The first sign that everything had changed was not the sunrise, but the prefect.
A sharp, insistent rap echoed through the Ravenclaw dormitory, followed by a voice that brooked no argument. "Everyone up! Robes on, now! You have twenty minutes to be ready and assembled in the common room!"
By the time they descended the spiral staircase, the common room was packed with students in various states of dress, all buzzing with the same question: "What's going on?"
The enchanted ceiling, usually a mirror of the sky outside, swirled with a soft, molten gold, and the air itself felt thicker, warmer, as if the castle were breathing slowly around them. Prefects moved through the crowd, their faces set in stern lines.
"Form lines by year!" a seventh-year prefect called out, her voice cutting through the chatter. "No dawdling! We will be proceeding to the Great Hall in an orderly fashion."
They were shepherded out of the tower and into the corridors, a river of blue-trimmed robes flanked fore and aft by prefects. The moving staircases seemed to sense their urgency, locking into place to facilitate their passage.
On the Grand Staircase, they merged with other houses—clumps of red, yellow, and green, all looking just as bewildered, all under the watchful eyes of their own student guards. The portraits lining the walls were unusually quiet, many of their occupants peering down with uncharacteristic solemnity.
As they entered the Great Hall, a new wave of murmurs erupted, this time directed at the house point hourglasses. Overnight, Ravenclaw's sapphire gems had surged by two hundred and fifty points. Slytherin's emeralds were up by a hundred. The other hourglasses remained unchanged.
"Merlin's beard, what did they do?" a Hufflepuff fifth-year whispered loudly.
"Maybe they caught the Heir!" another speculated.
"Or they're in league with them," a Gryffindor muttered, shooting a dark look at the Slytherin table where Cassian and Roman sat, ignoring the chatter.
The seven of them—scattered across the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables—remained conspicuously quiet, keeping their eyes fixed on their plates or on each other, sharing silent, knowing looks. The speculation swirled around them, a tempest of curiosity and suspicion, but it was cut short as the staff door opened and the professors filed in with a grave
And then there were the roosters. Dozens of them, proud and unbothered, strutting between the house tables as if they owned the place.
A magnificent russet-colored bird hopped onto the Hufflepuff table and let out a piercing crow, making several first-years jump and spilling a goblet of pumpkin juice. A few students giggled nervously, tentatively offering scraps of toast and bacon, which the birds accepted with regal disdain. The sheer absurdity of it was a strange, flickering candle in the palpable gloom.
Just as the last students found their seats, the staff door opened and Dumbledore entered, followed by the other professors. The Hall fell into a silence so profound you could hear the scratch of a rooster's claw on the flagstone.
"Good morning," he began, his voice calm yet carrying effortlessly to the farthest corners. "You will have noticed our new feathered companions. They are here as a precaution, a symbol of the vigilance we must now all share." He paused, and the familiar twinkle in his eyes seemed to dim, replaced by a grave intensity. "Hogwarts has always been your home, your sanctuary. To ensure it remains so, we must enact certain protections, effective immediately."
He laid out the new rules with calm finality. Students were to be escorted by prefects to and from all classes and meals. Free periods were to be spent only in the Great Hall, the Library, or one's common room, all under direct supervision. Visits to the library or hospital wing now required a professor's or prefect's escort and a formal sign-in at a dedicated ledger.
"Furthermore," he continued, his tone deepening, "a journey to the lavatory is not to be undertaken alone. You will use the buddy system, and prefects will keep a log. I implore you—do not see these as punishments, but as the castle itself drawing you closer, the better to shield you."
He then gestured to the walls around them. "You may feel a new energy in the stones. The Ancient Protections of Hogwarts have been awakened. Should a true emergency arise, a specific chime will sound from the walls themselves—a single, clear, resonant note that you will not be able to ignore."
He waited a moment for this to sink in. "When you hear this alarm, you are to immediately proceed—calmly and quickly—to the nearest designated safe zone. These are any classroom occupied by a professor, the Library, the Great Hall, or the nearest common room. For the duration of this emergency, all common rooms will be open to every student, regardless of house. The wards will actively secure these locations. Only those recognized by the castle as its own will be permitted entry."
A stunned silence followed his words, heavier and more profound than before. Then, the whispers began, rippling through the Hall like a shockwave. "What's happening? Is it the Heir of Slytherin? Is someone going to die?" The younger students, wide-eyed, clutched at their friends' robes, while the older ones exchanged grim, knowing looks, fully understanding the severity the new rules implied.
Across the expanse of the Hall, the seven—Shya, Talora, Cassian, Roman, and the others—exchanged a single, unified glance. It was a silent, grim agreement. The game had not just changed; the board itself had been upended, and they were all now pieces in a much darker, more dangerous match.
Life became a careful routine of observation and strategy. Their only real freedom was during escorted study hours in the library, which now felt more like a fortified outpost. A professor's desk was stationed at the entrance, and a thick ledger lay open for students to sign their name, house, and time of entry under the watchful eye of Madam Pince.
The group was huddled at their usual table, but the sheer volume of research required had forced them to split up. Shya, frustrated by a dead end on cosmic ley-line theory, and Talora, seeking texts on foundational earth magics, had headed towards the older, dustier stacks in the back of the library.
It was in one of these deep, shadowy aisles, far from the main study areas, that Talora found the scene. Luna Lovegood, pale hair tangled like moonlight, was clutching a book almost as big as her torso. She was cornered against a shelf of forgotten genealogies by Cho Chang and two of her friends.
"Maybe it's true what they say," Cho sneered, her voice a low, mean whisper in the silence. "You don't have any real friends, do you, Looney?"
Luna blinked, serene. "I have plenty. They're just invisible right now."
One of the girls, a brunette with a sharp face, snickered. "Figures."
Before Talora could intervene, a cool voice cut through the dim air. "Interesting. Three third-years versus one firstie. That's some truly revolutionary arithmetic."
They all spun. Shya stood at the end of the aisle, her arms crossed, a look of pure disdain on her face.
Cho's confident smile faltered. "Oh. It's you."
"Yes," Shya said, stepping forward. "Us. I'm still wondering how you managed to get into Ravenclaw. Must've been a clerical error."
The sharp-faced girl stepped forward, her wand rising. "You think you're so clever—"
She never finished. With a flick of her wrist so subtle it was almost invisible, Shya sent a silent, precise jet of fire that shot from the tip of her own wand. It didn't strike the girl, but the ends of her carefully styled hair. There was a sharp sizzle and the acrid smell of burnt keratin.
The girl shrieked, dropping her wand and frantically patting at her smoldering locks.
"Oops," Shya said, her voice dangerously sweet. "My wand slipped. All this talk of monsters has me on edge."
"You crazy—you'll be expelled!" Cho sputtered, staring at her friend's blackened, frizzled ends.
Shya tilted her head, her expression utterly unrepentant. "Oh, please report it. Tell Professor Flitwick how you were cornering a first-year in a deserted aisle, and I, a jumpy second-year, accidentally misfired while coming to her defense. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to add that to the incident report. It'll look wonderful for your prospects as a prefect, Chang."
A long, tense silence followed. Cho's face flushed with fury and humiliation. She looked from Shya's unwavering gaze to Talora's steady one, then to her friend, who was now on the verge of tears. With a sound of disgust, Cho turned sharply, grabbing her friend's arm and pulling her away, the third girl scrambling after them.
Talora let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "A bit dramatic, setting her hair on fire?"
"Realistic," Shya countered, her gaze still fixed on the retreating bullies. "A punch would have been satisfying, but this? This has plausible deniability and psychological impact. She'll think twice before raising her wand again."
They turned to Luna, who stood unruffled, the massive book still held securely in her arms. "You okay?" Talora asked gently.
Luna tilted her head, her large, silvery eyes studying them with open curiosity.
"Oh, yes," she said mildly, as if the altercation hadn't just happened. "I told them the Nargles were particularly bad today, making people say foolish things. They didn't believe me. Your fire was much more persuasive."
Shya blinked, caught between amusement and surprise, then let out a short, appreciative laugh. "Effective, wasn't it? You really shouldn't wander alone, though. This place isn't exactly friendly right now."
Her voice wasn't unkind — just practical, the way older girls sometimes spoke when they pretended not to care as much as they actually did.
Luna tilted her head again, thoughtful. "I'm used to it. Most people prefer it that way."
Talora, standing beside her, frowned. "That's not how it should be." She softened her tone. "They didn't hex you or trip you, did they?"
"I'm quite alright," Luna said serenely, brushing a bit of dust from her sleeve. "Their words tend to bounce off after a while. It's like wearing a very thick cloak — you still feel the push, but it doesn't get through."
"That's a good way to think of it," Talora said, genuinely impressed. "It must get lonely, though. Who do you usually sit with?"
"Oh, here and there," Luna replied dreamily. "Sometimes under the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. It has better light for drawing. I don't mind being alone. I sketch, or read The Quibbler."
"The what?" Talora asked, intrigued.
Before Luna could answer, Shya cut in, recognition flickering across her face. "It's a magazine. Brilliant, unhinged stuff. Theories about wild Conspiracies and where Fwoopers really go in the winter." Her tone softened, almost proud. "I have a subscription. Arya found it and thought it was fascinating so we write to each other about the articles."
Luna's expression brightened, eyes wide and luminous. "You read it?"
"Religiously," Shya said with a smirk. "It's the only paper that asks the right, weird questions."
Luna's smile bloomed, small and genuine. "Most people laugh when I mention it."
"They lack imagination," Shya replied simply, tucking her hands into her pockets. "Still — don't let them catch you walking alone again, alright? People like that go after whoever's by themselves."
Talora nodded, stepping closer. "She's right. But… you don't have to be alone anymore." Her voice gentled further. "Come sit with us. We're not perfect, but we're a decent crowd."
Luna blinked as though she hadn't heard that offer in a long time. "Are you sure? I'm told I can be… strange company."
"That's fine," Talora said without hesitation. "We like strange."
Shya added dryly, "It's practically a membership requirement."
Talora smiled. "Come on. We've got room for one more."
They guided Luna through the aisles of the library. When they reached their table, the others looked up — Roman lounging in his chair, Padma mid-scribble, Mandy nibbling a biscuit, Lisa cross-legged on the floor, Cassian quietly reading by the lamp.
Talora gestured. "Everyone, this is Luna, Luna, this is Roman, Padma, Mandy, Lisa and Cassian. Oh and you've already met Shya "
Shya smiles back " and the lovely lady next to you is Talora"
Luna's gaze drifted over them with mild wonder, lingering briefly on Cassian — whose sharp eyes studied her in return before flicking back to his book with the faintest nod.
"Thank you," Luna said softly, her voice like the hush between turning pages. "I think I'd like that very much."
Talora smiled, sliding a book aside. "Then it's settled. You're one of us now."
Shya shrugged, half-grinning. "Welcome to the chaos. Just remember — if anyone bothers you again, tell us first."
"I will," Luna said with utter sincerity. "Though I doubt they'll try again. The Nargles will probably get them."
That earned a round of laughter. Even Cassian's mouth twitched.
Roman raised his mug in mock salute. "To Nargles, then. Our new allies."
Luna blinked. "And Wrackspurts," she added thoughtfully. "They feed on confusion. I think we'll get along splendidly."
And just like that, the circle grew by one — brighter, stranger, and stronger than before.