easier to bear. They all knew they were being tested in ways that had nothing to do with the actual buckets. It was more about persistence than perfection.

Halfway up the mountain, Thalia let out a groan as her bucket tilted, and a bigger splash soaked her robe.

"Okay, fine, fine!" she grumbled. "I give up. You guys win. K'un Lun is officially my least favorite place ever."

"Think of it as character building," Harry said, trying to stay positive. "And, you know, an opportunity to laugh at each other. I mean, who can resist that?"

Annabeth shot him a look. "You're an evil genius."

"No, I'm just charming," Harry replied, winking. "It's a gift. I come by it naturally. Anyway, ready for round two?"

Clarisse glared at him. "Is there a chance we can break the rules and just dump all the water on the mountain's face?"

"Are we sure we're supposed to be the ones carrying this?" Travis asked, eyes wide with mock concern. "It could be the mountain testing our resolve. Maybe it's the mountain that's failing."

It wasn't long before Yu-Ti, the wise and somewhat enigmatic elder monk, appeared at the top of the hill, taking in their collective waterlogged failure with the faintest smile on his face.

"You've learned more than just patience, I see," he called out in his calm, almost amused voice. "You've learned adaptability."

"Adaptability, huh?" Harry muttered, adjusting his bucket. "Great. Does that mean we get to use magic now?"

Yu-Ti shook his head slightly, his expression serene. "No, young one. You're learning the true art of K'un Lun. The mountain teaches that victory is not always achieved on the first try, nor should it be."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So, failure isn't the worst thing that can happen? Color me surprised."

"It is not failure, but your attitude toward it, that shapes you," Yu-Ti said cryptically. "Every time you fail, you are one step closer to succeeding."

Harry gave him a skeptical look. "So... we keep spilling water to learn how not to spill water?"

"You learn by overcoming challenges, no matter how they appear," Yu-Ti said with a smile. "The water is simply a metaphor for your trials."

"Well, then," Harry said, tossing a quick glance at his friends, who were all catching their breath, "I guess we'll just keep climbing then. Though, I could do with a snack. Any chance we can summon some ambrosia for that?"

Yu-Ti chuckled softly. "Patience, young one. The mountain rewards those who wait."

With a collective sigh, they set off again. The task wasn't getting any easier, but as they trudged up that mountain, water splashing all over them, Harry couldn't help but think: this was, oddly enough, one of the most fun failures he'd ever had.

And maybe, just maybe, the mountain had a point.

—

Harry had never thought of carrying water up a mountain as some sort of spiritual experience, but here he was, sweaty, sore, and oddly… pleased with himself. After hours of trial and error, with water sloshing, buckets clanging, and a series of curses that would make even Sirius raise an eyebrow, Harry had figured it out.

It was all about balance—who knew, right? He shifted his weight just as the buckets swung, and bam, suddenly, he wasn't about to drown in the stuff. A little tilt here, a little shift there, and the water stayed steady like it was supposed to. Progress.

"Look at me, I'm practically a water-bending master," he muttered under his breath, ignoring the sweat that was soaking his shirt. Yeah, he was feeling good about this.

Turning around, he spotted the others still struggling like it was some ancient trial. Annabeth was muttering about "equations of momentum" or something—sounding way more serious than necessary. Clarisse was grumbling like the mountain had personally offended her, and Thalia? Well, she looked like she might combust from sheer frustration.

"Alright," Harry said, putting a hand on his hip like he had all the answers (which, for once, he did). "I think I've cracked it. It's all about shifting your weight as the bucket swings. You don't fight the water. You move with it. Simple, right?"

Annabeth blinked at him. "Wait, really?"

"Yup." Harry gave her a grin that was 100% smug. "Try it. Shift your weight. Think of it like, um… like surfing, but with buckets."

Clarisse rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no thanks. I'm not here for your zen bucket nonsense."

Harry winked. "Trust me. Try it. It'll work."

Annabeth gave him a skeptical look but took the pole and tried it out. Harry watched with a mix of amusement and the occasional hint of panic (it was Annabeth, after all). And then—voila! The buckets stayed steady, water no longer spilling everywhere.

"Okay, I admit it," Annabeth said, sounding impressed despite herself. "It's working."

"See? Nothing to it," Harry said, feeling like the proud older sibling he definitely wasn't.

Clarisse, still with that skeptical glint in her eye, grudgingly gave it a shot. "Fine, fine. I'll do it. But it better not involve chanting or any of that spiritual mumbo jumbo."

A few minutes of awkward tilting later, she managed it, too. "Alright," she grumbled, "it's not terrible."

Harry was so proud he could've done a victory lap, but he didn't because that would've been weird. "Told you. Water—friend of the warrior."

They all managed it eventually, even Luke, who was surprisingly quick to pick up the rhythm. "I didn't think this would be so… zen," he said, a surprised whistle escaping him as they reached the top. "Actually kinda fun. Who knew carrying water up a mountain could be like... a workout? But like, a good one?"

Thalia rolled her eyes, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Don't you dare say that out loud."

Luke, looking like someone who'd just discovered a new form of torture, grinned. "Hey, you've got to admit, it's kind of relaxing."

"I swear, you two are too chill for this kind of thing," Thalia muttered, gritting her teeth as they reached the peak.

Harry, who was now feeling way too good about himself, shot Luke a grin. "Let's just not tempt fate. We've got enough disaster potential to last a lifetime. It's only a matter of time before something goes wrong."

And of course, that was when they reached the top.

The mountain air was thin, the peaks were looming, and the final leg of their journey was just starting.

"Tomorrow, we're ready," Harry said under his breath. "Whatever comes next."

And for once, he felt like they actually would be ready. They'd been through worse—okay, fine, slightly worse—but they were together, and that was all that mattered.

"Let's hope the next stage isn't the giant, fire-breathing dragon," he muttered to himself, setting his gear down and looking at the horizon.

"Or... well, it could be the giant fire-breathing dragon. That would make sense in this universe."

—

The air around K'un Lun crackled like a bad Wi-Fi signal, full of static and energy, the kind that made your hair stand up and your spine tingle, even if you weren't the least bit supernatural. Harry—sorry, Haris Lokison, because who needs just one name when you've got a bunch of divine parentage to toss around—sweat trickling down his face, was really feeling it. This place? Yeah, it had vibes. And not just your average "I'm in a cool martial arts dojo" vibes. These were ancient mystical warrior training ground vibes, the kind that made you feel like you were about to level up in a video game.

Brunhilde stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying to look all stoic and proud—though Harry could swear he saw a twinkle in her eye. She was probably trying to hide the fact that she thought they were all secretly crushing this training session. And why not? Harry didn't exactly feel like a god (most of the time), but this? This was like waking up in a mythological power-up.

"You're learning fast," Brunhilde muttered under her breath, loud enough for him to hear, of course. She knew how to throw him a bone. "I might just have to take a nap while you guys finish this up."

"Yeah," Harry quipped back, wiping the sweat off his brow. "Next, you'll tell me to fight a dragon while juggling fireballs. No biggie."

"You're not far off," she shot back, smirking. "This is K'un Lun, kid. Anything's possible."

Meanwhile, Annabeth—who, despite all logic and the utter chaos of her life, somehow seemed to be keeping it together—was next to him, swiping at her own sweat-drenched forehead. "This place is giving me a headache," she muttered. "Is it just me, or do I feel smarter every time I take a breath here?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is that even possible?"

"Apparently, yes. The cosmic force of 'too much stuff in one brain' is real," Annabeth shot back, her voice laced with dry humor. "Next thing you know, we'll be outsmarting the gods themselves."

Thalia, standing off to the side, half-smiling, piped up. "Well, I'm still waiting for us to not die on this mountain first."

Yeah, fair point. K'un Lun wasn't exactly known for being a walk in the park. But Harry, for whatever crazy reason, felt good about this. Maybe it was the ancient energy from every stone in the mountain, or maybe it was just the weird vibe that ran through his blood. You know, the one that was a mix of trickster god, huntress goddess, and a whole lotta other divine stuff, but let's not get into that right now.

"Remarkable," said Yu-Ti, the elder monk, in his rumbling voice. If wisdom were a weight, this guy would be carrying a mountain on his shoulders. And trust me, that's no exaggeration. "Not even the best of K'un Lun's warriors could do this in a single day."

Next to him, Lei Kung, the Thunderer (yeah, no pressure, right?), nodded, eyes locked on Harry. "They're not just warriors," he murmured, as if realizing something for the first time. "They're something more."

Harry could feel it—the power in the air, humming through him. It wasn't just the training. This place… it felt like it was syncing with him. Like it was waiting for him to become something bigger.

And then, in a voice that was somehow both amused and way too serious for comfort, Shou-Lao, the giant golden dragon, chuckled from the shadows. "Warrior, is it?" he rumbled. "We'll see if you're still talking like that after the trials of K'un Lun."

"Bring it," Harry shot back, never one to back down from a challenge. "If the trials are anything like the headache I'm getting from all this cosmic energy, I'm game."

Shou-Lao's golden eyes glimmered with approval—or maybe amusement? Hard to tell when dragons did that creepy thing with their eyebrows. "We shall see," the dragon muttered, and Harry could swear he was grinning.

As the sun started to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the training ground, Harry stood tall, his chest puffed out in defiance. He wasn't some random mortal lost in a weird mountain village. No, not anymore. He was ready.

And as Lei Kung raised his voice to address them all, his words felt heavy with the weight of centuries. "The trials ahead will test you in ways you cannot yet comprehend. Prepare yourselves for the road ahead. It will not be easy."

Harry nodded, a grin creeping across his face. "We're ready for whatever you throw at us. Bring on the weird."

Brunhilde's proud smile softened just a little. "That's my boy," she muttered, and for a moment, Harry felt something warm in his chest. Couldn't tell if it was pride or something else entirely.

Yu-Ti and Lei Kung exchanged a knowing glance. Yeah, they were definitely more than they seemed. The gods knew it. K'un Lun knew it. And maybe, just maybe, they were starting to realize it too.

But one thing was for sure: the real test had just begun.

—

It was one of those perfectly ordinary days in Deerfield, Illinois. Kitty Pryde had just said goodbye to her friends, Natalie and Elena—nothing special. Just another school day, walking home like any normal 10-year-old. She was probably going to have some pizza for dinner, maybe even watch a couple of reruns of Friends if she was lucky. Everything was totally chill. Until it wasn't.

Kitty had been walking along, minding her own business, when she saw something that made her blood run cold. A group of local bullies—dude-bros with bad haircuts—were crowding around Lance Alvers. She didn't know much about Lance except that he was an orphan, which probably meant he could use a little help. But Kitty didn't exactly do "helping people" on the regular. She was a kid, after all. But what she saw next? It made her do the exact opposite of "mind her own business."

Lance was on the ground, trying to curl up and protect himself, but the bullies weren't having any of it. They were laughing like it was the greatest thing in the world. That's when it happened. The thing. The thing Kitty could not explain.

Her feet moved before her brain even had time to process. She was charging toward the scene, her sneakers slapping the pavement like she was running a marathon. No hesitation. No "Oh, maybe I should turn around and go back home." Nope. She was already halfway there.

But, of course, the bullies saw her coming and, instead of running away, they smiled—like actual, cartoonish grins. Which, spoiler alert, was not a good sign.

"Well, well, well," one of them said as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "If it ain't the girl who's gonna save the day."

Oh, great. This was the part where she got punched, right?

He reached for her arm, yanked it toward him like she was a ragdoll, and that's when the punch came.

Except, wait. That's not what happened at all.

Instead of feeling a solid fist connect with her face, Kitty felt...nothing. Just the weirdest, most electric buzz crawl up her arm, and then—BAM!—the thug's fist went straight through her. Yeah, you heard that right. Through her. Like she was made of air.

It was like that scene in The Matrix where Keanu Reeves dodges the bullets, except, you know, it wasn't bullets. It was a dude's fist. Kitty froze for a second, staring at her own hand as it passed through the thug's. This was either a hallucination or something really messed up.

"Did anyone else see that?" Kitty whispered, half hoping someone would tell her it was a dream.

Then, it happened.

A gut-wrenching scream came from Lance. Like a sound that made your ears hurt. Kitty whipped her head around to see the earth around him start... moving. As if it had a mind of its own. The ground cracked and shifted like it was alive, rocks floating in the air like something out of a bad special effects movie.

Kitty's mouth went dry. Lance was making it happen.

The thugs? They were freaking out. Some of them were shouting for backup, but it didn't matter. Because Lance wasn't backing down. No, no. He was controlling the ground beneath their feet. Like, full-on earthbending—except she didn't have time to Google the term for that yet.

Kitty's eyes went wide. This wasn't just some normal kid she was trying to help. This was a dude with powers. And, uh, so was she.

"Kitty—look out!" Lance shouted.

Kitty didn't need to be told twice. She phased again, this time intentionally, and dodged a punch that would have knocked her out. But this time, she wasn't surprised. It felt...natural. She was doing it on purpose.

"Wait," she thought. "I can do this?"

Before she could even process what was happening, the ground beneath the thugs buckled like a bad rollercoaster ride. They were sinking into the dirt like they were standing on wet sand, and the whole scene felt like it was slipping out of control. But that was fine. At least it wasn't her problem anymore.

"Are you okay?" she asked, trying to sound calm. But even she could hear the shakiness in her voice. Because no, no she was not okay.

Lance nodded, though his fists were still clenched, his face set in determination. "I don't know what happened, but it's like I can't stop it," he said, voice low and trembling.

Kitty shot him a look. "You can't stop it? Dude, I don't even know what happened, and I'm the one who phased through that guy's fist. I thought I was dreaming. You're not the only one freaking out here."

But it was too late. The bullies were backing away, their hands in the air like they were surrendering, but Kitty wasn't buying it. No, this wasn't some kind of schoolyard spat anymore. This was real. And it was only the beginning.

Lance slammed his hands onto the ground, his face set in anger and fear, and that's when it happened. The ground buckled even more violently, shaking the pavement and sending rocks flying like missiles. Kitty could barely keep her balance.

Then, she remembered something else. She wasn't alone in this. She and Lance had just unlocked something together. Powers, skills, something that would change everything.

And right then, she made a decision.

"Let's go," Kitty said, voice steady. "We're in this together now."

And with that, the two of them—freaked out, unsure, and still trying to figure out exactly what was happening to them—faced down the thugs. They weren't kids anymore. Not really. They'd just unlocked something big.

Meanwhile, all the way in Westchester County, a little something was going off in Professor Xavier's Cerebro. A ping. A new mutant. Two of them, actually.

"Professor," Hank said, walking up behind him. "What's going on?"

Xavier stared at the screen, his mind already racing. "Two more mutants have emerged," he said. "Young. Untrained. They need us."

"On it," Hank said, already moving to gather the team.

Kitty and Lance had no idea what was about to hit them. But Xavier's team? They were already preparing for a rescue mission. Because once you find two new mutants? That's when the real adventure begins.

—

As the engines of Xavier's private jet roared to life, cutting through the early morning haze, the team was wrapped up in their final preparations. Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy, and Warren Worthington were already deep in their discussions about the mission at hand, exchanging quiet, serious words about their strategy. However, just as they were about to board, a sudden and unmistakable voice broke through their concentration like a loud horn blaring in a library.

"HEY, HEY! You guys sure you don't need any extra muscle on this trip?"

Charles Xavier, a man who'd spent years perfecting his calm and collected exterior, sighed, not even needing to turn around to recognize the voice. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be a quiet day. He adjusted his position in his wheelchair and gave a single, bemused look over his shoulder to see Coach Gleeson Hedge strutting towards them.

The satyr, still half in his human disguise, had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and an absolutely ridiculous grin plastered across his face. He was wearing an outfit that looked like it had been picked out in the middle of a midlife crisis: cargo pants, a flannel shirt, and a cap that said "World's Best Coach" in glittering letters.

"Coach Hedge," Charles said, his voice dripping with that trademark mix of amusement and exhaustion that only a telepath could convey. He sent a quick thought through the air, letting the Satyr know what he was really thinking: I thought you were supposed to be training Jean, not getting in our way.

But Hedge, with his trademark enthusiasm, didn't seem phased. He gave a half-hearted shrug that sent his floppy satyr ears swaying. "Well, ya know, Charles, I got this funny feeling in my bones," he said, holding a hand to his chest dramatically, as if it were the most profound thing in the world. "And by bones, I mean hooves!" He looked around, eyes narrowed with a serious glint in them. "My Satyr senses? They're tingling. Something's definitely going down in Deerfield. I can feel it. Demigods, maybe even more. And you know what that means? Trouble. Probably a lot of trouble."

Warren, ever the skeptic, shot a side-eye at Hedge. "Wait, you've got senses? Since when? I heard that the last time you 'sensed' something, it was you tripping into a cactus because you thought it was a hydra. You sure about this?"

Hedge gave Warren a flat look, his usually disheveled features puffing up with exaggerated offense. "Cactus was a very reasonable assumption, Worthington. But no, this time, I'm sure. Chiron himself sent me, to make sure Jean's got everything she needs. But now? Now I'm getting that gut feeling, and trust me, you don't ignore the gut of a Satyr. It's like a sixth sense… or a seventh, whatever you wanna call it. But I'm tellin' ya, Deerfield's got a big ol' bullseye on it, and it's not just for me to protect Jean. I'm talkin' about the Phoenix Force, baby. That kind of power? It stirs the ground beneath your feet."

Jean Grey, who had appeared just behind Hedge with a mixture of amusement and skepticism, nodded, her face serious but calm. She crossed her arms and spoke with that quiet authority that always managed to get people's attention. "Hedge is right. I've felt the Phoenix stir before. It's calling me… and if there's a disturbance in Deerfield, I'm pretty sure the Phoenix is part of it. We need to go. Now."

Hank McCoy, who had been quietly listening, let out a low, rumbling chuckle as he clapped Hedge on the back. "Well, if the Phoenix Force is in the mix, I guess it's a good thing we've got a satyr with us, eh? Nothing says 'security' like a grumpy goat-man with a battle axe."

Hedge puffed out his chest, giving Hank a nod of approval. "You bet! And if there's one thing I know, it's how to protect demigods and heroes alike. Especially ones who can destroy entire cities with their mind. Jean's got the power, and I have the backup. Consider me the personal bodyguard of all things powerful and dangerous. Not that I'm bragging. Well, actually, yeah, I am. But it's true!"

Warren raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Brunhilde told me that the last time you gave backup, it ended with you stuck in a tree while an angry monster tried to eat you."

Hedge crossed his arms and leaned in close, looking Warren up and down with exaggerated seriousness. "You try getting your hooves unstuck from a tree while a 500-pound fish is gnawing on your leg, and then we'll talk about who's the better backup. Besides, I learned my lesson. No more trees. I'll stick to solid ground this time."

Jean, now slightly amused by the exchange, glanced at Charles. "I agree. We don't have time to waste. We need to help whoever's in danger in Deerfield. Let's go."

Charles studied Jean's face for a moment, knowing she was more than just connected to the Phoenix Force. The weight of her power, and the disturbance Hedge had sensed, was enough to confirm his suspicions. There was something far greater happening in Deerfield than they could anticipate.

With a small nod, Charles gave his final orders. "Alright, then. No time to lose. We'll be on our way."

With that, the team was ready. Coach Hedge, with his bag slung over his shoulder like a battle-hardened soldier, hopped up into the jet like it was just another ordinary day for him. Hank McCoy and Warren Worthington followed suit, the latter shooting a teasing glance at the satyr as they climbed aboard.

As the jet began to roar down the runway and climb into the sky, leaving the quiet safety of the mansion behind, Coach Hedge leaned back in his seat, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. "This is gonna be a great trip, I can feel it in my hooves. Hopefully, I get to use that axe of mine. Always makes things more fun, y'know?"

Hank turned and raised an eyebrow. "Let's just hope you don't end up in another tree."

Hedge, looking both delighted and unbothered by the memory, replied with his signature enthusiasm. "Trees? Trees are nothing. Besides, I've got a bigger axe now. No tree's gonna catch me off guard again!"

And with that, the team soared into the skies, heading toward Deerfield, Illinois, and whatever mysteries, dangers, and surprises awaited them there. If there was one thing Coach Hedge was sure of, it was that they were in for one heck of a ride.

—

Minerva McGonagall sat in her dimly lit office, the soft glow from the candle casting shadows on the walls. Stacks of parchment littered her desk, covering every available inch of space with lesson plans, student reports, and a to-do list so long it could probably reach from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade if she ever had the misfortune of unrolling it. She looked down at the modest bottle of single malt whiskey sitting on her desk, half-empty and begging her to call it a night.

She sighed, pouring herself a glass and taking a long, slow sip. The warmth spread through her, a temporary reprieve from the weight of trying to singlehandedly keep Hogwarts afloat. It wasn't that she minded hard work—she'd always managed her duties as Transfiguration Professor and Head of Gryffindor House with admirable efficiency. But these days, with Albus Dumbledore slipping further into bouts of absent-mindedness and bouts of vague rambling, the list of tasks she had to shoulder had grown absurdly long.

McGonagall took another sip, her brow furrowing as she thought of the latest instance of the headmaster's wandering mind. Just that morning, he'd announced to a roomful of students that Grindelwald would be joining them for tea, and spent a good five minutes insisting that Fawkes was the reincarnation of Merlin. If only she could assure herself it was an elaborate joke. But the faraway look in Dumbledore's eyes had been impossible to ignore.

She shook her head, muttering to herself, "One more absurd incident, and I swear, I'll have to transfigure myself into a phoenix just to deal with it all." At least a phoenix would have fewer paperwork obligations.

In the past week alone, she'd covered three Transfiguration classes, mediated a duel between Peeves and the Bloody Baron, wrestled with the latest debacle involving Filch's attempts at hex-proofing the broom closets, and still found time to correct three dozen subpar essays from her first-years. She'd hardly had a moment to breathe.

The whiskey burned a little as she finished her glass. Minerva allowed herself a wry smile, thinking of how Harry Potter and his friends would inevitably get themselves into some chaos by week's end. Normally, she'd have to make an effort to hide her disappointment. But tonight? Tonight, she'd welcome the distraction with open arms.

There was a soft knock at her door, and she straightened in her seat, immediately slipping back into her stern professor's demeanor.

"Come in," she called.

The door creaked open, and Filius Flitwick's small, worried face peered inside. "Minerva, I don't mean to disturb you, but… Dumbledore's just left the Great Hall after telling the first-years that he's setting up a dueling club in the Forbidden Forest."

Minerva set her glass down with a resigned sigh. "Of course he has."

"Well," she said, her voice steady but with a faint glimmer of amusement, "I suppose it's time to make a few more adjustments to my ever-growing list."

And with that, she poured herself another drink, ready to brave whatever nonsense the next day would bring.

---

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