Threads in the Shadows
Breakfast in the Great Hall was loud and scattered as always, but Hazel barely heard it. Her gaze flicked between tables, catching Evervine's sharp eyes at Sof table and Marcel's steady nod from Pillar table. The three of them didn't need words, they had been through enough in these short years to understand from a look and a nod and they all knew they would meet on the dreamscape after breakfast.
Before the last bites of toast were gone, they each excused themselves. Naturally weaving through their own house members to the dining hall exits. By the time the first bell rang, the three of them were already slipping into the Dreamscape. Their waking bodies safe in a study alcove in the Great library of Star Academy.
The vast shifting planes of the dreamscape settled into a quiet alcove lined with bookshelves—Hazel's choice for private conversations.
She broke the silence first. "I had a vision last night. Rosa, and a set of twins, Temperance and Timothy Green something or another. They were whispering together in one of the caverns below the school. I couldn't hear what they said, but the way they leaned in—like they were hiding something important." Hazel frowned, her hands folding in her lap. "I think it's tied to Sof House and these stranger sightings."
Evervine snapped her fingers as if she finally remembered something. "Yes! Temperance and Timothy Greenstream. That's them. They are in my house, they are now great friends with Rosa. As a matter of fact I have heard a few girls gossiping that maybe Temperance is now enthralled because she spends so much time with Rosa."
Hazel nodded. "I don't know their role yet, but I don't want to sit idle, and their auras were too clear to be enthralled. I think we should follow them. Quietly. See where they go and who they meet."
"I'll take Rosa," Hazel added quickly.
"I'll shadow Temperance," Evervine said with almost too much eagerness.
Marcel folded his arms. "Then Timothy is mine. But we'll need cover. We can't just stalk them in the open."
Hazel tilted her head. "Something like Harry's cloak?"
Marcel smirked. "Close. There's a potion. It blurs your presence, makes you look like background—like furniture, or another student no one pays attention to. Not as strong as true invisibility, but it works."
Evervine's brows lifted. "You brewed that?"
"I read the notes," Marcel said modestly. "With Hazel's help I can brew it up easily enough."
Hazel leaned back, reassured by their plan. But then her expression sobered. "There's something else. Evervine already knows… Harry was chosen for the Triwizard Tournament. I haven't divined it yet, but I'm worried."
Evervine snorted. "Of course you're worried. The Death Eaters are circling him like wolves. Don't you see, Hazel? This is a trap."
Marcel looked thoughtful, his voice low. "She's not wrong. Remember when we researched resurrection rites? Voldemort needs more than power—he needs blood. Specifically Harry's. The mark he left on your brother ties them."
Hazel's stomach turned. "Then it's worse than I thought."
"Which means," Evervine said sharply, "we have to know what Rosa's plotting. If she's tied to this, she's not just a nuisance—she's a threat."
Hazel pressed her palms together, steadying herself. "Then it's settled. We follow, we watch, and I'll divine what I can about the Tournament tonight. And I may need to contact Sirius."
Evervine nodded. "Sirius is a good battle mage. A bit rough around the edges but good."
Marcel rolled his eyes and shook his head but said nothing. Hazel looked to him suddenly and he jumped with a slight frown.
"You and I will work on this potion tonight." He nodded, releasing a breath he hadn't known he had been holding.
They stood as one and stepped toward a vast door. All of them woke in the library and picked up their study materials as if they had been studying the entire time.
---
After she left the library Hazel drifted through the Academy halls, lost in thought, until a glow of silver light pulled her to a stop. Her father's office door was cracked open, threads of magic spilling out like woven rivers. She hesitated—then stepped closer. She knew what that light meant and she didn't want to eavesdrop. But her intuition pulled her to the door, and she could never deny that she had the intuition of a rather accomplished diviner.
Inside, an interdimensional video wall pulsed with light, and Minerva's face flickered waved in and out as if the wall was rippling water. Her expression was taut, her voice urgent.
"Montague, you cannot. Not now. Hazel needs you—"
Her father stood with his hands braced behind his back, shoulders squared though his eyes softened at Minerva's plea. "Minerva, I am not only a Traveler. I am a battle mage. My friend in Sala has asked for my help, and I cannot refuse. If I stand aside while dimensions fall into chaos, how am I protecting you? How am I protecting Hazel?"
Minerva's hand pressed against the glowing wall. "But war, Montague—"
"I have to do this." His voice gentled. "For the dimensions, yes. But also for you, and for Hazel. If we let corruption spread unchecked, neither of you will be safe anywhere. Besides, we do not know what this dimension wants, what if En or Tan are next on their list?"
Hazel's heart lurched. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, well she actually did, but, either way, the words hit her like stones. He was leaving. Again. And this time to fight in a war.
But this time she had a strange foreboding. She bit her lip as she continued listening.
Montague's gaze slid sideways and found her at the door. The lines of duty softened into warmth. "Hazel."
She stepped in, her throat tight. "You're really going? You're going to fight in a war?"
He knelt, eyes level with hers, silver light tracing the careworn lines of his face. "Yes, my star. But trust me—I will fight smart, and I will return. I promise."
Hazel wanted to argue, to beg, but the threads of fate within her whispered otherwise. She only nodded, though unease pressed hard against her ribs. It pressed so hard she knew the outcome would not be good,
---
That night, Hazel prepared her divination. Candles flared to life around her bed, runes she had etched with her third eye glowing faintly on parchment. Shylah perched silently above, her feathers catching starlight even in the dark.
Hazel inhaled deeply, then let the spell flow.
The dreamscape folded into being, but this time it warped differently—like glass beneath deep water. Through the rippling surface, Dumbledore's tall figure slowly came into focus, his form wavering as if submerged. Hazel leaned closer, straining.
Dumbledore formed again. This time sharper, more defined. He had the air of a man standing and doing his duty. His eyes straight ahead and stern but a gentle smile on his face.
Then a dark shadow peeled away from him, coiling like smoke. It was the shadow or a person, most likely a man, bust she was not sure. It circled the Goblet of Fire, tendrils latching onto its light, before leaping toward the image of Harry's name flashing in blue fire.
Hazel's breath caught—
And the vision shattered.
She vision opened to darkness, the last flicker of candlelight sputtering out, and whispered only one thought:
Sirius then Dumbledore.