When Sebastian and Percy finally emerged from the study, the solemn atmosphere of their secret pact was instantly shattered by the sheer, unadulterated chaos of a Weasley family gathering.
The drawing room had been transformed into an interrogation chamber, though a very polite one. The younger Weasley children—Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny—had cornered Remus Lupin against a bookshelf. They weren't asking about Defense Against the Dark Arts; they were demanding spoilers.
"Come on, Mr. Lupin! Just one hint!" Fred pleaded, leaning in with a grin. "Does the werewolf actually find the hidden city in the next episode? Mum says if he doesn't, she's going to write a stern letter to the network!"
"And what about the silver-tipped arrows?" George added. "We saw a prop list in a magazine. Are they for him, or is he using them on someone else?"
Poor Remus looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards. He was a man who had survived years of lunar transformations and the first wizarding war, but he was currently being defeated by a group of over-excited teenagers. Because of the strict non-disclosure agreements signed with the television studio, he could do little more than stammer and offer vague, cryptic smiles that only made the twins more suspicious.
Mrs. Weasley, it seemed, was the show's most devoted fan. During their month-long holiday, the "Journey with the Werewolf" series had been on a constant loop at the Burrow. Meeting one of the stars was, for the Weasley children, like meeting a god—or at least a very famous cousin.
Percy, now carrying the weight of a future Ministry of Finance, took one look at the scene and his face darkened. He stepped forward with the practiced authority of a Prefect.
"That is quite enough!" Percy barked, physically pulling Ron and Ginny back by their collars. "Mr. Lupin is a guest, not a prisoner of war. Show some decorum!"
Ginny, however, wasn't ready to retreat. she looked up at Lupin with wide, pleading eyes. "Mr. Lupin, since you and Gilderoy Lockhart are partners on screen, could you... maybe... get him to sign this for my mum? She has a shrine—I mean, a shelf—dedicated to him."
Fred snickered. "Ginny, don't waste the man's time. Getting Lockhart's signature is going to be the easiest thing in the world this year."
"Right you are," George chimed in. "He's the new Defense professor. He'll be supervising the first-year theses. You can just hand him a pen and he'll probably sign your forehead if you stand still long enough."
Percy winced. He hadn't thought to get an autograph for his mother last year. It was a tactical error. He made a mental note: at the opening feast, he would lead a coordinated Weasley strike on the staff table. One signed photo each. It would ensure peace at the Burrow for at least a semester.
The party continued late into the evening, a whirlwind of laughter, cake, and the kind of warmth Harry had only ever dreamed of. But as the saying goes, the sun always sets on the best days. By the following morning, the Manor felt cavernous again as the Weasleys departed via the Floo network.
Hermione was the only one who remained. She had managed to negotiate a one-week "extension" with her parents, fueled by her desperate desire to observe Harry's summer training. She watched him practice his wand movements with a ferocity that bordered on predatory, scribbling notes in her diary about "advanced pedagogical techniques." Ron had considered staying, too, but the moment he heard the words "intensive magical theory," he had bolted for the fireplace faster than a startled gnome.
The rest of the summer blurred into a rhythm of study and preparation. Before they knew it, September 1st arrived.
At King's Cross Station, the group gathered one last time. Mia had insisted on the "ritual" of seeing them off, claiming that a new era deserved a proper beginning. Sebastian, ever vigilant about the house-elf Dobby's potential interference, kept a firm grip on the situation, ensuring Harry made it onto the scarlet engine without a single "accidental" barrier closure.
Woo-woo-woo!
The Hogwarts Express let out a great, billowing cloud of steam, its whistle echoing through the vaulted ceiling of the station. Sebastian stood on the platform, waving until the last carriage vanished around the bend. He let out a long breath, feeling the strange silence of a job finished—or perhaps just begun.
He put his arm around Mia's shoulder as they walked toward the Muggle exit. "You know, Mia, I've been so buried in Harry's curriculum that I forgot to check the final staff list. St. Mungo's was supposed to send a visiting professor to Hogwarts this year to handle the new Healing elective. Do you know who Dean Bolton picked?"
Mia's eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. She didn't answer immediately, which was always a sign of trouble. "Oh, the candidate has been chosen for weeks, Sebastian. I'm surprised you haven't heard."
Sebastian frowned. "Bolton is getting senile. I'm the one who brokered the deal between the hospital and the school! I should have been the first to know. Is it a man? A woman? Please tell me it's not Pringle—that man can't even brew a Pepperup Potion without losing a finger."
He sighed, his voice full of mock-despair. "If it's one of your gossipy colleagues, I'm going to have to spend the whole year hiding in the alchemy labs. What was the Dean thinking?"
Mia chuckled, her pace quickening. "I'm not telling you. You'll just have to wait for the opening feast like everyone else. It's a big surprise."
Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at Mia's glowing face, her triumphant stride, and the way she was practically vibrating with a secret. He ran through the list of candidates again. Familiar. Very familiar. A healer. Someone who beat out a dozen other competitors.
"Mia..." he said, his voice hesitant. "You didn't."
She spun around, a radiant smile breaking across her face. "Did it take you that long to figure it out, Professor? I'm the visiting professor! I'm the new Head of the Healing Department!"
Sebastian's jaw dropped. "You? But the hospital... the hours... how?"
"I applied the moment the position was announced," Mia said, beaming. "I spent three nights preparing my syllabus. I told Dean Bolton that if he didn't send me, I'd quit and go work for the French Ministry. And Professor McGonagall was more than happy to have me. We can go to work together, Sebastian! We can have lunch in the Great Hall! We're colleagues!"
She let out a joyful laugh and began to skip toward the station exit, looking like a butterfly that had finally found its garden. "So, Professor Swann, I look forward to your guidance this term!"
Sebastian watched her go, a complex storm of emotions brewing in his chest. He was immensely proud of her; Mia was brilliant, and Hogwarts would benefit more from her presence than any stuffy old healer from the wards. But as he watched her disappear into the crowd, a cold shiver of anxiety traced its way down his spine.
Hogwarts wasn't just a school; it was a lightning rod for trouble. And this year... this year, the Chamber of Secrets was destined to open. A basilisk would be prowling the pipes, and the shadows of the past were reaching out for the students.
"Mia! Wait!" Sebastian shouted, breaking into a run to catch up with her. "We need to talk about this! Being a professor isn't just about grading papers, it's dangerous! Mia! Don't walk so fast!"
He caught her at the taxi stand, breathless. "My... my dear, I think we need to review the safety protocols for the infirmary. Immediately."
Mia just laughed and tucked her arm into his. "Oh, stop worrying, Sebastian. It's just a school. What's the worst that could happen?"
Sebastian looked at the bright London sky and prayed she would never have to find out.