20th June 1994
The Black Eagle Tavern, Meghri, Armenia
The tavern door swung open with a long, reluctant creak. Standing framed in the threshold was Lucius Malfoy, immaculate as ever — though the sharp cut of his robes and polished serpent-headed cane looked jarringly out of place against the grime of the establishment.
The Black Eagle Tavern reeked of smoke, sweat, and stale ale. Its low ceiling pressed down like a secret, and the flickering lamplight cast long, crooked shadows over walls stained by time and worse. The sort of place that never saw daylight — a haunt for criminals, mercenaries, and creatures who blurred the line between man and monster.
From one corner came the ghostly hum of a broken wireless, its tune warbling between static and sorrow.
Lucius's nose wrinkled faintly in disgust. The scent alone was an assault. Under normal circumstances, he would never have deigned to breathe the same air as the rabble that frequented such a place. But tonight's business was anything but normal.
He stepped inside. The floorboards groaned beneath dragonhide boots that had never before suffered such indignity. As the door creaked shut behind him, a hush rolled through the room. Conversations died. Dice froze mid-roll. Every pair of bloodshot or gleaming eyes turned toward the stranger who had just stepped into their den.
Lucius Malfoy surveyed them all — scarred men, hollow-eyed witches, and things pretending poorly at humanity — and found them wanting. Then, he saw the man he'd come for.
At the back booth, half-swallowed by shadow, sat a hulking figure nursing a tankard the size of a cauldron. Even in the gloom, the man's teeth gleamed unnaturally white when he smiled.
Lucius began his approach.
He didn't make it far.
Two large men rose from a nearby table, each built like a fortress and twice as unwelcoming. They stepped in front of him, blocking his path. One had a neck like a tree trunk; the other bore claw marks across his face that hadn't fully healed.
"Where do you think you're goin', bub?" the first one drawled in a thick Eastern accent.
Lucius regarded them as though they were mildly interesting insects. "My business is my own," he said, voice smooth and cold. "Step aside."
The second man's lips curled in a humorless grin. "No one sees the boss without permission."
"I wasn't asking for permission."
A subtle flick of his wrist — elegant, practiced — and the serpent-headed cane clicked open. From within slid a slender wand, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light.
"Now," Lucius said softly, "move."
Both men growled — a low, guttural sound that didn't belong to human throats. Their eyes flashed amber for a brief instant.
Werewolves.
Lucius's expression didn't change, though a faint note of contempt sharpened his gaze. The tension thickened, the tavern's air heavy with it.
Then a voice cut through, calm and dangerous.
"That's enough."
It wasn't loud, but it carried with menacing authority. The two men stiffened instantly.
"Let him through."
They stepped aside without another word.
Lucius smirked faintly, sliding his wand back into the cane. He continued forward, unhurried, and reached the back booth.
Fenrir Greyback looked up as Lucius approached — a beast of a man, all matted hair, scarred muscle, and predatory stillness. His long, yellowed fingernails caught the light like claws. When he smiled, it was all teeth and malice, his irises glinting faintly red.
"Greyback," Lucius greeted coolly.
"Lucius Malfoy," Greyback replied, setting down his tankard with a dull thud. "Never thought I'd see your refined mug in a place like this."
"That makes two of us," Lucius said, lowering himself into the opposite seat without asking. "But given the nature of my… predicament, I thought it best to speak privately."
Greyback chuckled, low and harsh. "The great Lucius Malfoy, speaking privately with the likes of me? I'm flattered. After all, you pureblood snobs wanted nothing to do with me even when we served the Dark Lord together." He leaned forward, grin widening. "You think I didn't notice the way you lot looked at me? Too civilized to share a table with monsters, weren't you?"
Lucius's face remained a mask of polite indifference. "Times change," he said simply. "I find myself in need of your services."
Greyback's smile turned wolfish. "In need of my services? Fancy way of saying you want someone dead or worse." His tone darkened. "Do your own dirty work, Malfoy. I don't take orders from you anymore. The Dark Lord's gone — turned to ash — and with him, our little covenant."
He turned away, raising his tankard. But before he could drink, something heavy landed on the table with a metallic thud.
Greyback's eyes dropped to the large coin purse now sitting between them.
"The Dark Lord may be gone," Lucius said softly, "but I hear you're still a bounty hunter of sorts. Consider that a down payment."
Greyback picked up the pouch and hefted it in his palm, the sound of gold unmistakable.
Lucius's tone turned almost pleasant. "You'll be paid thrice as much when the work is done. And there will be… other incentives."
Greyback raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "What kind of incentives?"
Lucius leaned in, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "How would you like to kill Harry Potter?"
For a heartbeat, the tavern seemed to still around them. Then Greyback's lips split into a grin — savage and amused. "The Boy Who Lived, eh? Didn't peg you for the vengeful type, Lucius. Thought your kind preferred backroom politics to blood."
"Vengeance is for fools," Lucius replied evenly. "This is business. There are… individuals who would benefit greatly from the boy's removal. Or better yet…" His voice dropped to a hiss. "…from him joining your pack."
Greyback's eyes gleamed. "Turn him? You want me to turn the saviour of the wizarding world into a bloody outcast?" He gave a low, mirthless chuckle. "When?"
"In less than two months," Lucius said smoothly, "the Quidditch World Cup final will be held in Britain. Thousands of witches and wizards gathered in one place. During the night of the match, you and your pack will infiltrate the campsite… and make a statement."
Greyback tilted his head, suspicious. "A statement? You mean an attack. Are you mad? That place'll be crawling with Aurors and Ministry guards. One scream, and we're done."
Lucius smiled faintly, a glint of cold satisfaction in his eyes. "You need not worry about that. My associates and I will create… a diversion. Imagine a few dozen masked wizards in Death Eater regalia — a few burning tents over here, a handful of hostages over there. The Ministry will be far too busy with them to notice you slipping in."
Greyback chuckled again, taking a slow sip from his tankard. "So, that's it then? Take care of Potter?"
Lucius shook his head. "Potter and his friends are merely targets of opportunity. This"—he reached into his robes and produced a folded piece of parchment—"is your prey."
He laid it on the table.
Greyback's eyes flicked down. A Daily Prophet clipping, headline blaring:
World-renowned author Richard Castle a.k.a Benjamin Carter finally steps into the limelight.
The accompanying photo showed a young man smiling during an interview in the Great Hall — bright-eyed, self-assured, radiating promise.
Greyback looked up, eyebrow arched. "Who's the pretty boy?"
Lucius's expression hardened. "A nuisance. With the potential to become something far worse."
"And you want him gone?"
"I want him erased," Lucius said coldly. "Quietly. Permanently."
Greyback leaned back, considering. His chair creaked under his weight. "All right, Malfoy. You've got yourself a deal."
Lucius stood, sliding his wand back into its cane with practiced grace. "You'll receive details once you're back in England."
He turned to leave, pausing just long enough to cast one last look over his shoulder. "Make sure he suffers."
Greyback's laughter followed him out — low, cruel, and echoing long after the tavern door swung shut.
Outside, under the pale Armenian moon, Lucius adjusted his gloves and straightened his robes. His composure was perfect once more — elegant, untouchable. But behind his calm, aristocratic face, a cruel satisfaction burned bright.
Soon, he thought. Very soon.
---
21st June 1994
The Burrow, Devonshire
"Look at this, Molly!" Arthur Weasley exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder as he sat hunched on the old, patched sofa, a sleek glowing device with a silver back clutched reverently in his hands. "It's like a wireless, but portable! You can talk to anyone, anywhere, without shouting down the fireplace and getting a face full of ash!" he declared, sounding very much like a man freshly initiated into the mysteries of the universe.
Evening had settled warmly over the Burrow, the comforting clatter of home drifting through its slanted halls. A few hours earlier, Arthur and Molly had collected their brood from King's Cross Station — something they had done countless times. But this time, something was decidedly different.
Every one of their children had a sleek black device glued to their hands, tapping, swiping, or squealing with excitement. Even Percy — usually the model of restraint — had barely looked up as he rapidly poked at the glowing screen of his own Wiphone.
Upon inquiry, Arthur and Molly learned that these gadgets were gifts — from Benjamin Carter. Every student and staff member at Hogwarts had apparently received one. It wasn't entirely shocking. Arthur and Molly knew the boy; Ginny had befriended his younger sister Rachel, and Arthur had met Ben several times at the Ministry when Andrew Carter brought him along. Arthur had always been astonished by the boy's prodigious fascination with — and knowledge of — Muggle technology.
Still, to think that a fourteen-year-old had created something like this…
Arthur had been so excited to inspect the Wiphone that he very nearly crashed the Ford Anglia twice on the drive home, craning over his shoulder to see his children tapping excitedly on their screens. The moment they reached the Burrow, he had commandeered Ron's phone — and had not relinquished it since.
On the sofa, Ron groaned and dropped his face into his palms. "Dad, that's mine!"
"Oh, nonsense, Ron. You can have a go after I'm done fieldtesting it," Arthur replied dismissively. He squinted at an icon on the upside-down screen. "Now… what does this button do?"
"It opens the camera, Dad — no, don't—"
Click.
The Wiphone flashed. A ghastly photo appeared: Arthur's ecstatic face smashed up far too close to the lens, one giant nostril dominating the frame like a grinning crater.
Arthur flipped the device around, eyes widening. "Merlin's socks! It's taken a photograph of me! Look — it moves when I press here — oh! It even talks back!"
He poked the glowing screen again. Somehow, spectacularly, he opened the contact list.
"Now, let's see… ah! Fred and George!"
"Dad, no—" Ron began — far too late.
The Wiphone rang once before Fred's voice burst through, muffled and irritated. "Dad, you've got to stop doing that! You can't call every five minutes!"
Arthur beamed as if receiving a medal. "Marvelous, isn't it? You're all the way up on the second floor, and yet—"
"Twice in the last ten minutes, Dad!" George's voice joined in. "We're trying to test our new fireworks!"
"Oh, excellent! Can I see them?"
"No—!" Click.
Arthur had turned on the front camera again. "Ah, splendid! It's showing my face again!"
Fred groaned through the speaker. "That's not — Dad, you're doing selfies again!"
"Selfies?" Arthur repeated, glowing with delight. "Marvelous word! I'm going to take another!"
"Don't you dare—"
Click.
Two matching groans echoed through the device. "We should never have added Ron to our contact list," George muttered in despair.
Ron glared darkly from the sofa. "You think you regret it? I lost my phone the moment we got home."
Across the room, Molly Weasley had drafted Ginny into a vastly more perilous mission.
"Now hold it steady, dear," Molly said, primping her hair with one hand. "Try to get me from the side. It's more flattering."
Ginny sighed, looking like she wished for immediate evacuation. "Mum, you've said that twelve times."
"Yes, well, one must have options. Oh — and take another in front of the clock! Arthur, stop making faces in the background!"
Arthur ducked out of view like a mischievous schoolboy. He glanced down at the Wiphone in his hand, awe softening his features.
He, of all people, knew what Muggle mobile phones could do — he'd zealously studied them in his capacity as Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. But this device… this little glowing rectangle… was decades, perhaps a century ahead of anything Muggles had dreamed up. Tiny yet powerful cameras, moving pictures, video calls, seamless communication across the world…
It was genius. It was revolutionary.
And it had come from a fourteen-year-old Hogwarts student.
Arthur Weasley could already imagine a Wizarding World where every witch and wizard carried one — where families stayed connected, where lost children could be found in seconds, where emergencies were met with instant coordination. The pureblood traditionalists would throw fits, of course — they always did, whenever innovation dared to exist. But progress was coming. And Arthur was determined to help usher it in.
Tomorrow, he would go to the Ministry. He would write a full report demonstrating how the Wiphone was entirely different from Muggle mobile phones — and thus no breach of the Statute of Secrecy. He would push for its approval. Push for acceptance.
Change was coming to the Wizarding World.
And Arthur Weasley wanted to be part of it — no matter how small his role might be.
---
21st June 1994
Bones Manor, Oxfordshire
The flames in the fireplace blazed a brilliant emerald as Amelia Bones stepped out of the Floo. She brushed a fleck of ash from her shoulder, then, with a brisk flick of her wand, vanished the rest. It had been another long day at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement — endless paperwork, political wrangling, and yet another tense discussion with the Minister regarding security for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.
She removed her monocle, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and called, "Mipsy!"
With a soft pop, a neatly dressed house-elf appeared, bowing so low her ears brushed the carpet. "Good evening, Mistress Bones! Dinner is ready, and Miss Susan is upstairs in her room."
"Thank you, Mipsy. I'll wash up first."
Ten minutes later, refreshed and with her hair pinned back neatly, Amelia ascended the wide, carpeted staircase. As she reached the landing, she paused.
Laughter drifted down the hallway — Susan's laughter — cheerful and animated. But… she was speaking to someone.
Strange, Amelia thought. Why didn't Mipsy inform me we had company?
She moved quietly toward the half-open door of Susan's bedroom and peered inside.
Susan was sprawled on her bed, shoes kicked off, talking animatedly to a small rectangular object glowing faintly in her hand.
"Oh, come on, Hannah," Susan said, sounding exasperated in the way only teenage girls can. "The second week of July? Seriously? You know how quickly TheLibrarian books sell out! If we wait till the 10th, they'll all be gone and we'll just be put on the next order!"
Before Amelia could speak, Susan looked up — and her face lit with delight.
"Aunt Amelia!" she exclaimed, scrambling upright. She turned toward the glowing device. "I'll talk to you later, Hannah!"
The screen dimmed in an instant. Susan hopped off the bed and ran to her aunt, wrapping her in a tight hug. Amelia returned it warmly, the tension of her workday melting just a little.
"It's good to see you too, dear," she said, smiling down at her niece. "Did you have a good term?"
Susan nodded enthusiastically. "It was great! A bit hectic near the end, but… well, Hogwarts is never boring."
"I can imagine," Amelia said dryly. "I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up from the station. The Minister called another emergency meeting."
"That's alright," Susan said brightly. "Auror Tonks was there! She brought me home by Side-Along Apparition."
"Good." Amelia nodded approvingly. "I trust she didn't splinch you?"
Susan giggled. "No, but she did trip over your doormat."
"That sounds like her," Amelia said, amused. Her gaze drifted to the rectangular object still clutched in Susan's hand. "And what, may I ask, is that?"
"Oh! This?" Susan held it up proudly. "It's called a Wiphone! Benjamin Carter — you know, from Hogwarts — made them! Everyone got one before we left!"
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Benjamin Carter… Andrew Carter's son?"
Susan nodded vigorously. "Yes! He invented it himself. You can call people, or send pictures, or even see them while you talk! Watch—"
Before Amelia could protest, Susan tapped the glowing surface with practiced ease. In a blink, a moving image filled the screen — Hannah Abbott waving cheerfully from what looked like her living room.
"Evening, Madam Bones!" Hannah said brightly.
Amelia blinked. "Good heavens…"
Susan grinned. "You can talk across continents! It works anywhere with magic in the air. And it's got storage charms too — for notes, photos, and music—"
"Music?" Amelia echoed faintly.
"And videos!" Susan added quickly. "Remember those movies I told you Carter showed us in the Great Hall?"
Amelia nodded, still stunned.
Susan tapped the screen a few more times. Suddenly, upbeat music burst from the device —
Try everything…
Amelia stared, speechless, as the screen displayed impossibly realistic animated animals — clothed, expressive, moving through a glittering city of towering skyscrapers.
Her jaw tightened. She had never seen anything like it. Not in all her years of law enforcement, nor in all her study of magical innovation.
And her mind began to race.
As Susan tucked the Wiphone into her pocket and they walked downstairs together, Amelia's thoughts spiraled with growing intensity.
Instant audio and visual communication.
Portable devices for coordination.
Secure Communication channels.
Information storage.
Field updates.
Live visual feeds.
Imagine the tactical potential.
Aurors coordinating raids across multiple locations.
Hit Wizards sending visual confirmation of suspects.
Emergency teams reacting in seconds instead of minutes.
Entire operations restructured for efficiency and safety.
By the time they reached the dining room, Amelia Bones had already made up her mind.
"Susan," she said as she ladled stew into bowls, "did Benjamin say anything about commercially selling these Wiphones?"
"Oh, yes!" Susan replied. "He said the Wiphones will be available in the official Wiphone Store. It's opening next month in Diagon Alley."
"Good," Amelia said, stabbing a piece of beef with decisive satisfaction. "In that case, I must have a word with Andrew Carter tomorrow. I believe his son may be receiving a commendation — and perhaps a rather lucrative offer from the DMLE."
Susan grinned brightly. "That's great! He's always inventing something new."
Then she paused, eyes lighting up with an idea. "Aunt Amelia, could you do me a favour?"
"Of course, dear. What is it?"
"Well… while you're talking to Mr Carter… could you please ask him to have Benjamin reserve two copies of his new book for me and Hannah?"
"Oh?" Amelia's brow lifted. "He wrote another one?"
"He did! The Librarian and the Tablet of Ahkmenrah!" Susan said excitedly. "It's about an ancient Egyptian magical artifact that brings historical and fictional exhibits to life. The book's launching next month along with the Wiphones!"
"I see," Amelia said, smiling fondly. "Very well. But I'll be asking him to have Benjamin reserve three copies, not two. After all, I'm the one who introduced you to The Librarian novels."
Susan laughed warmly. "Fair enough."
They settled into dinner, their conversation fading into comfortable silence — each lost in their thoughts.
Susan wondered excitedly what adventures Benjamin's new book would hold.
And Amelia Bones?
She pondered how best to convince Cornelius Fudge that every member of the DMLE should carry a Wiphone — and that resistance to progress would do nothing but leave the Ministry hopelessly behind.